Framing the Jina: Narratives of Icons and Idols in Jain History

Framing the Jina

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Framing the Jina Narratives of Icons and Idols in Jain History

john e. cort

1 2010

3 Oxford University Press, Inc., publishes works that further Oxford University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education. Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam

Copyright © 2010 by Oxford University Press, Inc. Published by Oxford University Press, Inc. 198 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016 www.oup.com Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Oxford University Press. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cort, John E., 1953– Framing the Jina : narratives of icons and idols in Jain history / John E. Cort. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-19-538502-1 1. Jaina symbolism—History. 2. Jaina sculpture. I. Title. BL1375.S97C76 2009 294.4'37—dc22 2009011339

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

Acknowledgments

The origins of this book are found in some of my earliest research on the Jains, and questions that began to emerge in the course of my doctoral fieldwork in India in 1985–87. That fieldwork eventually resulted in my 2001 Jains in the World: Religious Values and Ideology in India. The 1985–87 research was funded by a Fulbright-Hays Research Abroad Grant awarded by the U.S. Department of Education through Harvard University. I was able to return to India to conduct fieldwork more directly related to this project in 1995 and 1996 through an Art and Religion Fellowship from the Asian Cultural Council, and in 1999/2000 through a Senior Short-Term Fellowship from the American Institute of Indian Studies. I also conducted research that filled out this book while in India doing fieldwork for two other projects, funded by a Getty Grant Program Senior Research Grant (1997 and 1998), and a second Senior Short-Term Fellowship from the American Institute of Indian Studies (2007/08). I wrote the bulk of this book in 2005/06, when I was the recipient of a Fellowship for College Teachers from the National Endowment for the Humanities. The opportunity to spend an entire year focusing my energies on the book was invaluable, and the luxury of having so much time allowed me the freedom to let the manuscript take several turns which I did not expect. I am grateful to the NEH for this opportunity, and can only wish that the U.S. government dedicated more of its resources to such non-harmful enterprises. My leave from teaching

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for the 2005/06 academic year was further facilitated by an Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Faculty Career Enhancement Program Grant administered by Denison University. In spring of 2006 I was able to travel to India for three weeks of research in connection with the evolving manuscript courtesy of a grant from the Denison University Research Foundation. In June 1990 I was driving with John Carman from Cambridge, Massachusetts, to the annual workshop of the Conference on Religion in South India (CRSI, subsequently renamed the Conference on the Study of Religion in India, or CSRI), which was held that year on the campus of Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts. Our conversation turned to the intersection of art and religion. I expressed discontent with the way that many scholars in the study of religion perceived an easy, even “natural,” connection between the two. I argued that the relationship between the two has often been a very problematic one in human religious history, and that for an adequate understanding of the relationship between them one must also study the many instances of intellectual and physical iconoclasm. Only if one understands why some people have been willing to commit violence and even kill to prevent or sever a connection between religion and art can one begin to understand why this relationship is viewed as so essential by others. This led to a series of conversations with John, and eventually to our co-teaching a seminar entitled “Icons and Iconoclasts” at Harvard in the spring of 1992. I have subsequently taught an incarnation of that course at Denison and Columbia Universities. Without the experience of teaching (and in the one special case co-teaching) those courses, and all that I learned from the students at three universities, I would not have been able to write this book. I have also accumulated many other intellectual debts during the more than two decades of research that have fed into this book. The world of Jain Studies, both inside and outside of India, while being small, is marked by deep collegiality. My fellow students of the Jain traditions are also friends. As a result, this small field exhibits a degree of intellectual collaboration and sharing that is all too rare in the increasingly competitive and market-driven world of academia. I am sure that I am omitting some names, but I want to thank the following for advice, shared fieldwork, shared ideas and photographs, and some cases reading parts or all of this and related manuscripts: Naman Ahuja, Cathy Asher, Rick Asher, Alan Babb, Susan Bean, Jnanchand Biltiwala, Surendra Bothara, Richard Davis, M. A. Dhaky, Paul Dundas, Peter Flügel, Phyllis Granoff, John Guy, Steve Heim, Muni Jambuvijayji, Whitney Kelting, Jnanchand Khinduka, Hawon Ku Kim, Lalit Kumar, Janice Leoshko, Steven Markel, Michael Meister, Hampa Nagarajaiah “Hampana,” Lisa Owen, Sonya Quintanilla, Jitendra B. Shah, Nagin J. Shah, K. C. Sogani, Doris Srinivasan,

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Nathmal Tatia, Mahopadhyaya Vinayasagar, Kristi Wiley, Rhetta Wiley, Bob Zydenbos. I thank Cynthia Cunningham Cort and Laurie MacKenzie-Crane for assistance with the illustrations. My most perceptive reader, and my most reliable fan, has always been my wife, Cynthia. This book would be poorer if it weren’t for all that she has done for it and for me. Finally, some debts can never be fully repaid. I dedicate this book to the memory of my parents: John S. Cort, Jr. (1913–1980) and Mary Y. Cort (1912–2007).

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Contents

Note on Language, Transliteration, Names, and Mendicant Titles, xi Illustrations, xv Introduction: Icons, Idols, and Revolution, 3 1. The Archaeology of Jina Images, 17 2. A Cosmos Filled with Eternal Icons: Icons, Cosmology, Mandalas, and Scripture, 67 3. The Spread of Icons in Our World, 113 4. The Lifetime “Living Lord” Icon of Mahavira: Anxiety about the Authenticity of Icons, 155 5. Idols and a History of Corruption, 217 6. The Inevitability of Tangible Form: A Natural Theology of Icons, 247 Conclusion: Framing the Jina, 273 Appendix: Titles of Jain Texts, 283 Notes, 287 Glossary, 333 Bibliography, 337 Index, 379

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Note on Language, Transliteration, Names, and Mendicant Titles

This study makes extensive use of texts originally written in Sanskrit, Prakrit, Gujarati, and Hindi. Unless otherwise noted, all translations from these languages are mine. The study is also based on fieldwork conducted in Hindi and Gujarati, with the two languages frequently mixed seamlessly with each other and English. Indic languages include a range of consonants and vowels that cannot be represented adequately by the Roman alphabet. In response to this fact, scholars of South Asia often employ a standard system of transliteration, whereby the consonants and vowels of the Roman alphabet are inflected by additional symbols in order to represent the full range of the Indic languages. Readers of scholarship on South Asia are familiar with this transliteration, and so for them it presents no obstacle to comprehension. In fact, in many cases it is necessary for comprehension. These additional symbols, however, can present an obstacle to an audience that is unfamiliar with them. I intend this book for an audience broader than the usual (and fairly small) readership of most scholarly monographs on South Asia. My intention has been to craft a study that places material on icons in South Asia into a broader comparative framework, so that readers familiar with similar issues in Asian and European contexts will find the book of interest. In order to invite these readers into my study, I have therefore eschewed the use of diacritical marks in the body of the text. I am sure that some of my

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more orthodox Indological colleagues will be dissatisfied with this choice; at the same time, I hope that other readers benefit. I have, however, retained the use of the full set of diacritical marks in the endnotes and the bibliography. The endnotes are often aimed at a more specialist audience, for whom the diacritical marks are important. I hope that this philological compromise makes the book more accessible to both audiences. The same words and names are pronounced (and therefore transliterated) slightly differently in classical and vernacular Indic languages. In particular, in many words the medial short “-a-” is not fully pronounced in Gujarati and Hindi, and in most words the short final “-a” is also omitted in these same languages. I have chosen in many cases in this book to employ the more classical spelling, even if the word is used in a more vernacular context. Thus I have throughout used the spelling Sthanakavasi for an important Shvetambara noniconic sect, even though in Gujarati and Hindi it is pronounced (and therefore transliterated) Sthanakvasi. Similarly, I have used the classical spellings Digambara and Shvetambara, even when the context of the discussion might call for the vernacular transliterations of Digambar and Shvetambar. The use of sources in Indic languages creates a further problem. I refer to upward of one hundred texts in the four languages. Having to deal with so many Indic titles can also be bewildering to an audience unfamiliar with the source languages. Even though scholarship on India usually retains the names of Indic texts in the original, I have chosen to translate titles throughout the book. Wherever possible I have simply borrowed the translations of other scholars, in particular Paul Dundas and Padmanabh S. Jaini. In other cases I have provided my own translation, trying as much as possible to be consistent in how I translate any individual word or name. I hope this strategy also enhances the accessibility of the book for nonspecialists. As I indicated, however, this practice goes against the standard practice of scholarship on South Asia, and readers familiar with Jain literature will want to know the original titles of all texts. I have therefore provided both the original and translated titles in an appendix. Most of the authors of the texts were Jain monks. It is customary to refer to any monk by his full mendicant title, and so it will be helpful for the reader to have a simplified overview of the Jain mendicant hierarchy. At the top of that hierarchy is an acharya. When a monk in one of the Shvetambara Murtipujaka lineages becomes consecrated as an acharya, he also adds the title -suri to the end of his name. Next in order is an upadhyaya, who is authorized to teach and preach at an advanced level. Below this in the Murtipujaka lineages is a rank indicated by two terms: pannyasa (pannyas in Gujarati and Hindi; this is synonymous with the older term pandita or pandit) and gani, the latter being added

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to the end of the mendicant’s name. A monk at this level has authority over a discrete group of monks. At the bottom of the hierarchy is the undifferentiated monk, known as muni or sadhu. The names of many mendicants also include a lineage indicator such as -sagara (“ocean”), -sundara (“beautiful”), -vijaya (“victory”), -sena (“warrior”), -vimala (“stainless”). These are essential parts of the mendicant’s name, and so are always included. In Jain contexts, it is also the norm to find a number of honorifics attached to a mendicant’s name as either prefixes or suffixes. These include shri (“blessed”), 108 (an auspicious number of wholeness), parama pujya (“supremely honorable”), maharaja (“great king”), sahaba (“master”), and the simple -ji (“respectful, sir”). Not to use the full array of these terms either when referring to or directly addressing a Jain mendicant in an Indian setting would be highly disrespectful. To use them throughout this book, however, would unnecessarily complicate matters for nonspecialist readers. I am confident that I have not been fully consistent with the principles I have outlined in this note, for which I beg the indulgence of the reader.

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Illustrations

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4

1.5 1.6

1.7 1.8 1.9 1.10 1.11

Seated Shvetambara icon of Adeshvara (Rishabhanatha), Shamlaji Parshvanatha temple, Patan. Photo: John E. Cort (1996). Standing Digambara Jina icon, Neminatha temple, Amer. Photo: John E. Cort (1999). Digambara Siddha icon, Bari Divan temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Architrave with narrative portrait of two seated Rishabhanathas on left, from Mathura, ca. 100 BCE. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Detail of left side of Figure 1.4. Photo: Sonya Rhie Quintanilla. Standing icon of Parshvanatha and attendant, from Mathura, ca. 100–75 BCE. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo: Sonya Rhie Quintanilla. Ayagapata with Jina in center, ca. 25–50 CE. National Museum, New Delhi. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Larger Lohanipur torso, ca. first century CE. Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Smaller Lohanipur torso, ca. first century CE. Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Standing Parshvanatha icon from Chausa, ca. 300 CE. Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Standing Parshvanatha icon, ca. second or third century CE. Chhatrapati Shivaji Museum, Bombay. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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1.12 1.13

Sculptor’s outline of a Jina icon. After N. C. Sompura (1991: 242). Shvetambara Jina icon in preliminary stage of being carved, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (1995). Digambara Jina icons, Chaubis Maharaj temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Digambara Jina icons, Bhandara Basati temple, Shravana Belagola. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Sarvotabhadra Jina icon from North India, seventh century. Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Gift of Anna Bing Arnold. Shvetambara twenty-four-Jina icon from western India, 1433 CE. Photograph Courtesy Peabody Essex Museum, Salem, MA. Digambara 24 Jina icon, 24 Tirthankara Basati temple, Shravana Belagola. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Shvetambara Jina icon of Parshvanatha with full parikara, Panchasara Parshvanatha temple, Patan. Photo: John E. Cort (1996). Carved plaque of Nandishvara Dvipa from Ranakpur, 1439 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Digambara icon of Nandishvara Dvipa from Mudbidri, ca. sixteenth century. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Digambara icon of Nandishvara Dvipa, Bhandara Basati temple, Shravana Belagola. Photo: John E. Cort (1999). Plan of Shvetambara 52-shrine Nandishvara Dvipa temple. After P. O. Sompura (1967: 31). Shvetambara Ujambai Nandishvara Dvipa temple, Shatrunjaya, nineteenth century. Photo: John E. Cort (1985). Digambara Nandishvara Dvipa temple, Delhi. Photo: John E. Cort (1995). Shvetambara illustration of Meru, from manuscript of Sangrahani Sutra, sixteenth or seventeenth century. Collection Navin Kumar, New York. Digambara set of icons of five Merus, Bhattarakji Nasiyan temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (2006). Digambara set of icons of five Merus, Bara Terapantha temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Shvetambara samavasarana, from a Kalpa Sutra manuscript, 1411 CE. Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC: Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Page, S1985.2.59b. Digambara samavasarana, altar of Digambara Divan Badhichandji temple, Jaipur, mid-eighteenth century. Photo: John E. Cort (2000). Shvetambara samavasarana temple (under construction), Palitana. Photo: John E. Cort (1986).

1.14 1.15 1.16 1.17 1.18 1.19 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.9 3.1

3.2 3.3

ILLUSTRATIONS

3.4 3.5 3.6 4.1 4.2

4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 4.7

4.8

4.9 4.10 4.11 4.12 4.13 4.14 4.15 4.16

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Shvetambara icon of Ashtapada, Shantinatha temple, Kumbhariya, 1210 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Shvetambara painting of Ashtapada, western India, nineteenth century. Collection Navin Kumar, New York. Temples of Shatrunjaya. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Older of two Akota Jivantasvami icons, ca. fifth or sixth century CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Younger of two Akota Jivantasvami icons, ca. sixth or seventh century CE. Photo: Courtesy of the Department of Museums, Museum and Picture Gallery, Vadodara. Two Jivantasvami icons in storehouse of Mahavira temple, Osian. Photo: John E. Cort (1996). Jivantasvami icon in gateway of Mahavira temple, Osian. Photo: John E. Cort (1998). Jivantasvami icon from Khimsar, now in Government Museum, Jodhpur, eleventh century. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Jivantasvami icon, Tinvari. Photo: John E. Cort (1998). Shvetambara Parshvanatha icon with katimekhala from Ladol, now in L. D. Museum, Ahmedabad, 1269 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Mahavira from a Kalpa Sutra manuscript, 1411 CE. Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC: Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Page, S1985.2.66b. Digambara Adinatha icon, Chausa, ca. fourth century CE ( front). Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Digambara Adinatha icon, Chausa, ca. fourth century CE (back). Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Bodhisattva icon, Mathura, ca. fourth century CE. Mathura Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Vishnu icon, Surya temple 3, Osian, eighth century. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Two Vishnu icons from Rani ki Vav, Patan, eleventh century. Photo: John E. Cort (1987). Surya icon, Surya temple 1, Osian, ca. 750 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. Bahubali Gommateshvara icon, Shravana Belgola, 981 CE. Photo: Cynthia Cunningham Cort (2008). Digambara Simandhara Svami icon, Kanji Svami temple, Paldi, Ahmedabad, twentieth century. Photo: John E. Cort (1995).

xviii 4.17 4.18 4.19 4.20

4.21 4.22 4.23 4.24

ILLUSTRATIONS

Shvetambara icon of Gautama Svami, Osian, 1863. Photo: John E. Cort (1996). Shvetambara icon of Dadaguru Jinadattasuri, Osian, 1797. Photo: John E. Cort (1996). Shvetambara icon of Dadaguru Jinakushalasuri, Siddhachalam, New Jersey, twentieth century. Photo: John E. Cort (1995). Shvetambara icons of monks Kakkasuri (left, 1452), Devachandrasuri (center) and Yashodevasuri (right, 1387), Panchasara Parshvanatha temple complex, Patan. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Shvetambara icon and footprint icon of Bhadrankarvijaygani, Patan, 2007. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Digambara footprint icon of Bhadrabahu, Shravana Belgola. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Digambara footprint icon of Bhattaraka, Bhattarakji Nasiyan, Jaipur, nineteenth century. Photo: John E. Cort (2008). Seiryoji Shaka icon, Kyoto, ca. 985 CE. Courtesy Seiryoji Buddhist Temple.

Framing the Jina

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Introduction: Icons, Idols, and Revolution

This is a book of and about narratives. These narratives tell stories of Jain images, the people who worship and venerate them as sacred icons (iconophiles), and the people who reject them as false and inanimate idols (iconoclasts). Let me start, then, with two narratives written by important, charismatic twentieth-century Jain monks about how either the rejection or acceptance of images—of idols or icons— changed the lives of people who have been foundational in the formation of subsequent Jain ritual and visual culture.

Whose Revolution? In 1939, the Sthanakavasi monk Muni Saubhagyachandra, better known by his nom de plume Santbal, published a biography of Lonka Shah, the fifteenth-century Jain layman who began the series of historical developments that resulted in the contemporary aniconic (and at times iconoclastic) Sthanakavasi and Terapanthi movements.1 The title of his book, in which he narrated one version of Lonka Shah’s life and also engaged in a broader historical study of mendicancy in the Shvetambara tradition, was simply Lonka Shah, the Life-Breath of Religion (Dharmpran Lonkashah). This title indicates that in Santbal’s opinion Lonka Shah breathed life back into Jainism, into a tradition and community that before him had become short of breath, and was

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in a state of ill health and decay. An alternative title, The Creator of the Era of Revolution (Krantino Yugsrishta), which Santbal retained as a subtitle, indicated a more forceful vision of who Lonka Shah was and what he had done. I will return to the implications of this alternative title. Santbal’s book was not history as strictly understood, for he based it as much on his normative interpretation of the past as on any adherence to the way trained historians treat facts. However, as a narrative it tells us much about how an important and representative twentieth-century Sthanakavasi intellectual understood the history of images (as idols) in Jain history. Santbal introduced his hero by describing the state of Shvetambara Jain society in western India in the fifteenth century, the time when Lonka Shah was born. Santbal’s description bears similarities to those of many other twentieth-century Jain authors, who wanted to paint the past as bleakly as possible in order to highlight their own reforms. Due to the inevitable corrupting affects of the decline of time, coupled with the corrupting influences of other religious traditions, the original pure teachings and practices of Mahavira had become obscured. Monks were monks in name only. Despite their vows of total nonpossession (aparigraha), according to which they should not “possess” even their robes and begging bowls, but only “borrow” them from the laity, they were deeply involved in the management of temples, which necessitated their handling of money and in other ways acting like worldly merchants. The pseudo-monks traveled in palanquins, the mode of transport of kings and wealthy men of the world, when they should travel only on foot as humble mendicants. They enjoyed public entertainments such as dramas, dances, and music, all designed to stir the senses and passions, when they should be training their minds in equanimity and dispassion. They wore expensive cloths—emblems of wealth, prestige, and egoism—when they should wear only the simple and anonymous white robes of world-renouncers. They sought public fame, when they should be indifferent to praise or censure. Into this degraded and corrupt situation, a great revolutionary was born in 1426 in Ahmedabad, the capital of Gujarat. Lonka Shah would illuminate the teachings of Mahavira and restore the community to the proper religious conduct. From early childhood he displayed great intellectual prowess, and mastered all the languages, classical and vernacular, needed to study Jainism. He also learned to write with a beautiful hand. As an adult he became a professional scribe. Due to his skill, a Jain monk asked him to make copies of some of the scriptures, a task that was normally done only by the monks themselves. As he copied the texts, Lonka Shah came to see just how great the gulf was between the ideals he read in the scriptures and the practices he saw all around him. Whereas the contemporary Jain ritual culture was one deeply enmeshed

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in temples and in the worship of idols, he did not find a single reference to the worship of idols in the scriptures. Instead, the scriptures emphasized that true religion (dharma) is rooted in non-harm (ahimsa). The scriptures forbid even the slightest amount of harm to be committed in the pursuit of religion. This clearly meant that the subtle forms of harm involved in the worship of idols, through offering flowers and ointments, and burning lamps and incense were all wrong. The forms of worship around him all aimed at the attainment of worldly ends, and so were signs of wrong faith (mithyatva). They were not based on right faith (samyaktva), and so were not directed toward the supreme religious goal of liberation (moksha) from the suffering of rebirth. Lonka Shah started discussing his new insights into true Jainism with other Jains in Ahmedabad. The powerful monks tried to forbid their followers from going to hear him preach, but were unsuccessful. In 1472, an influential layman named Lakhamshi Sheth who lived in Patan heard about the revolutionary teachings of Lonka Shah. Patan, which for many centuries had been the capital of medieval Gujarat, at that time was still an important Jain center, with thousands of temples and hundreds of monks. Lakhamshi came to Ahmedabad to debate Lonka Shah. Lonka showed him that the scriptures taught that the supreme religion is non-harm, and that accordingly the worship of idols contravenes the teachings of Mahavira. Real worship is not the external worship of a stone or a metal idol, but the inner worship of the virtues of one’s own soul. Lakhamshi was convinced by Lonka, and he returned to Patan. He initiated a movement (andolan) to reform the way Jainism was practiced in the city. In this way, the revolutionary movement initiated by Lonka Shah spread throughout Gujarat and beyond. Out of this ferment eventually came the Sthanakavasi community of true monks, one of whom five centuries later was Santbal himself.2 Among the many monks who followed in Lonka Shah’s footsteps was the Sthanakavasi monk Atmaram (1837–96). While for the latter part of his mendicant career he was a forceful leader of the Tapa Gaccha, the leading monastic lineage in the icon-worshipping Murtipujaka sect, and after being promoted to the post of acharya in 1887 as head of a group of reformist monks was known as Acharya Vijayanandsuri, he was always better known by his earlier Sthanakavasi name of Atmaram. He has been the subject of many biographies in the century following his death. The most important of these was written by his disciple and successor Acharya Vijay Vallabhsuri, and published posthumously in 1956.3 If, according to Santbal, Lonka Shah had been the creator (srishta) of an age (yug) of revolution (kranti), then according to Vallabhsuri, Atmaram was, in the title of his biography, the Builder of a New Era (Navyug Nirmata). Another short biography of Atmaram, published by a layman named

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Baldev Raj Jain in 1986 in a monthly magazine dedicated to the affairs of the mendicant lineage (and its lay followers) that traces its origins back to Atmaram and Vallabhsuri, is even clearer in the parallelism with Santbalji’s conception of Lonka Shah, when it designates Atmaram “A Revolutionary Jewel of a Saint” (“Krantikari Santratna”).4 Atmaram was born into a Hindu family in the western part of the Punjab, in a village now in Pakistan, in 1837. He came from a martial family, and his father had been an officer in the army of Ranjit Singh. At that time the Jain community of the Punjab was split between icon-worshipping Murtipujakas and anti-icon Sthanakavasis, and there was much disagreement and public debate between the two groups. As a youth, he came into contact with some of the Sthanakavasi Jains who were very influential in the area, and took initiation as a Sthanakavasi monk in 1853. Atmaram’s guru Jivanram was an uneducated monk, so Atmaram started his serious study of the scriptures first with a Sthanakavasi layman, and then with a domesticated monk (yati) of the Vriddha Posaliya lineage of the Tapa Gaccha.5 For the next several years he continued his studies with both laymen and Sthanakavasi monks in the Punjab, Rajasthan, and Ratlam, in the western part of what is now Madhya Pradesh. The traditional mode of scriptural study among Sthanakavasis at that time was to memorize the Prakrit root text, and study the meaning of the text through a vernacular gloss. Atmaram was not satisfied with this approach, and so began to study both grammar and Sanskrit, despite the public opposition to this break with tradition. In 1863, he went to Agra to study a number of scriptures with Muni Ratnachand, who was widely known as one of the most intellectual Sthanakavasi monks of the time in north India. Ratnachand was obviously an independentminded Sthanakavasi monk, for he told Atmaram that it was inadequate to study only the root Prakrit texts of the scriptures without the aid of the various layers of Prakrit and Sanskrit commentary. In fact, Ratnachand said that this Sthanakavasi hermeneutical procedure went against explicit injunctions in scriptures such as the Blessed Scripture (Bhagavati Sutra) and the Scripture of Combinations (Samavayanga Sutra), according to which the commentaries were essential to grasp the full meaning of the scriptures. Further, when one studied the scriptures with the aid of the commentaries, it became clear that there were many references to the worship of icons. Through his textual studies, therefore, Atmaram became convinced that the traditional Sthanakavasi opposition to icons and temples contravened Jain scripture. The following year Atmaram was in Delhi. The local Digambara community took out a procession in which icons were mounted on carts. When the procession passed in front of the house where Atmaram and some other

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Sthanakavasi monks were studying, one of the other monks named Champalal, with whom Atmaram had already had several lengthy discussions concerning the appropriateness of icon worship, asked him what he thought of it. Atmaram said that the Digambaras and their icons were also part of the orthodox Jain tradition. Champalal countered that they were only worshipping inert stone, whereas he worshipped the immortal consciousness of the soul within himself. Champalal was joined in the argument by two other monks, Vishnachand and Hakamray. In the end, all three were convinced by the scriptural evidence that Atmaram was able to bring to bear on the question, and accepted that the worship of icons was proper. For the next ten years Atmaram publicly preached throughout the Punjab that the worship of icons was a proper Jain practice. He also engaged in debates with preachers from the Arya Samaj, a reformist Hindu sect that eschewed the worship of icons.6 Atmaram gained many converts. But he did not immediately abandon being a Sthanakavasi monk.7 Finally in 1874 in the town of Hoshiarpur he publicly took off his muhpatti, the face mask that Sthanakavasi monks wear continually as a sign of their commitment to non-harm. Atmaram had been convinced for several years that this practice also contravened the scriptures. His preaching in favor of icons had angered many Sthanakavasis, but since monks do not worship icons by making physical offerings to them, his vocal, ideological stance did not significantly change his actual day-to-day practice. Taking off his muhpatti, however, marked an obvious visual break with his Sthanakavasi compatriots, and signaled a new social identity. In 1875, Atmaram was invited to Ahmedabad by the Jain mayor (nagarsheth) and other leading members of the Murtipujaka congregation there. In Ahmedabad he met another former Sthanakavasi monk from the Punjab named Buteray, who had subsequently taken a new initiation as a Murtipujaka Tapa Gaccha monk with the name Buddhivijay.8 Buteray reinitiated Atmaram as a Tapa Gaccha monk with the new name Anandvijay, along with fifteen other former Sthanakavasi monks. This was obviously a major public victory for the icon-worshipping Jains in the ongoing public debates within Jain society about temples and icons. Eleven years later Anandvijay was promoted to the post of acharya, with a changed name—Acharya Vijayanandsuri— in a grand celebration in the town of Palitana, at the base of Mount Shatrunjaya, the most important Murtipujaka pilgrimage shrine in western India. The event was attended by 35,000 people. Atmaram continued for the remainder of his life to be a powerful spokesperson for the worship of icons, writing books and engaging in public debates in Gujarat, Rajasthan, and the Punjab. He also became the global public face of Jainism because of his extensive interaction with Western scholars, as a result of which he was invited to attend the World

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Parliament of Religions in Chicago in 1893. He declined the offer in light of his strict adherence to his vow of non-harm, but trained the young Englishspeaking Jain lawyer Virchand Gandhi in the basics of Jain doctrine in order to attend the Parliament and give a keynote address. We see from these two accounts how central Jina images, and their worship in temples, have been in the lives of some Jains. In neither case were images the only cause of the changes in their lives. In both cases scripture also played an important role, one that I will return to in this book. The proper mode of monastic conduct was also an important issue for both men; this is an issue I will touch on only in passing. In the first case a layman who had been raised in the ritual culture of temples and icons came, through a study of scripture, to realize that this ritual culture was opposed to the fundamental Jain value of non-harm. As a result, he radically changed his life. He rejected the worship of images as idols and started a new sect within Jainism that formally eschewed temples and images. In the second case, a man who had been so deeply influenced by this aniconic renunciant tradition that he abandoned his natal Hinduism and took initiation as a Sthanakavasi monk came, through his study of scripture and its commentaries, to realize that the aniconic ritual culture was opposed to the original teachings of Mahavira and his successors. As a result, he also radically changed his life. He actively preached that Jains should worship images as icons, and eventually abandoned the monastic tradition into which he had been initiated, took reinitiation into the icon-worshipping Murtipujaka tradition, and took on a new name. The first story narrates events in the fifteenth century, whereas the second one narrates much more recent events, from the nineteenth century. Our narrators, however, framed their historical narratives in ways designed to emphasize their contemporary relevance. Santbal used the language of a “revolution” (kranti) and a “movement” (andolan). Both of these are distinctly modern terms in Jainism, and give evidence of Santbal’s living during a time of revolutionary change in India. It should come as no surprise that Santbal was, in the words of Kristi Wiley (2004: 191), “influenced by the Gandhian movement and engaged in various projects, including village education, cottage industries, and animal protection.” His abiding concern for social welfare led to his being expelled from the religiously conservative Sthanakavasi community of Gujarat, who believed that such social work was opposed to a proper monastic focus on world renunciation. Vallabhsuri did not use the language of “revolution” to frame his narrative, as did the later layman Baldev Raj Jain. But he did use language that placed his subject within the discourse of modernity, with its associated

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emphasis on social progress. Just as Lonka Shah, according to Santbal, had been the creator of a revolution, so Atmaram, according to Vallabhsuri, was the creator of a new era. This emphasis on the “new” was also a reflection of the influence of modernity on Vallabhsuri. Something being “new” (nava) or “innovative” (navya) is not, of course, new in India, or even in Jainism. As Paul Dundas (2007: 5) has pointed out, Devendrasuri in the thirteenth century characterized his exposition of karma theory as the Innovative Karma Texts (Navya Karmagrantha), Siddhicandra in the seventeenth century wrote in a poetic style that followed the contemporary “new” (navina) school of Sanskrit aesthetics, and in the seventeenth century Yashovijaya employed the fashionable “new logic” (navya-nyaya) to bolster his learned arguments. In Vallabhsuri’s usage “new” echoed the forward-looking optimism and language of change and progress that we find in modernist expressions throughout the world. Vallabhsuri probably would have agreed with the injunction of his slightly younger contemporary on the other side of the globe, the American and internationalist poet, essayist and “kulture-critic” Ezra Pound, to “make it new.” Like Santbal, Vallabhsuri also engaged in broader social issues. He helped found a number of schools, including the Mahavira Jain Vidyalaya in Bombay; he helped resettle refugees from Pakistani West Punjab after Partition; and he also was influenced by Gandhi, so much so that he himself wore only monastic robes of khadi: the handspun and handwoven cloth emblematic of the Gandhian movement.9 Vallabhsuri also faced public criticism for his social activism, which many conservative monks and laymen of the Tapa Gaccha viewed as inappropriate to and even in violation of his monastic vows. Both Santbal and Vallabhsuri used the term “era” (yug) in referring to their heroes. In doing so, both reframed the traditional Indic concept of temporal ages (yuga). Whereas traditional yuga theory in Jainism, Hinduism, and Buddhism views the present as a dark age near the end of a long descent of time, Santbal’s and Vallabhsuri’s use of the term resonates more with the emphasis on progress and improvement one finds in the language of modernity.10

The Jina Image At the center of this book is the image of the Jina, the enlightened and liberated teacher who is the “founder” of Jainism in the sense that each Jina reestablishes both the teachings (shashana) and the community (tirtha). Jainism understands time in this part of the universe to operate in a series of ascending and descending cycles. In the middle of each six-part cycle twenty-four Jinas are

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born, attain enlightenment, teach, and then attain liberation from the world. Since time is beginning-less and endless, there is an infinite number of Jinas in this part of the universe. As we will see in chapter 2, Jinas also exist in other regions of the universe, so that their numbers are uncountable in terms of both time and space. Jainism is thus a polytheistic religion. At the same time, each Jina is identical in his existence as pure soul, dwelling in the four infinitudes of knowledge, perception, bliss, and power. Because it is impossible to differentiate one Jina from another, Jains speak of the Jinas in the singular. Jainism is thus also a monotheistic religion (Cort 2001b: 23). Images of the Jinas, of the Jina, as worshipped and venerated in temples, have long been central to the Jain tradition. The images that are worshipped are mostly in stone or metal, with a small number in quartz and other precious stones. While there are some textual references to images of wood and plaster, and in chapter 4 I discuss the narrative of a sandalwood Jina icon, these materials have not been used much for images because of the practice of regular, and in many temples daily, ablution of the images with water and other liquids. Only stone and metal can stand up to the wear and tear of regular worship, and the smooth and even obliterated features of many extant medieval images give evidence that even these durable materials are not immune to the affects of worship. Jains have not worshipped two-dimensional images in temples, although one finds many two-dimensional images in various media used to narrate the lives of the Jinas. Images are only a part of a rich Jain material culture that includes temples, image and temple ornaments, diverse ritual implements, meditational aids, books, monastic robes, bowls, and staffs. Some of these other objects will appear in this book, but they are not the subject of my discussion. The object I will retain in the frame of this book is the threedimensional image of the Jina.

Icons and Iconoclasm in Jain History According to Jain cosmology, Jainism is the eternal, unchanging truth of the universe, and so is uncreated. Jainism has always existed and always will. The Jains as a religious community, however, emerged into the light of history sometime around the middle of the first millennium BCE.11 In the early centuries of the community, the Jains, in common with all or almost all other religious communities in ancient India, did not use three-dimensional images in their rituals. In chapter 1, I review the scholarly evidence that shows clearly that Jains commissioned and worshipped images at least as early as the first century

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BCE. Far from “borrowing” the practice from Buddhists or Hindus, the evidence indicates that the Jains may have been pioneers in developing a culture of images. While images were not part of “original Jainism,” the history of images and their worship is certainly an ancient one in Jainism. Image or icon traditions often generate iconoclastic critiques. The history of Christianity, for example, has seen two long-lasting and virulent periods of iconoclasm, first with the Iconoclastic Controversy in the eighth and ninth centuries, and then with the Protestant Reformation in the sixteenth century. Both these periods saw wholesale changes in Christian ritual, material, and visual culture. Jainism also saw an iconoclastic reaction to the worship of images. In chapter 5, I discuss the Shvetambara iconoclastic movement initiated by Lonka Shah in the fifteenth century that eventually led to the contemporary Sthanakavasi tradition that intentionally eschews the worship of images. In the same century in central India, Taran Svami founded a Digambara Jain congregation that while not expressly iconoclastic, does not install and worship images in its temples (Cort 2006a). Jain iconoclasm has not been as violent as Christian iconoclasm—as far as we know, neither Jain iconoclastic movement has resulted in the death of a single person or the destruction of a single building, whereas Christian iconoclasm has been accompanied by much death and destruction. But the Jain movements represent important chapters in any global history of icons and iconoclasts. There is no evidence of explicit iconoclasm in Jainism, or even explicit criticism of images, before the medieval period. Once we are attuned to the issues, however, we can see that there must have been Jain voices throughout the past two millennia that have at least questioned whether the use of material forms is appropriate in a religious tradition that sees the ultimate religious goal as the attainment of a state of thoroughly disembodied pure soul. We do not know who these critics and skeptics were, but the persistence with which imageworshipping Jains have articulated both the centrality of images to Jainism and the ubiquitousness of images in the universe tells us that they were there. This book is in large measure a study of the extended Jain responses to these unknown critics.12

Images, Icons, and Idols A word about language is appropriate here. As I have discussed elsewhere (Cort 2005b), most scholars choose to use the term “image” to refer to threedimensional sculptures in ritual and devotional settings. The English word “icon” is often restricted to the two-dimensional paintings used in liturgical

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settings in the Eastern Orthodox Christian traditions. Because the word so readily brings these paintings to mind, many scholars avoid using it for other sacred images in order to avoid confusion. The term “idol” is similarly restricted in its use, since it is so strongly connected in English with both the Biblical commandment prohibiting the worship of graven idols and the later Protestant critiques of the Catholic veneration of icons as idolatry.13 For many English speakers, in other words, “icon” and “idol” bring with them too much intellectual and theological baggage to be useful in scholarly writing, and so the word of choice is the more theologically neutral “image.” This is the choice I have made in most of my own earlier writings (Cort 2001b: 219–20n2). In this book, however, I have decided to use all three words, with the preference being determined by the Jain context. In most chapters I use “icon.” I want to indicate that for icon-worshipping Jains, a Jina image is just as much a sacred presence an image of Christ is in the icon-worshipping Christian traditions. When discussing the attitudes toward images of the aniconic and iconoclastic Sthanakavasis and Terapanthis, I use “idol,” for the negative connotations of this word are quite appropriate in these settings. I intentionally use the words “icon” and “idol,” recognizing that they are charged words in Christian theological settings, and therefore in English language settings, because I want to give the reader a fuller sense of the emotional power of the words and their referents in Jainism. Devout Christians and Jains have argued, fought, and in some Christian settings even died over sacred icons and false idols. “Images” do not stir up the same intensity of positive and negative emotions. The very neutrality of “image” that I have preferred in other writings is problematic in terms of the goals of this book. I do, however, use “image” in chapter 1, since in that chapter I present the scholarly history of Jain images according to archaeology and texts. Here, I want to avoid the sectarian readings of that history.14

History and Narrative Another term that I use in this book is “narrative.” This has been the subject of extensive theorizing in recent years, especially in the fields of history and literature, but also in other fields such as anthropology and folklore.15 I do not intend this book as a contribution to these theoretical discussions. Instead, I use “narrative” simply as a cover term for a wide range of literary genres, in all of which Jains have sought to account for the presence of images (both as icons and idols) in their own ritual culture and in the world and universe at large. Many of the narratives that I relate in the pages to follow are recognizably within the genre of history (and the closely related genre of myth, or perhaps better,

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mytho-history). They relate a sequence of events through which images were introduced into Jain practice. There are other genres that I also include here, and in so doing stretch the sense of narrative beyond what one might expect. In chapter 2, for example, I examine Jain cosmological and cosmographical texts. These do not relate a sequence of events, but rather the eternal and unchanging geographical layout of the cosmos. In chapter 6, I examine several modern Jain texts that might appear to fit more comfortably within the genres of theology or even psychology. All of them, however, are in my estimation directed at answering a common set of questions: Why do images exist? Why do people worship images? The range of genres employed by Jains to address these questions, a range that I combine under the broad characterization of “narrative,” is, I argue, another indication of how central images have been to the Jain tradition for millennia.

Frames A third term that I use in this book, and that has provided me with my title, is “frame.” In a 1991 essay, the art critics Mieke Bal and Norman Bryson outlined what they argued were the problems caused by the use of the word “context” in the analysis of art history. Their argument was repeated and extended in an essay by Bryson alone in the following year. Bryson (1992: 19) observed that there are a number of assumptions in the word “context,” which are rarely perceived: First, there is the implied opposition between context and work of art, context and visual text; these are taken as predestined antonyms, in that the text is something to be explained by the context: here lies the visual text, waiting for the context to come to order its uncertainties, and over there is the context, as that which shall act upon the text and transfer to the latter its own certainties and determinations. Context and text are thus established in the guise of a separation that is at the same time an evident hierarchy, for the expectation is that the context will control the text; once their opposition is staked out the terms taken together are made to form an economy in which context is active and the text or work of art passive. In other words, only the text is in need of interpretation, and this is done by context. That context, however, “seems comfortably out of reach of the pervasive need for interpretation that affects all texts” (Bal and Bryson 1991: 180).

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Bal and Bryson based their critique of context in part on the work of the literary critic Norman Culler, whom they quote immediately following the sentence I have quoted just above.16 Culler (1988: xiv) wrote: [T]he notion of context frequently oversimplifies rather than enriches discussion, since the opposition between an act and its context seems to presume that the context is given and determines the meaning of the act. We know, of course, that things are not so simple: context is not fundamentally different from what it contextualizes; context is not given but produced; what belongs to a context is determined by interpretive strategies; contexts are just as much in need of elucidation as events; and the meaning of a context is determined by events. Yet when we use the term context we slip back into the simple model it proposes. Culler proposed in place of “context” that we use the term “frame,” both as a noun and a verb. Culler imported the term from legal theory: Think of the expressions “to frame” and “frame up,” in which one creates a false context so that the text is read in such a manner that an innocent person is perceived to be guilty. Culler argued that whereas “context” has a given quality, as something that is “natural” and therefore in no need of elucidation, the term “frame” keeps the action and intention of the framer more clearly in the picture. He said of “framing,” framing . . . eludes the incipient positivism of “context” by alluding to the semiotic function of framing in art, where the frame is determining, setting off the object or event as art, and yet the frame itself may be nothing tangible, pure articulation. Although analysis can seldom live up to the complexities of framing and falls back into discussion of context, with its heuristically simplifying presumptions, let us at least keep before us the notion of framing. Culler’s (and Bal and Bryson’s) point becomes clearer, if we pursue his reference to the use of “frame” in its primary artistic meaning. Art historians view their brief to be the interpretation of a work of art. In the case of a painting, this is understood to be the canvas (or wood, wall, or other flat surface). This is what is analyzed, and this is what appears in most reproductions. However, the painting does not stand alone, and so for a fuller analysis the critic turns to the context: the painter’s life, his or her influences, and contemporaries; the role

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of the patron; and the technical details of the production of the painting. These are all naturalized, positive “facts” that explain the painting. How does the incorporation of the frame change this? Our perception of a painting will alter significantly if it is framed in one instance in an ornate, gilt, rococo wooden frame, carved by a master craftsman, that almost overpowers the painting, and then in another instance in a simple silver- or gold-colored metal frame that was purchased at the local art supply store. Our perception— and therefore our interpretation and understanding—will change yet again if we substitute a 1960s Pop Art frame of brilliant orange and pink stripes, or a plain wooden frame covered with a lengthy inscription. A fuller understanding therefore needs to take the context into consideration, and problematize it in the same way that the text or painting was problematized. But this is not as easy at it might seem. As Culler (1982: 123) has pointed out: “[T]otal context is unmasterable, both in principle and in practice. Meaning is context-bound, but context is boundless.” He continued (123–24): “[A]ny given context is open to further description. There is no limit in principle to what might be included in a given context, to what might be shown to be relevant.” Having brought the immediate frame (context) into our analysis, we then need to expand our interpretive gaze. How does the meaning of the painting and its frame when we hang it in a museum or a temple, in a corporate board room or a library, in a drawing room or a lavatory? How does it change if we hang the painting on a tree in the woods, or blow it up onto a highway billboard? And how does it change when we place it in the seemingly decontextualized context, the unframed frame, of cyberspace? Context continues to recede, and every time we turn context into text we simply create another context. The concept of “frame” at least acknowledges the agency of the interpreter. It also allows us to bring to a standstill the process of endless recession, even if the point at which we decide to stop is an arbitrary one, chosen by the interpreter. Once we see the role of the frame in shaping meaning, we can bring the framer into the picture, and see more clearly how interpretation is an active process of inclusion and exclusion. I raise this theoretical point because I want the reader to understand the extent to which I as a scholar of the Jains and comparative religion have determined the interpretive frames within which I locate the Jina image. Some of these frames might seem “natural”: history, scripture, and comparison with the images of contemporaneous South Asian religious traditions. Other frames, however, such as a Japanese Buddha icon, mandalas, or twentieth-century Minimalist art, will indicate more clearly my role as the

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framer of this book. Through the use of these frames, I want to expand and deepen our understanding of the meanings of the image—the icon, the idol— of the Jina throughout Jain history. These frames allow us to see how Jain worship of icons and rejection of idols share many aspects with other religious traditions. They also allow us to see some of the ways that Jainism has been a religious tradition that has, to borrow a phrase from Richard Davis (2001: 108), “embraced the iconic.”

1 The Archaeology of Jina Images

The iconophilic narratives of the icon-worshipping Jains that are the focus of much of this book portray Jina icons as eternal and uncreated. Icons are a “natural” part of the cosmos, and therefore without a “history.” From an academic perspective, however, they do have a history. The full details of this history are still in certain elements indistinct, and key parts of it we will probably never know with any high degree of certainty. Much vital evidence is either lost forever in the soil of India, or in manuscript pages that have long since disintegrated into their elements. Nonetheless, it is clear that images—and here I shift from “icon” to “image,” to signal that I am speaking from the framework of the discipline of history with its claims to objectivity and sectarian neutrality—are not an eternal institution in Jainism. The evidence of both archaeology and philology point to a time in the early history of Jainism when there were neither images nor temples. These, therefore, have an origin (or multiple origins) in time and place. At the same time, it is important to recognize that history never exists outside of ideological frameworks. How one chooses to narrate history, what facts one decides to include and omit, are products of the intellectual presuppositions with which one approaches the historical task. Academic history is based upon the presuppositions of the scientific method: The historian strives to present the data in accordance with the most recent and thorough investigations, and to interpret them in a manner that others, even if they disagree with the conclusions, see

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as reasonable and adequate. But academic historians, concerned to understand better the history of images, art, and religion in South Asia, are not the only ones who have studied and interpreted the material I present in this chapter. The academic discourse of history has intersected in significant ways with Jain self-understandings in the last 200 years.1 The data I present here in an academic framework have been subject to extensive interpretations by both iconophilic and iconoclastic Jain intellectuals, as we will see in chapters 5 and 6. The evidence that Jains did not worship images in the earliest years of the tradition has been seized upon by iconoclastic Sthanakavasi authors to buttress their insistence that images are not part of original and therefore “true” Jainism. The evidence that images are found at early (albeit not the earliest) layers of Jainism, and from locations seemingly throughout India, coupled with evidence of very early Jain (or Jain-like) images both in South Asia and other parts of the globe, has been taken by iconophilic Jain authors as proof of the universality of images and image worship. Authors from both sides would nod in approval of parts of this chapter, and stridently disagree with others. To a significant extent the history of Jain images cannot be separated from the histories of images in the Buddhist and Hindu traditions.2 The ritual and theological cultures of images developed more or less simultaneously in all three traditions, and quite possibly developed in a single region of north India, centered around the ancient city of Mathura.3 Even though it is possible to develop a rough chronology of the use of images in the three traditions, the chronology does not allow us to posit a definitive pattern of images developing in one tradition first and then being borrowed by the others. We are missing too much information, and therefore must construct our understanding on too fragile a foundation to advance a conclusive argument about origin, diffusion, influence, and borrowing. As with many other developments in South Asian religions—yoga, bhakti, formal philosophy (darshana), and tantra come readily to mind—a more accurate model is to see the growth of the use of images as a religious, cultural, and artistic phenomenon that affected all three traditions at more or less the same time. Further, the available medieval and modern evidence concerning the carving and casting of images indicates that these technologies have operated on a cross-community basis; craftsmen in a single or neighboring workshops have produced images for a number of different religious communities. Interactions among religious communities are as likely to happen at the level of material culture as at the level of theological discourse. We therefore need to situate any discussion of the “origin” of the Jina image within a larger, pan-sectarian framework. A full study of this subject would require a book in itself, and would be a very different book from this one. I do not attempt a comprehensive history of the development of the use of three-dimensional

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images in South Asia to depict and worship divinity. I bring into my interpretive framework evidence from other traditions and communities only sparingly.4

The Jina Image Before discussing the history of the Jina image, it will be useful for the reader to have a better understanding of what a Jina image is (Figures 1.1 and 1.2). Early in their history the Jains developed a standard iconography by which they depict the figure of the enlightened and liberated teacher, the Jina, in threedimensional form. The figures are always male, a point that is quite obvious in the case of naked Digambara images.5 Jina images come in two poses. In one he is seated with the legs folded upon each other, and the hands one atop the other, palms facing upward, resting on the lap. In the other he stands erect, legs and feet parallel, and the arms hanging down at the side of the body with the palms facing inward. These depict the two bodily poses for Jain meditation. The body is in a stable position of rest, allowing for full attention to be turned away from the external sensory world of material form, and inward toward the ultimate reality of pure soul. There are differences between Digambara and Shvetambara images in details such as the direction of the eyes’ gaze, whether

FIGURE 1.1. Seated Shvetambara icon of Adeshvara (Rishabhanatha), Shamlaji Parshvanatha temple, Patan. Photo: John E. Cort (1996).

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FIGURE 1.2. Standing Digambara Jina icon, Neminatha temple, Amer. Photo: John E. Cort (1999).

the image depicts a naked or clothed body, and whether or not it is covered with temporary ornament. While these differences are very important for the different ritual cultures, I will not go into them here.6 The basic geometry of the stone or metal image is largely the same in the two traditions. In his The Bud of Kalyan (Kalyan Kalika; Kalyanvijay 1987: 256), a massive two-volume anthology and study of Jain temple architecture, iconography, and rituals, the twentieth-century Shvetambara Murtipujaka monk Kalyanvijaygani (to whom I return in chapter 6) quotes the following two verses from The Compendium of Jaya (Jaya Samhita), a medieval craft manual (shilpa shastra)7: That which is formless is given a form (rupa). He is the form of the universe, the lord of the world. It is the embodiment (murti) of enlightenment (kevala-jnana), the one who has conquered all passions, the Jina lord.

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He has two arms and just one head. He sits on a lotus. The embodiment of the Jina shows the teacher of the world as absorbed in the ultimate (brahma). These two verses indicate the ideal that a Jina image is intended to depict: The enlightened being who has overcome all bodily attachments and passions and thereby become pure disembodied soul. In the words of Heinrich Zimmer (1951: 209), the Jina is a “perfected saint, completely detached from worldly bondage because absolutely purified of the elements of karma that color and deform our normal human lives.” A Jina image, he continues, “well suggests the sublime translucency of a body purified of the gross of tangible matter.” In contrast to most Hindu images, as well as many later Buddhist images of bodhisattvas, cosmic Buddhas, and other Buddhist deities, the iconography of the enlightened and liberated Jina has remained that of a normal (albeit perfected) human being, with just two arms and a single head.8 At the same time, while the Jains have insisted on a greater fidelity to a recognizable humanness in their images than Hindus and Buddhists, they have shared with the other two great iconic traditions of South Asia an understanding that the enlightened and liberated Jina is nonetheless in a profound sense trans-human. He is not just a person (purusha), he is a Great Person (maha-purusha). The Jains therefore shared with the other traditions an iconic intention to depict in an image someone who is more than human—someone who is divine.9 In the Buddhist setting, this involved depicting in the image some of the thirty-two marks (lakshana) of a Great Person. These included long, webbed fingers; a penis concealed in a sheath; long arms; thirty-four teeth that were straight and pure white; blue eyes; a tuft of hair between the eyebrows; and a protuberance from the top of the head.10 These are all physical marks that could be depicted either in the sculpture itself or by means of the paint affixed to the image. These bodily signs played a significant role in the biography of the Buddha, for at his birth his father called in diviners to inspect the body of the newborn prince. They foretold that he would become either a worldconquering king or a world-conquering spiritual liberator. The Jains have maintained that the body of a Jina is similarly distinguishable from that of an average human being, especially during the period after his enlightenment but before his total liberation from the karma that caused his soul to be entrapped in the body of a normal human. During this period he is known as a kevalin, one who has realized kevala-jnana or enlightenment (Dundas 1985). According to the Jains, there are thirty-four distinguishing characteristics (atishaya, literally “eminences”) of a kevalin, which should also be used as much as possible in the iconic depiction of a Jina. Slightly different

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lists are given in Shvetambara and Digambara texts; my discussion here will address the former.11 The Jain atishayas differ significantly from the Buddhist lakshanas in that whereas the latter are all bodily marks, and therefore relatively easy to depict in two- or three-dimensional representation, many of the Jain marks are of a more abstract nature. In the latter category are atishayas such as his breath having the fragrance of a lotus; every living being that listens to the Jina understanding his preaching in his or her own language; disease, enmity, seasonal calamities, epidemics, excessive rain, drought, famine, and fear of government or enemies not existing in his proximity; and his always being accompanied by a pleasant breeze and good weather. But other marks can be depicted. That the Jina is beautiful calls on the sculptor to exercise all his skill. The other marks are not of his body, but are divinely created accompaniments that came to be included in the elaborate carved surrounds (parikara) of Jina images. Prominent among these are seven marks that are also found in a related list of eight miraculous attending features (pratiharya). The full set of eight are not found in the carved surrounds of images until the fourth or fifth century CE, but individual features are found in the surrounds from the early centuries CE (Shah 1975a: 53–58).12 The seven that are in both the lists of atishayas and pratiharyas are an ashoka tree that towers over the preaching Jina, a shower of five-colored flowers, divine yak-tail fans, a lion-throne, a halo, the sound of divine drums (visually portrayed by divine drummers), and a triple parasol above him. The additional attending feature is divine music (visually portrayed by other divine musicians). The eight attending features in the carved surround of an image, marks that indicate that the central figure is a Great Person worthy of veneration and worship, are where the sculptor could exhibit the greatest innovation. The figure of the Jina himself, however, was a preserve of divine simplicity and stability. The Jina, whether seated or standing, symbolized, as the verse quoted by Kalyanvijay indicated, an ideal being who was absorbed in spiritual equanimity. The Jina image is also a model of symmetry, in particular a mirror or bilateral symmetry along its vertical axis. As István and Magdolna Hargittai (1994: 14) note, mirror or bilateral symmetry is often used in religious images to express a divine or spiritual harmony. The symmetry of the Jina image further conveys stability and perfection. The seated image of a Jina represents a firm triangle on both the vertical and horizontal planes, which is fitting for a being who has transcended the flux of the world and attained total equanimity. Hindu images depict deities who are still active in the world (as do Jain images of unliberated deities such as yakshas and yakshis). Their images, accordingly,

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while depicting an overall balance that is appropriate for a being who is more powerful than the natural forces of the world, lacks the strong, simple symmetry of the Jina. With its multiple and differentiated arms, and a body that is often in the classical Indian “three-bend” (tribhanga) posture, Hindu images depict a deity still active in the world—and, from a Jain perspective, therefore still in the thralls of likes and dislikes, of all the passions. The Jina has conquered the passions and so is vitaraga, whereas Hindu deities are lesser and active because they are still passionate (saraga). This emphasis on the depiction of the Jina as one who has overcome all volitional interaction with the world has resulted in a restricted iconography. Because Hindu deities and Buddhist bodhisattvas are active in the world, they can be depicted in multiple ways to correspond to their many stories and activities. The iconographies of these deities are accordingly quite complex, and a full “reading” of a Hindu or bodhisattva icon often requires a knowledge of the biographies of the deities on the part of both craftsmen and ritual viewers. In some ways the lives of the Buddha and the Jina present a similar problem to the iconographer, as both biographies end with the attainment of a spiritual state that transcends any depiction in material form. This is seen clearly in the case of the Jina icon, as the Jina is always depicted in one of the two standard Jain meditative poses: seated in the full-lotus position, or standing in the position known as “abandonment of the body” (kayotsarga). Both the Jina and the Buddha have biographies that include many events before the attainment of enlightenment and liberation. In the case of the Jina, these are summarized in the formula of the five kalyanakas or “beneficial events” in the life of the Jina: conception, birth, renunciation, embodied enlightenment, and disembodied liberation. These five moments provide the visual frame for most narrative paintings of the life of the Jina, notably in the Shvetambara illustrations of the Kalpa Sutra (Scripture of Rules; Cort 1992). With the single exception of the “Living Lord” icon of Mahavira, which is the subject of chapter 4, Jains have chosen not to depict this earlier biography in their ritual icons. The Jina is depicted at the moment of either the fourth kalyanaka, embodied enlightenment, when he is able to transmit the Jain teachings to the assembled multitude of humans, deities, and animals, or the fifth kalyanaka, disembodied liberation, when he has realized the ultimate goal of all Jains. This is clearly indicated in the multi-day ritual by which a Jina icon is consecrated. As part of the ritual, laypeople dramatically reenact the life of the Jina up to the moment of enlightenment. At this point a ritual specialist “opens the eye” of the icon. According to Shvetambaras, the icon is now ready for worship (Cort 2006b). Digambaras, however, choose to reenact dramatically the fifth kalyanaka as well, and so burn several pieces of sandalwood to symbolize

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the cremation of the deceased body of the Jina. The icon is now suitable for worship (Fischer and Jain 1977: 17–19, 1978:I: 4–14). This Digambara emphasis on the image depicting the liberated Jina, in contrast to the Shvetambara depiction of the enlightened but not yet liberated Jina, is seen clearly in the Digambara iconographic tradition of the siddha pratima or “image of the perfected one,” which shows the Jina in its state of pure immaterial soul by an image of an empty space within a male silhouette.13 (Figure 1.3) The Buddhists chose a different approach to iconic depiction. They also frame the life of the Buddha within a set of great events, in this case four: birth, enlightenment, first teaching, and bodily passing away. Whereas the Jains have refrained from iconically depicting the events other than enlightenment, the Buddhists have chosen to do so. The two most prominent iconographic forms of the Buddha are seated in meditation and at the moment soon before enlightenment, when he touched the earth to dispel the temptations and attacks of the deity Mara and thereby to have the earth serve as witness to the properness of his spiritual pursuit. But there are also images that depict the Buddha as an infant standing up right after his birth (images that are used especially for the rite of lustration on the annual celebration of his birth), seated with his hands

FIGURE 1.3. Digambara Siddha icon, Bari Divan temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

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in a gesture of teaching, standing with his hands in the gestures of fear-not and giving, and lying down at the moment of his bodily decease.

The Evidence from Archaeology Mathura The earliest incontrovertible evidence of Jina images comes from Mathura. The broken fragments of an architrave from one of the most famous archaeological sites of Mathura, the Kankali Tila, include two seated images of Rishabhanatha, the first Jina, seated in meditation (Figures 1.4 and 1.5). Rishabhanatha is identifiable in early images as he is the only Jina shown with long hair, usually hanging over his shoulders, but in this case depicted as a short pigtail. Sonya Quintanilla (2007: 41) argues that these two images “may be the earliest surviving representations of Jaina tirthankaras at Mathura,” and by extension, anywhere in India. In her opinion, the architrave dates to about 100 BCE.14 These two images are found in a narrative context. According to U. P. Shah (1955c: 11) and Quintanilla (2007: 41–47), the architrave portrays the dance of the beautiful celestial nymph Nilanjana.15 She was sent by the god Indra to perform a fatal dance in front of Rishabha, who was then still a king, in order to engender in the future Jina a sense of world-weariness and desire for renunciation.16 Jina images have continued to be found in narrative frameworks, both sculptural and painted, until the present. Many modern illustrated publications of the aniconic Sthanakavasis and Terapanthis demonstrate a willingness to employ figural representation in a narrative and educational setting. In an

1.4. Architrave with narrative portrait of two seated Rishabhanathas on left, from Mathura, ca. 100 BCE. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

FIGURE

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FIGURE

1.5. Detail of left side of Fig. 1.4. Photo: Sonya Rhie Quintanilla.

attitude similar in many ways to that of the Protestant reformer Martin Luther, the aniconic Jains have objected to the use of images in devotional and ritual frameworks more than in narrative or educational ones. Jain images at Mathura were not limited to narrative portrayals. The vast majority of the Jain images from Mathura are free-standing ones that were most certainly used in ritual settings. Quintanilla argues that the earliest of these ritual images is a broken and headless life-sized standing Jina image now in the Lucknow Museum. Although the head of the image is missing, it is nonetheless identifiable as Parshvanatha because of the coils of the serpent deity behind it (2007: 93–95). Quintanilla dates the image to between 100 and 75 BCE.17 (Figure 1.6) Only one other scholar has discussed this image. Gritli von Mitterwallner (1986: 92) agrees that it is an early image, but dates it much later than Quintanilla. In Mitterwallner’s estimation it comes from the time of the Shaka ruler Sodasa, and so is from the first third of the second century CE. Mitterwallner’s discussion of the image, however, is rather cursory, just a single short paragraph. Quintanilla is the only scholar who has subjected the image to a detailed analysis. According to Quintanilla’s analysis, this Jain image predates the earliest extant Buddha images by about a century-and-a-half (2007: 250). She hypothesizes that the Buddha images were modeled on the earlier Jain ones. At the same time, she argues that the Jina images in turn were modeled on earlier

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FIGURE 1.6. Standing icon of Parshvanatha and attendant, from Mathura, ca. 100–75 BCE. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo: Sonya Rhie Quintanilla.

images of seated ascetics and Brahmans. Gregory Schopen (1997: 251), on the other hand, has followed David Snellgrove et al. (1978: 52–55) and J. E. van Lohuizen-de Leeuw (1949: 153) and argued that the earliest Buddha images were based on earlier images of yakshas and portrait sculptures of Kushana emperors. While Schopen ignores the Jina image as a possible intermediary stage, Snellgrove et al., following van Lohuizen-de Leeuw (1949: 152–55), recognize that the earliest datable Jina images slightly predate their Buddhist counterparts, and so “the seated Buddha image . . . may be a deliberate adaption of the Jina.”18 They go on to add that the work of the sculptors “was never a sectarian pursuit,” and as a result any sequential ordering that we may posit on the basis of the existing evidence for the development of cultic images in Mathura “has no essential importance” (Snellgrove et al. 1978: 55). It would only take one new datable earlier Buddha image to overturn any suggestion of sequential priority. It is safest simply to assume that there were multiple lines

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of influence, as the sculptors and patrons of ancient Mathura developed new iconographies within the new medium of large stone sculpture.19 Any conclusions, therefore, must remain tentative at best. It is obvious that we have at hand only a small percentage of the images produced at Mathura over many centuries, and the recovery of even a single hitherto unknown image could overturn the extant chronology of images. I am reluctant to place undue interpretive weight on Quintanilla’s dating of the Lucknow Parshvanatha image. It has received insufficient scholarly analysis. In her chronology, the next free-standing Jina image doesn’t come for nearly two centuries. This is a badly damaged pedestal of a standing image of Mahavira, which can probably be dated to 113 or 114 CE on the basis of its inscription (Quintanilla 2007: 246–48). Since all that remains of the Jina himself is the front half of the feet, it is impossible to make any conclusions about the image on the basis of iconography or style. These are the only two free-standing ritual Jina images from Mathura from before the emperor Kanishka, that is, before the second century CE (2007: 247). In my estimation, this is too thin a database to come to any strong conclusion concerning the origin and development of the Jina image. What is clear is that the use of Jina images at Mathura in both narrative and ritual settings was a very early development. Second, the tradition of Jina icons continued extensively in Mathura for many centuries. In his survey of Jina images from Mathura, N. P. Joshi (1989) lists 172 images from the second century BCE to the third century CE. Third, on the basis of the available evidence we can also hypothesize that the Jina image preceded the Buddha image at Mathura. Both of them were preceded by images of local deities and by royal portraits. Mathura was also the site of the development of a third form of representation of the Jina: elaborately carved stone plaques, most of them nearly square, and between two and three feet on a side, known as ayagapatas (Quintanilla 2000, 2007: 97–141). Several dozen of them have survived, from between about 150 BCE and 300 CE, with most of them from the period between 50 BCE and 100 CE (Quintanilla 2007: 103). No ayagapatas have yet been found from later periods (140). To a significant extent the extant ayagapatas predate the extant free-standing Jina images, so they play an important role in the history of the development of the Jina image. Scholars are still uncertain as to their precise function. The term ayagapata means a “tablet of homage or veneration.” Ayaga20 is a noun derived from the old Vedic verbal root a¯ -÷yaj, “to make oblations or offer (to gods),” and so its original meaning was “a gift given at a sacrifice” (Monier-Williams 1963: 148). As with much of the language of all later South Asian ritual traditions, the term lost its specific Vedic connotations and entered into the common language of

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ritual and liturgy, and so was applied by the Jains in the more general sense of a gift or offering. The word is found in the inscriptions to many of the Mathura tablets. In some inscriptions the object is called a shilapata (“stone tablet”). It is clear that they were not just ornamental, as in almost all cases the central figure is either a Jina or some auspicious symbol to which veneration was likely to be directed. If they were installed vertically, either in the central worship space of a temple or on an outside wall, it is possible that they could have served as the visual focus for rites of veneration, and that objects could have been placed in front of them in rites of worship. There is also evidence that they were installed horizontally, with offerings made directly onto the plaques themselves. U. P. Shah (1955b: 46, 1955c: 83) hypothesizes that they were not installed in the sancta of temples, but outside under special holy trees. He bases this on a description of these plaques found in the canonical Scripture on Spontaneous Arising (Aupapatika Sutra), a text Paul Dundas (2002: 23–24) has dated provisionally to the early centuries CE, i.e. a time when ayagapatas were still in ritual use. Almost all of the surviving ayagapatas are Jain. There are several Buddhist ones, indicating that their use was part of a broader ritual culture of ancient Mathura, similar to the shared use of images and stupas (reliquary mounds). Their use appears to have been restricted to ancient Mathura, as we do not find either archaeological or textual evidence of them from later times or from elsewhere.21 Some ayagapatas have nonhuman figures and symbols carved in the center. Many have seated Jinas as their central images, especially those that date from the late first century BCE onward (Figure 1.7). In other ayagapatas the Jina image is still an important focus, but appears as one among several auspicious symbols. In one ayagapata now in the Ferenc Hopp Museum in Budapest, which Quintanilla dates to the end of the first century BCE, the Jina image closely approximates a free-standing ritual image of a seated Jina (2007: fig. 146). Quintanilla observes (2007: 102) that ayagapatas “seem to have been the preferred medium for the early depiction of iconic, anthropomorphic images of the tirthankaras.” Mathura was also the location of several cultic structures in which Jina images presumably must have been worshipped. The best-known structure is the Jain stupa (reliquary mound). As I discuss in chapter 3, stupas and images were closely associated in early Jain ritual culture, and so a stupa may well have had either images or ayagapatas on its outside. The history of the study of the ruined Jain stupa of Mathura is fraught with problems (Folkert 1993: 95–112). As a result of these problems, in particular the hasty and unscientific manner of the excavations between 1888 and 1891 by A. A. Führer, it is not possible to assign a tentative date to the remains of the stupa itself. Debala Mitra

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FIGURE

1.7. Ayagapata with Jina in center, ca. 25–50 CE. National Museum,

New Delhi. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

(1974–75: 53) notes: “[I]n the absence of this essential documentation we have naturally to fall back on the representation of the structures on carved stones of the dismembered monuments to have an idea of the monuments raised by the Jains.” This inscriptional and archaeological evidence seems to indicate the existence of the stupa by at least the first century BCE (Mitra 1974–75: 53–54). Further, this evidence indicates that likely there was more than one Jain stupa in Mathura. Mitra (54n1) cites the Brihat Katha Kosha (Great Storehouse of Stories), composed by the Digambara Harishena in 932 CE, as saying that there were five Jain stupas in Mathura. While this much later memory may be exaggerated, Mitra concludes: “[E]ither there were more than one important stupa at this site or a sole stupa underwent restorations and embellishments at frequent intervals.” In addition to the stupa, we know from four inscriptions that there were several Jain temples and shrines at Mathura, from perhaps as early as the second century BCE (Mitra 1974–75: 51–52). An ornamented slab now in the State Museum, Lucknow, includes an inscription that says that a layman named Utaradasaka, the son of Vacchi,

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and disciple of the monk Maharakhita, donated the arch (torana) for a temple (pasada) (Bühler 1894a: 198–99; Lüders 1912: 17 [#93]). When he published the inscription, Georg Bühler (1894a: 195) wrote that the inscription “shows exceedingly archaic characters . . . [that] do not differ very much from those of Asoka’s edicts.” He concludes: “It may, therefore, be assigned to the middle of the second century B.C.” In his subsequent publication of the inscription Heinrich Lüders (1912: 17) does not address the issue of its date, and more recently Debala Mitra (1974–75: 51) accepts Bühler’s date when she writes that the inscription “proved” the existence of a Jain temple in the second century BCE. A second inscription comes probably from the late first century CE. This inscription, on a broken piece of an arch now in the Lucknow Museum, records that Dhamaghosha, who presumably was a laywoman, and who was a disciple of the revered monk Jayasena, donated a temple (pasada) (Bühler 1894a: 199; Lüders 1912: 18 [#99]; Lüders 1961: 49–51). Bühler (1894a: 196) describes this inscription as “archaic,” and expresses the opinion that it belonged to the period before Kanishka, that is, the late first century CE. Lüders and Mitra again simply accept Bühler’s estimation of the date of the inscription without further comment. An inscription on the back of a plaque now in the Mathura Museum records that the courtesan Vasu, daughter of Lonashobika and a lay follower of the Jain nuns, along with her mother, sister, daughter, son, and entire household donated a Jina shrine (arahata devikula) in the Jina temple (arahatayatana) for the purpose of worship (puja) of the Jinas (Agrawala 1950: 69–70; Lüders 1912: 18–19 [#102]; Quintanilla 2000: 121–22 and 2007: 135–38). Quintanilla dates the plaque itself to the late first century CE on stylistic grounds, but notes that the paleography of the inscription “points to a later dating, probably late in the second century A.D.” (2000: 122). She notes other cases of the reuse of plaques, so this was not unusual. The fourth inscription, on the pedestal of a broken image now in the Lucknow Museum, records that a woman, who was the daughter of Okharika and the sister of Shirika and Shivadina, installed an image of Mahavira in a Jina temple (arahatayatana). She also donated a shrine (devakula) (Banerjee 1908: 34; Lüders 1912: 15 [#78]; Sharma 1968: 146–50). The dating of this pedestal has been the subject of much disagreement.22 J. E. van Lohuizen-de Leeuw (1949: 56), and following her Debala Mitra (1974–75: 52), assign the image to early in the Kushan period, that is, to the early first century CE. R. C. Sharma (1968: 146–50), after a detailed analysis of these and other evaluations of the inscription, assigns it to the period after the fall of the Kushan dynasty, the mid-third century CE. Gritli von Mitterwallner (1986: 62–64) argues for a date of 142 CE. As we saw earlier, Quintanilla (2007: 246–48) dates it to 113 or 114 CE.

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These four inscriptions indicate the presence of multiple Jina temples and shrines (although the distinction between these two is not always clear23). These inscriptions have suffered from the same lack of scholarly attention, and severe dislocation from the necessary contextualizing archaeological information, as all the other Jain remains from Mathura. Three of the inscriptions appear to refer to temples and shrines from several centuries after the earliest evidence of Jina images, and are therefore unremarkable (although undoubtedly important for any fuller understanding of Jain religious life at Mathura). The oldest inscription, which Bühler dates to the middle of the second century BCE, would appear to predate the archaeological evidence of Jina images. While there may have been images before there were temples (Mitra 1974–75: 52), most certainly there were no temples before there were images. If Bühler’s estimate is correct, then it moves the earliest date for Jina images earlier than Quintanilla’s hypothesis by as much as half-a-century. But no one has revisited this inscription since Bühler’s initial publication, which came very early in the developing understanding of both the Jain presence in Mathura and Indian inscriptional paleography more generally. I am therefore hesitant to attach undue importance to Bühler’s dating of it. Mathura was a vital center for the production and ritual use of early Jina images. Sonya Quintanilla (2007: 250) has argued, in fact, that Mathura was most likely where the tradition of carving anthropomorphic images of the Jinas started, whence it spread to other areas of India. Given the state of our knowledge about ancient Indian sculpture, ritual, and society, this is in my estimation an overly ambitious conclusion. Nonetheless, as Kendall Folkert (1993: 111) pointed out, it is quite possible that the power of local traditions of the ancient holy site of Mathura themselves influenced and even shaped the development of Jain religiosity. One of these traditions may have been the carving of large stone images, which was adapted by all three of the “great” religious traditions, and from there spread throughout north India. What we can say in conclusion is that in Mathura there was a rich Jain culture of images (both narrative and ritual), ayagapatas, temples, shrines, and stupas at a very early date. It is possible that this culture originated in the second century BCE, and it certainly was in existence by the first century BCE.

The Lohanipur Torsos Mathura is not the only site where early Jina images have been found. In February 1937, some villagers in Lohanipur, a village in the suburbs of Patna that is also near the site of the ancient city of Pataliputra, capital of the Mauryas and then later the Guptas, found two stone torsos in the bed of an abandoned

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canal. They dug out the two statues, and, in a response that is widespread across India, placed them in a nearby mango orchard where they began to worship them.24 Two friends of K. P. Jayaswal of the Patna Museum noticed the statues. He went to the village, took possession of the images, and relocated them to the museum. Later that year he published a short notice of them (Jayaswal 1937). The larger of the two statues is a little over two feet tall, while the smaller measures only about one foot tall (Figures 1.8 and 1.9). Both images are missing their heads and legs. The larger image is missing its arms from above the elbows, while the smaller image has arms extending below the elbows, although it also is missing its hands. Both depict nude male figures. Jayaswal wrote that the style “leaves no doubt that they are images of Tirthankaras” (1937: 130). The larger of the two is finished with the smooth surface known as “Maurya polish.” On the basis of the polish Jayaswal concluded that it was “the oldest Jaina image yet found in India, and it must belong at the latest to the Maurya period”

1.8. Larger Lohanipur torso, ca. first century CE. Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

FIGURE

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FIGURE 1.9. Smaller Lohanipur torso, ca. first century CE. Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

(130), that is, the third century BCE. He confirmed his conclusion that the image was Mauryan by the results of an excavation of the site, which revealed a Mauryan coin and a number of Mauryan bricks that constituted the foundation of a square temple, measuring eight-feet and ten-inches on each side. He dated the smaller unpolished image to several centuries later. Jayaswal’s conclusions were largely affirmed in a short article published three years later by A. Banerji-Sastri (1940), although he dated the smaller piece to the third century as well. P. L. Gupta also accepted Jayaswal’s original dating when he published the two sculptures in the catalogue of the Patna Museum, and repeated that the larger “is possibly the earliest image of Tirthankara yet known” (1965: 4). Most recently Sonya Quintanilla (2007: 94) and M. A. Dhaky (1989: 96–97n31) have accepted the Mauryan provenance of the image. Further, Dhaky hypothesized that it should be dated to the reign of Ashoka’s grandson Samprati, who reigned around 230–220 BCE. As we will

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see in chapter 3, Jain texts (and only Jain texts) describe Samprati as a Jain, who was largely responsible for the dispersion of Jina images throughout India. Since the Samprati narrative is only a Jain one, Dhaky’s attribution does not stand the test of scholarly scrutiny.25 The Lohanipur torsos have been the subject of extensive discussion in the decades since their discovery, with the result that there is no strong consensus about their dates. In the mid-1940s, Niharranjan Ray (1952: 378–82, 1975: 37–43) discussed the two pieces as part of the larger set of what he adjudged to be “alleged Maurya sculptures.”26 Ray disputed that the polish on the torsos and other sculptures from the region denoted a Mauryan date. Instead, he argued, once the Mauryan stone-carvers had learned the technique of finishing their sculptures with the polish, they continued to practice the technique for many centuries. Jayaswal and other authors had dated the two images to different centuries on the basis of the presence or absence of polish. Once he rejected that the polish helped date the image, Ray was able to assign roughly the same date to both images on stylistic grounds. Further, he observed that two polished images of yakshas from Patna had also consistently been dated to the third century BCE solely on the grounds of the polish, despite the fact that the brief inscriptions on each could be dated on paleographical grounds to the first century CE. He therefore proposed this as the date for the two yakshas, and, since in style the two Lohanipur sculptures closely resembled the yakshas, he assigned the same date to them (1975: 37–39). Ray’s conclusions were affirmed by H. Sarkar in a 1985 article in a festschrift for Ray. Sarkar summarized the many authors who had repeated Jayaswal’s Mauryan date, and then repeated Ray’s argument about the inadequacy of arriving at a date on the basis of the polish alone. His argument also rested on a conclusion, based on his survey of the literature on Jain images, that the Jains and Buddhists did not start producing images until the first century CE.27 Sarkar further argued that the square temple excavated by Jayaswal must also have been from the first century CE, since that is the earliest date known for any square temple in India. The most recent rejection of the Mauryan date for these two images has come from Frederick Asher and Walter Spink (1989). They start their discussion with the famous Didarganj chowrie-bearer, a figure dated by many also to the third century BCE. On careful stylistic grounds they reassign this image to the first century CE. They address the issue of the Mauryan polish, and also conclude, quite reasonably, “one must not assume that because the technique was applied to works of one date, it was exclusive of that time” (1989: 3). They then extend their analysis to several other images that had been assigned to the third century BCE, including the larger Lohanipur torso, and assign these to

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the first century CE as well. They also argue for this later dating on the basis of stylistic similarities between the torso and the Chausa Jain bronzes, which I discuss later. Their analysis leads them to the conclusion—and this is the most controversial aspect of the article—“that anthropomorphic representations were not made in stone in Maurya times” (1989: 4). Asher and Spink accept that the Lohanipur image is a Jina (1989: 5). Assigning it a third century BCE date, therefore, would necessitate rethinking the dates for the origin of both Jina and Buddha images by as much as three centuries. Dating the image to the first century fits better into established artistic chronologies of ancient north India.28 About the same time as the Asher-Spink article, Rekha Morris published a detailed analysis of the Didarganj female figure on the basis of its hairstyle. She concludes that the image “may in the current state of our knowledge, be left where she has traditionally been placed, in the Mauryan period” (Morris 1989: 72). More recently, Doris Srinivasan (2005) has concurred with Morris’s assessment. She argues that the sculpture is not that of a goddess or a divine attendant, but of a courtesan in the royal court of Pataliputra. Neither Morris nor Srinivasan extend their conclusions to reconsider the dating of the Lohanipur torsos, but at the very least they force us to employ extra caution in where we place them in the chronology of images as a whole, and the Jina image in particular, in ancient India.29 Not everyone has agreed that the torsos are Jina figures. S. P. Gupta (1980: 94–95) disagreed with the argument that the high polish was used in later centuries, and so rejected the first century CE date. He accepted that the third century BCE date was too early for them to be Jina images, and so came to the unusual conclusion that they therefore must be images of Makkhali Gosala, the leader of the Ajivika community who was a contemporary of Mahavira and the Buddha. Gustav Roth (1990: 991) sensibly observed that not every ancient nude sculpture is of necessity a Jina image. He then identified the larger of the Lohanipur torsos—which he unaccountably dated even earlier, from the fourth or third century BCE—as a nude hero, a “Great Nude” (mahanagna) or “Great Man (mahapurusha) (1989: 134, 2000: 992–93). This iconography, which he tied to that of sculptures of Greek heroes from the sixth century BCE, was, he said, a “prefiguration” of the Jina iconography (1989: 131). He accepted that the smaller image, which he dated as later due to the absence of polish, was indeed a Jina figure, for which the larger one was a prototype (134). The imaginative hypotheses of Gupta and Roth raise far more problems than they answer. A third century BCE date for the larger torso would push the date of Jina images a century earlier than any other evidence. Labeling it as either an Ajivika or a non-Jain heroic figure is even more problematic. At least

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there are other Jina images that we can date within a century of the Lohanipur torso; but we have no other examples of either Ajivika or Mahanagna images, and so these suggestions end up being highly speculative. The hypotheses of Gupta and Roth can, in my estimation, safely be put aside. The most recent discussion of the larger torso is in Madhuvanti Ghose’s dissertation (2002: 176–85). She carefully reviews all the scholarship, and returns to Jayaswal’s original dating. She disputes Asher and Spink’s conclusion that there were no anthropomorphic stone images in Mauryan times. She cites as evidence of Mauryan images other stone images from the area of ancient Pataliputra, modern Patna, and the skill with which the animal figures on the capitals of the Ashokan pillars were carved. She also points to the many Mauryan terracotta images, and concludes: “[T]he Lohanipur torso may have been produced in a period of transition when experiments in stone had just started” (2002: 181). Ghose gives different dates to the two images, saying that the two exhibit “glaring stylistic differences” (2002: 177) on the grounds that the lack of polish on the smaller one was a conscious choice and so “it must have been sculpted when the use of polish was no longer popular” (185). Earlier, however, she allows that it was likely that the polish was used after the Mauryan period, and so its presence “can no longer be a safe basis for labelling objects as Mauryan” (180). She also disputes the stylistic linking of the yakshas with the torsos made first by Ray and then by Asher and Spink. Finally, she argues that the evidence from Jayaswal’s excavation supports a Mauryan date. But she then hedges her conclusion, by assigning the torso to “a date between 200 BCE and 180, or even 150 BCE” (180). The smaller image she dates to a period between 130 and 100 BCE. These dates would bring the Lohanipur torsos within a century of the earliest Mathura Jina representations. This dating would also imply that the carving of Jina images developed independently in Mathura and Pataliputra, but she does not elaborate on this implication. In sum, there is no firm evidence that would allow us to assign either of the Lohanipur torsos to the third century BCE. Nor can we state with total certainty that they are images of Jinas. Accepting that they are from the first century CE creates less of a problem in terms of the standard chronology of ancient north Indian art. At the same time, the relative paucity of archaeological remains from the period renders any conclusion highly tentative at best. In my estimation, the safest conclusion is that while the Lohanipur torso—either the larger one alone, or the two of them together—may represent the earliest known Jina image, the evidence for this is highly debatable. My inclination is not to rest a major redating (and relocation) of the origin of the Jina image on two headless images of both disputed identity and disputed date.

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The Ayodhya Terracotta Image In 1977, as part of excavations at the ancient Indian city of Ayodhya, over 200 terracotta figurines were uncovered. Among these was one, 6.7 cm high by 4.5 cm wide, that two of the archaeologists tentatively identified as a Jina image (Lal and Srivastava 1981).30 They dated this carefully excavated piece to “the beginning of the third century B.C., if not somewhat earlier” (329). The archaeologists in their brief report of the terracotta adduce evidence from the Lohanipur torso and the Hathigumpha inscription of King Kharavela (see below) as evidence that there were Jina icons as early as the date they give for this figurine. There is nothing distinctively Jain about the terracotta that would allow us to make a positive identification of it. Only the top half of the figure was found. It has a hairless head, eyes looking straight ahead, elongated earlobes, and long hanging arms. Several of these are features common to Jina images from much later centuries. Lal and Srivastava cite medieval iconographic manuals to support their identification of the iconography as Jain. The evidence the authors marshal in support of their tentative identification is highly circumstantial, and much of it from so many centuries later that its applicability in identifying the figurine is doubtful. Further, there is very little archaeological evidence of Jina images in terracotta.31 S. P. Gupta (1980: 137–85), for example, in a wide-ranging survey of the scholarship on Indian terracottas did not refer to a single Jina terracotta. There are terracottas from the later centuries BCE and early centuries CE of various Brahmanical, Buddhist, and nondenominational deities, but none of Jinas or other expressly Jain deities. S. K. Rastogi(1983) has discussed two terracotta Jinas in the collection of the Lucknow Museum.32 One of unknown provenance is only a bust that he identifies as being a Jina on the basis of the shrivatsa symbol on its chest. He attributes it to the Kushana period. The other is a terracotta plaque with a seated Jina image. An inscription in Gupta-era writing labels it as the Jina Suprarshvanatha, although it lacks other identifying marks later associated with this Jina. Rastogi also notes the rarity of these terracotta Jina images, in contrast to the more than 3,000 terracotta images of other deities (as well as secular subjects) in the museum collection. S. S. Biswas (1981: 33, 87, plate LXIc) published a headless terracotta of a nude figure from Tilda in Midnapore district of West Bengal that he labeled, most likely correctly, as a Jina, and which he dated to the Gupta period (fourth–fifth centuries CE). He further noted that it was the only terracotta Jina thus far discovered in Bengal. There are a number of early terracottas of the goat-headed deity of childbirth known as Harinegameshin or Naigamesha. While he was explicitly worshipped by some

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Jains, and his name appears in both early Jain texts and a Kushana-era inscription from Mathura (Agrawala 1947; Shah 1952–53b), his cult transcended the boundaries among Jain, Buddhist, and Brahmanical traditions, and so cannot be characterized as solely a Jain deity. The many terracotta images of him therefore are not evidence of an early Jain use of terracotta to sculpt Jina images.33 In sum, there is no evidence of a tradition of early Jina terracottas. While most ancient Jain images are of stone or metal, the fact that the one in Ayodhya is in terracotta is not itself conclusive evidence against a Jain identification. Jinaprabhasuri, for example, in his Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Shrines, recounts the story of a plaster image (lepya bimba) atop Mount Shatrunjaya (verse 1.74; Cort 1990b: 248–49), so it is safe to assume that there were early Jina images in materials more perishable than stone and metal. In the absence of other terracotta Jina images from an equally early period, and in the absence of contemporaneous images from the Ayodhya excavations that also might be Jinas, the evidence of the Ayodhya figurine is suggestive at best, and is certainly not firm enough a foundation on which to base any substantial conclusions concerning the origin and development of Jina images.34 I choose to apply the same interpretive caution to the Ayodhya terracotta that I apply to the Lohanipur torsos in regard to date, and even more in terms of identifying it as a Jina.

The “Kalinga Jina” of the Hathigumpha Inscription of King Kharavela Outside the modern city of Bhubaneshwar, capital of the state of Orissa in eastern India, on the two adjoining hills of Udayagiri and Khandagiri, are a set of caves that were the site of Jain activity for nearly a millennium (Mitra 1975). Most of the caves were first excavated for human use in the first century BCE and first century CE. They appear originally to have been the residence of Jain mendicants, and so were extremely simple, even spartan. Over time, decorative and devotional carvings were added, as the caves received extensive patronage from generations of royal and other patrons. In one of the caves, known in modern times as the Hathigumpha (“Elephant Cave”) because of a prominent carving of an elephant, an inscription was carved into the wall that detailed the activities of one of the royal patrons of the site, King Kharavela of the Mahameghavahana dynasty. This inscription was first brought to scholarly notice by A. Stirling in 1825, and has been the subject of seemingly continuous scholarship ever since. The language of the inscription is a form of Prakrit with strong Pali influences, carved in the Brahmi script. There have been several copies of it made over the decades, although scholars now rely upon the impression made by K. P. Jayaswal in 1917, that is in the Patna Museum (Jayaswal and

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Banerji 1930; Kant 2000: 4–6). Only B. M. Barua among subsequent scholars appears to have made an extensive study of the inscription in situ. As Richard Salomon (1998: 142) notes, the inscription “is poorly preserved, so that its readings, translation, and historical interpretation by different scholars vary widely, and it is not yet possible to establish a single standard version.” Salomon indicates that one of the consequences of the difficulties in deciphering the inscription is that there have been “widely differing interpretations entailing significant historical consequences” (1998: 164). Jayaswal described the state of the inscription as he found it in 1917: The rock was roughly dressed on the right-hand side. The chisel marks are misleading; they tend to produce misreadings. These long and irregular marks left by the original dressing, are not the only pitfalls. Rain-water which trickles down the roof of the cave has cut into the letters and produced a few letter-like marks. Natural decay produced by time has given misleading turns to numerous letters. . . . even hornets like to take the liberty with the record of the emperor Kharavela with perfect impunity and have added a few irregular marks on it. (Quoted by Barua [1938: 459]) On the basis of the many publications, the great Indian epigraphist D. C. Sircar (1965) prepared what must remain the most critical edition of the inscription.35 In its description of events in the twelfth year of his reign, the inscription appears to say that Kharavela marched north to what is now Bihar and defeated the king of the Nanda dynasty. Among the spoils he brought back to his own capital was an image of a Jina, known as the Kalinga Jina on the basis of the image’s name. It seems, therefore, that at some earlier time the Nanda king had seized this image from Kalinga, the area of coastal Orissa where the caves are found and Kharavela reigned. The passage in the inscription describing these events is one of the many that are subject to different readings. Jayaswal read the passage as describing a Jina image: “[Kharavela] sets up (the image) ‘the Jina of Kalimga’ which had been taken away by King Nanda” (Jayaswal and Banerji 1930: 83). Jayaswal’s reading was accepted by Sircar in his critical edition (1965: 217). Barua, however, disputed this reading, and said that it made no mention of a Jina image. Instead, in his opinion the word in question is jana, “people.” The difference between a short medial “a” and short medial “i” in Indic scripts is slight, the latter being indicated by a loop over the letter. Barua said that what others have read as the mark of a short medial was in fact “only apparitional, . . . having

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no organic connection with it” (1938: 468n92). As a result, Barua translated the passage as saying that Kharavela “(did something in connection with) the settlements of the Kalinga people subjugated by the king Nanda” (479–80).36 If Jayaswal was right—and the majority of subsequent scholars have agreed with him—then the inscription makes reference to a Jina image that was the royal palladium of Kalinga, seized as a war trophy by an unnamed Nanda king, and then returned to its proper place by Kharavela. But when did this occur? The dating of the inscription has also been the subject of extensive disagreement. The arguments rest on two sets of data: internal references in the inscription, some of which mention other kings, and perhaps also dates; and the paleography of the inscription itself. A key passage refers to Kharavela’s renovation or enlargement of a canal originally excavated by a Nanda king some years earlier. Jayaswal interpreted the relevant passage to say that 103 years elapsed between the two events. Since the Nanda kings ruled until sometime between 326 and 324 BCE,37 Jayaswal concluded that Kharavela was on the throne in 222 BCE (Jayaswal and Banerji 1930: 75). Sircar (1965: 215) and others, however, have preferred to read the passage to say that 300 years had elapsed, and so Kharavela was on the throne in the last decades of the first century BCE.38 This accords better with the paleographical evidence, which Sircar concluded “suggest a date not much earlier than the beginning of the 1st century A.D.” (1965: 213n1). In conclusion, the majority of scholars who have studied the inscription are of the opinion that it refers to a Jina image. Further, they are of the opinion that Kharavela ruled in the late decades BCE and/or early decades CE. The inscription, therefore, provides evidence for the existence of a Jina image in eastern India that was roughly contemporaneous with the Lohanipur image, and slightly later than the earliest Mathura images. The content of the inscription mentions that the Kalinga Jina had been taken away by the Nanda king. This has been taken by some as evidence that a Jina image existed during the time of the Nandas, that is, the fourth century BCE (Dhaky 1989: 96; Jaini 1979: 191–92). Especially when one takes into consideration that many scholars now argue that the dates of Mahavira should be later than traditionally posited, with his death as late as around 425 BCE (Dundas 2002: 24), an implication would be, in P. S. Jaini’s words (1979: 191–92), that “crediting the veracity of Kharavela’s inscription, therefore, would mean that a full-blown cult of image-worship existed among Jainas even in Mahavira’s time.” This seems to me, however, to place too much weight upon the single reference to a vaguely referenced “Nanda king.” I prefer to accept the evidence of the Hathigumpha inscription as saying only that an image existed at the time of Kharavela. When the image was abducted, and therefore when it was made, remains unclear.

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The Chausa and Bombay Bronzes An early date has also been proposed by U. P. Shah for several other images from northern, and possibly western, India. In this case we come to another medium, that of cast bronze images. In 1931, a hoard of eighteen bronzes was uncovered in a field in Chausa, a village in what was then Shahabad district in western Bihar. The hoard consisted of a sacred wheel (dharma chakra), a sacred wishing tree (kalpa vriksha), and sixteen Jina images, ten standing and six seated. The images are now in the collection of the Patna Museum. These images, too, have been the subject of different datings. Many scholars argue that the wheel and tree are the oldest of the sculptures. Dates given for them range from the second or first century BCE (Gupta 1965: 107; Prasad 1968: 276–77) to the first century CE (Shah 1975b: 276). Equally as old is a standing image of Parshvanatha (Figure 1.10). U.P. Shah has been the most aggressive in his early dating of the image, proposing that it dates from a

1.10. Standing Parshvanatha icon from Chausa, ca. 300 CE. Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

FIGURE

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the beginning of the first century CE (1975b: 275) or between the first century BCE and the first century CE (1987: 322). Shah, Prasad, and Gupta all date the other fifteen Jinas to a later period of the second to fourth centuries CE. If one accepts Shah’s date for this Parshvanatha image, it is one of the earliest Jina images extant, and indicates that there were images in the Bihar region soon after those at Mathura, if not contemporaneously. Shah’s dating has not gone unchallenged. Frederick Asher says that Shah and Prasad erred in attributing the eighteen images in the hoard to a range of four to five centuries. On the contrary, he argues, “the bronzes of a single hoard rarely span any great length of time. At such places in Eastern India as Mainamati and even Nalanda or outside the region at Sirpur and Pophnar, to cite only a few examples, most of the late bronzes at the site date little more than a generation or two after the earliest” (1980: 17–18). While he does not specifically discuss the Parshvanatha image, he dates the entirety of the hoard to a period of the late third to early fourth century CE. Debala Mitra (1974–75: 72) and M. N. Deshpande (1988: 22–28) also assign a similarly later dating to the images. Closely related to the Chausa bronzes, both in terms of style and in the discussion of the dating of these bronzes, is a nine-inch-tall bronze image of Parshvanatha now in the Chhatrapati Shivaji Museum (formerly the Prince of Wales Museum) in Bombay (Figure 1.11). Unfortunately, the provenance of the image is unknown. Moti Chandra and Sadashiv Gorakshakar (1974–75: 568) noted the stylistic similarities between it and the earliest of the Chausa bronzes. M. N. Deshpande (1988: 24) went further, and said that it most likely was made in Bihar due to the similarities. U. P. Shah, however, while in some places (1952–53a: 63; 1956a: 71; 1975b: 274) allowing that it might be from north India, in another (1974–75a: 88) said, “It is not unlikely that it was obtained for the Bombay Museum from some part of western India—Sind, Rajasthan, Gujarat or Kutch.” He argued this in part because of a perceived resemblance to the art of the Indus Valley civilization (1974–75a: 88n1; 1955c: 8; 1959: 19). He had earlier (1955c) argued that there were likely continuities between Indus Valley art and Jain art, in response to which Karl Khandalawala (1956–57: 126) had rightly objected that to posit continuities over so many centuries on the basis only of “supposed similarity” was “to rear a vast edifice on a most scanty foundation.” More important for our purposes than the provenance of the image is the disagreement over its date. In his first publications on the image, Shah said it “cannot be later than the end of the first century B.C. (or the early part of the 1st century A.D. upon a most conservative estimate), though the modeling of the torso and the limbs suggest early second or later third century B.C. as the probable age” (1952–53a: 63–64; cf. 1955c: 8–9). In his review of Shah’s work,

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1.11. Standing Parshvanatha icon, ca. second or third century CE. Chhatrapati Shivaji Museum, Bombay. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

FIGURE

Karl Khandalawala (1956–57: 126) simply said of the image, without elaborating on his reasoning, “[I]t could never be earlier than 200 A.D., having regard to the face and hair. Even that may be too early a date for it has yet to be decided whether the figure is an early image or is merely archaistic.” Shah, however, maintained an earlier date, although he somewhat tempered how early he thought it might be. In two publications in the mid-1970s he said of it, on stylistic grounds, “it cannot be later than circa 100 B.C. and may be even earlier” (1974–75a: 87), and “the lower limit for this bronze is circa first century B.C.” (1975a: 74). He confirmed this date in his last publication on the subject (1987: 321). Khandalawala’s objections were also repeated, as Moti Chandra and Sadashiv Gorakshakar (1974–75: 568) dated it to about the second century CE on the grounds of its close similarity to the Chausa bronzes. In the absence of further evidence, and in light of just how little is known about the Bombay Parshvanatha, a firmer conclusion concerning its date is presently unlikely. Several factors lead me to favor a later date. One is the

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growing consensus that the Chausa bronzes are later than Shah’s dates. While the Bombay Parshvanatha may indeed have no geographical connection with the images from eastern India, the uncertainty over how it came into the museum collection (see Shah [1956a: 70]) means it is possible that it was sold to the museum by someone who had originally procured it in eastern India. In the early twentieth century, Bombay was as much a magnet for items on the art market from all over India as it is today. The stylistic similarities between the Bombay Parshvanatha and the Chausa bronzes mean that Chandra and Gorakshakar’s assertion (1974–75: 568n1), that “it is necessary to re-assess the dating of the bronze on the basis of the evidence provided by the Jaina bronzes . . . from the Chausa hoard,” is accurate. My second reason for leaning toward a later date concerns my evaluation of Shah’s scholarship as a whole. Everyone working in the field of Jain art will forever be indebted to his tireless, thorough scholarship. What we know only because of his scholarship is inestimable. But one needs to handle his datings with great caution. As early as 1956, Karl Khandawala disagreed on several counts with Shah’s tendency to date objects as early as possible. Especially in the case of objects from ancient India, for which there is little comparative material on which to base a chronological argument, and even fewer dated objects to anchor an argument, Shah tends to date objects at least a century earlier than the scholarly consensus warrants.39 The Chausa and Bombay bronzes are undoubtedly early. Their importance should not be underestimated. As Frederick Asher (1980: 18) has observed, “[T]he Chausa images are the first large group of bronzes extant from any period in the history of Indian art. They are the earliest Gupta bronzes known from any part of India and the very first bronze sculptures of any period from Eastern India.” But they—and by extension the Bombay Parshvanatha—are later by three or four centuries than the earliest stone Jina images from Mathura. Taken with the Lohanipur torsos, they indicate a vibrant tradition of bronze image-making in eastern India at a fairly early time in Jain history. Whether or not this was a development independent (and likely later) than Mathura, or was derived from the Mathura iconic emphasis, is still uncertain.

“Pre-stone” Sculpture? The evidence we have looked at so far has all consisted of real objects and an inscription. The issues of interpretation have involved how to identify and date the objects, and how to date and decipher the inscription. The data allow us to conclude that Jains produced narrative sculptures in stone with anthropomorphic representations of Jinas by about 100 BCE, and within a few decades also

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produced ritual sculptures in stone of anthropomorphic Jinas. The evidence of metal sculptures of Jina images is of a later date. The evidence of sculpture in terracotta is weak at best, and is best left aside in this discussion. But are these the only media in which Jains produced sculptures of Jinas? A similar question has arisen in the discussion of the origin of the Buddha image. The earliest extant Buddha sculptures in stone date from no earlier than the first century BCE for relief sculptures, and the first century CE for figures in the round (Ghose 2002: 237, Quintanilla 2007: 250). In other words, the earliest Buddha images are a generation or two later than Jain sculptures in each genre. These sculptures present us with two problems in terms of their being the earliest Buddha images. First is that the widespread use of stone for sculpture developed only in the third century BCE (J. Huntington 1985: 23). If we look only at stone sculptures, therefore, we may miss important evidence in other media. The second problem is that the earliest Buddhist sculptures (and, by extension, Jain sculptures) demonstrate a significant level of artistic sophistication, so scholars argue that they must have been “preceded by a whole line of development” (Huntington [1985: 23], quoting van Lohuizen-de Leeuw [1949: 155]). On this latter point there is fairly widespread scholarly agreement. But scholars have not agreed on what these developments were (or might have been). John Huntington has hypothesized that there were indeed earlier sculptures of the Buddha, from the period between 300 BCE and 100 BCE, and so perhaps from as early as within a century of the death of the Buddha. He has termed this “the period of wooden (or ‘pre-stone’) sculpture” (1985: 29).40 He brought forth a range of textual and archaeological evidence in support of this hypothesis. Susan Huntington advanced the same thesis in her sweeping The Art of Ancient India (1985: 627n13), where she wrote: [I]t is possible that what has generally been interpreted as the initiation of a Buddha-image-making tradition during the Kusana period is only a reflection of a beginning to the widespread practice of using stone for such works, which have, therefore, survived in great quantities. Earlier images, perhaps made of easily perishable materials, such as wood or ivory, or precious materials such as gold or other metals that could be melted down, may have been created but are now lost. The Huntingtons’ discussions were solely in terms of Buddhist images, an unfortunate choice given that Jina images probably slightly preceded Buddhist ones, and in turn both were preceded by other images. Buddhist depictions of the Buddha may well have been influenced by Jain depictions of the Jina

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(Quintanilla 2007: 250; Snellgrove 1978: 55; van Lohuizen-de Leeuw 1981: 385). The question raised about the possibility of more perishable precedents for the Buddha image, therefore, should be asked equally of the Jina image and its precedents. More recently Sonya Quintanilla has done just that. She also noted the “high degree of variety and skill” demonstrated by the stone sculpture from Mathura from its inception, and then went on to say: Such prolific and adept modes of depiction from the very outset of sculptural production in stone suggests that there was a preexisting tradition of similarly high-quality work in perishable materials, such as wood or clay, whose traces have now disappeared. Many of the forms and subjects represented in the art of this period were probably also created before the mid-second century BCE. Therefore, since depiction of Jinas in anthropomorphic form, for example, are found as early as ca. 100 BCE at Mathura, it is possible, indeed likely, that Jinas were also depicted in like manner prior to that time in a material that has not survived. (2007: 96) This hypothesis has not gone unchallenged. Gregory Schopen (1997: 251), for one, noted the widespread scholarly consensus that the earliest Buddha images borrow many stylistic features from the earlier traditions of standing images of local deities (yaksha) and kings. Further, the earliest Buddhist images “represent a tradition still groping for its own types and iconography, still working with non-Buddhist models.”41 He argued that the argument for borrowing is more powerful than the argument for prior perishable development, and so negates it. If Buddhist sculptors had been working for decades or even centuries in other media, then by the time they shifted to the new medium of stone they would have been working with more mature and more stable iconographic and stylistic conventions that were specifically Buddhist. Schopen’s arguments have more recently been taken up and expanded upon by Rob Linrothe (1993) and Madhuvanti Ghose (2002: 236–37). These authors have made a strong case against basing the development of the Buddha image upon evidence that presently does not exist, and prefer therefore to view the development of the Buddha image as one of the first century BCE. In Schopen’s words (1997: 251), “the monumental cult images we have in stone . . . are probably the earliest that there were.” These arguments only in part transfer to the discussion of the origin of the Jina image. Nonetheless, I am reluctant to conclude that there must have been earlier sculptures in wood or clay. While all the hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of extant Jina images are of either metal or stone (with some of the

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stone images covered by plaster (lep), and a small number in precious stone, medieval Jain texts on images do make mention of images in other media such as wood and ivory.42 This may well indicate a cultural memory of images made in other media. The history of the excavations of Mathura, especially of the Jain remains, is a highly spotty one at best (Folkert 1993: 95–112), so all discussion of the extant evidence from Mathura must be couched in tentative language. It is nonetheless the case that though the excavations have been fairly extensive, no evidence of Jina images in other media has surfaced in either the archaeological or textual record. This makes me reluctant to entertain the possibility of earlier images as a strong hypothesis.

The Evidence from Texts Madhuvanti Ghose has quoted Paul Harrison that in the history of Buddhism, “practice often comes first, theory afterwards” (Ghose [2002: 237], quoting Harrison [1995: 34]). This could be said equally of the Jains. The earliest archaeological evidence of Jina images predates the textual evidence by more than a quarter of a millennium. This does not mean, however, that there was some sort of orthodox prohibition of images, or that the ritual use of images was a “folk” (or, in Schopen’s language, “vulgar”) practice that existed outside the orthodox monastic tradition. The inscriptions on many of the sculptures from Mathura indicate very clearly that monks and nuns were involved in the production and installation of Jain images (Cort 2002a: 69). The silence of the texts should not be read as a judgment. Instead, it simply indicates that the authors of the early scriptures were addressing other concerns, and that texts followed the material culture by several generations in the matter of images. The earliest extant textual evidence about images therefore does not help us address questions of origins; but it does give us great insight into the ritual use of Jina images in the early centuries CE. We do not find systematic theological or prescriptive discussions of the worship of images until well into the first millennium CE, centuries after the first appearance of images. R. Williams (1963: 219) says that the first text devoted solely to the subject of images and image worship was Haribhadra’s Fifty Verses (Pancashaka), especially the chapters on image veneration (caitya vandana), worship ( puja), building a Jina temple (jina bhavana nirmana), and establishing a Jina image ( jina bimba pratishtha). Williams has proposed that the author of this text died about 529 CE, so the text would be of the early sixth century. His thesis that there were two Haribhadras, however, remains highly controversial; if one accepts the position of nearly all Jain scholars in India, that there was just a single author by this name, who died about 750 CE, then

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the text is from two centuries later.43 Whatever the date of this text, for the earliest textual references to images we must turn instead to narrative texts, both within and without the Shvetambara canon, as well as a text detailing the benefits of the spiritual path. Two texts in the Shvetambara canon give clear references to the worship (puja) of Jina images. Both of them have been dated to about the late third century CE (Dhaky 1989: 94), and so describe the way that Jina images were worshipped within a few centuries of the archaeological evidence indicating that images became relatively widespread. Further, both texts give descriptions of the worship of Jina images by royal personages—in one case a king of the gods, in the other a princess—indicating that the development of elaborate royal cults of Jina temples, images and rituals was an early one. The Scripture Relating to the Questions of the King (Rajaprashniya Sutra) presents a series of dialogues between the ancient King Prasenajit, a contemporary of both Mahavira and the Buddha, and the monk Keshi, a follower of the 23rd Jina Parshvanatha. These dialogues are best known for their extensive discussion of early Jain conceptions of the soul (Bollée 2002). The text describes that the Sun god (Suryabha), after washing his hands, feet, and mouth, took a pot of water and a collection of lotus flowers and went to an eternal temple of the Siddhas along with a retinue of thousands of other gods and goddesses. He approached the altar with the Jina images, bowed to them, and fanned them with a peacock-feather fan. After washing the images with scented water, he dabbed special sandalwood paste on them, and then rubbed them with a scented cloth. He dressed the images with clothing suitable for gods, and then in turn offered flowers, garlands, incense, scented powder, cloth, and ornaments. He placed long garlands on the images, on top of which he placed five-colored flowers. He further decorated the area surrounding the images. He held up representations of the eight holy objects (mangala), showing them to the images in a mirror.44 Then he offered unbroken rice to them. Next, he offered various incenses in a jeweled incense stand. He sang a hymn of 108 verses to the Jinas. He bowed his right knee to the ground, bowed thrice to the floor, and held his folded hands in front of his forehead while he sang another hymn of praise to the Jinas.45 The other canonical text that describes the worship of Jina icons is the Stories of Knowledge and Righteousness (Jnatadharmakathah).46 Among the edifying tales contained in this text is one of the earliest Jain narratives of Krishna (Kotiya 1984). This also involves a brief telling of the lives of the five Pandavas, and their marriage to Draupadi. On the day when she was to choose her husband in the ancient rite known as svayamvara or “[bride’s] own choice,” she arose at dawn, bathed, and adorned herself in pure, auspicious clothes. She then

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went to the Jina temple where she worshipped an image of a Jina. The text declines to give a full description of her worship, and instead simply refers the reader to the description of Suryabha’s worship.47 Other texts in the Shvetambara canon fill out our picture of the early Shvetambara cult of temples and Jina images.48 In the Blessed Scripture (Bhagavati Sutra) and Scripture of Classification of the Animate and Inanimate (Jivajivabhigama Su ¯ tra) there are descriptions of deities dancing in front of Jina images. This indicates that the temples were complex structures, with pavilions for dancing and other cultural performances. As we will see in greater detail in chapter 3, several canonical texts describe the erection of memorial tumuli (stupas) and the worship of bodily relics, telling us that there were multiple structures in what we can more appropriately term a temple complex. A description of a temple in the Scripture of Classification of the Animate and Inanimate (Shah 1987: 13–14) confirms the development of elaborate temple complexes, in which the central image chamber was surrounded by subsidiary shrines and other sacred structures. Another early text gives more information on the worship of images. This is the Deeds of Padma (Paumachariya), the earliest recounting of the Jain version of the story of Rama, known in Jain texts as Padma. The dating of this Prakrit text by Vimalasuri is subject to debate (Kulkarni 1990: 51–59), with opinions ranging from the first to the fifth centuries CE. K. R. Chandra (1970: 9–17), who has conducted the most thorough research on the text, assigned it to 473 CE. Most scholars have accepted this later date, but it is still early enough to give us a good indication of the nature of the early Jain temple culture. The text is accepted by both Shvetambaras and Digambaras, and so gives us an indication of the shared ritual culture of temples and images by the middle of the first millennium CE. The Deeds of Padma contains many mentions of Jina temples and images, indicating that by no later than the fifth century CE they were both widespread in Jain society (Chandra 1970: 489–91; Tiwari 1991). After Rama departed for the forest with his wife Sita and brother Lakshmana, his father Dasharatha became disillusioned with the world and became a Jain monk. Before doing so he installed his son—and another half-brother of Rama—Bharata on the throne. Bharata went after his half-brother to bring him back to the capital city Ayodhya, but Rama refused, and confirmed that Bharata must now rule. One day after Bharata returned to Ayodhya, he and his family went to a Jina temple to venerate the images. There he met a Jain monk named Dyuti. Bharata vowed to the monk that he himself would renounce the world when Rama returned. He asked the monk how he should live as a Jain layman in the meantime. The monk replied by relating the spiritual rewards that result from the worship

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of Jina images. In the process Dyuti detailed the various offerings within the worship. These include offering fragrant and stainless flowers, various kinds of incense, and a lamp. One should adorn the temple with parasols, fans, flags, mirrors, hanging banners, and carts. The image itself should be adorned with fragrant substances. It should be anointed with fragrant water, milk, yogurt, and ghee. One should offer cooked food and other items. One should arrange for festivals in the temple in which there were songs, music, and dance. Finally, a layman should commission temples and images.49 A fourth reference to the worship of Jina images is found in a noncanonical text that possibly dates from around the same time, or perhaps a century or two later, than the two canonical scriptures. This is the Textbook on the Joys of Peace of the Soul (Prashamarati Prakarana). It is traditionally credited to Umasvati, who lived sometime between the second and fifth centuries CE.50 Bansidhar Bhatt (1987: 103) has challenged this attribution, and argues that it is instead a seventh-century text.51 Even if Bhatt is correct, it still gives us a relatively early reference to image worship. In 313 verses extending over twenty-two chapters the author detailed the obstacles to spiritual peace, and the benefits of following the path to overcome those obstacles. True peace of the soul, according to Umasvati, requires that one renounce the world and become a monk. Not everyone can take this radical step, however, so in the last chapter he turned briefly to the options for a Jain layman, which he outlined in seven verses. One of these mentions image worship: “To the best of his ability he establishes temples, in which he worships by offering scent, garlands, scented powder, incense and lamps.”52 The picture that emerges from the texts is that in the early centuries CE the Jains developed an elaborate culture of temples and images. Temple complexes included multiple foci of worship, veneration, devotion, and performance. There were elaborate ritual programs in which many objects were offered to the images, and other artistic media were employed. In this the Jains were not alone, as other traditions during this period also developed elaborate temple cultures. But the Jains were certainly enthusiastic and full participants in this cultural and religious process.

The Origin and Early History of the Jina Image Let me briefly summarize the evidence I have presented above. The earliest dependable evidence for the anthropomorphic representation of the Jina comes from archaeology. Textual evidence is all from several centuries later. In the absence of dates from inscriptions, we are dealing not with a firm chronology, but instead with a reasonable estimation of a chronology that is subject to

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disagreement and revision. Based on the archaeological record, we can hypothesize that by sometime around 100 BCE in Mathura there were sculptural depictions of Jina images in narrative settings. We can further hypothesize that by a quarter of a century later there were sculptures of Jina images in the round. These images presumably were the foci of rituals. A third hypothesis is that by the end of the first century BCE there were also carved depictions of Jinas on ayagapatas. While in form and style these low-relief carvings were similar to the narrative depictions, in their ritual use they were probably closer to the full sculptures. Mathura was also the site of several temples and shrines in which images were worshipped. In addition to images and ayagapatas, there was also at least one, and probably more, stupa at Mathura. Whether or not Mathura was the sole site of the origin of Jina images, from which the tradition spread elsewhere in India, remains an open question. A similar uncertainty persists in terms of the origin of the Buddha image. While many scholars have argued for its independent origin in both Mathura and Gandhara in the northwest, J. E. van Lohuizen-Leeuw (1981: 394) has argued for a single point of origin, Mathura: “Everything seems to point . . . that the workshops at Mathura were the first to create representations of the Buddha in human form which were soon afterwards exported to the North-West, where the type was copied by local artists resulting in a group of very early Gandhara reliefs.” More recent research, however, has reopened the possibility that Buddha images were produced in Gandhara at an early enough date to argue for their simultaneous development in the two places.53 The chronology of the origin of the Buddha image, however, diverges from that of the Jina image. While both Mathura and Gandhara were important centers for the development of the Buddha image, this was not the case for the Jain image. There is no evidence of Jina images in Gandhara, so that region does not enter into our specific discussion. Only Mathura does. Outside of Mathura, the earliest evidence of Jina images comes from further east, and is somewhat later. The Hathigumpha inscription of King Kharavela, which we can safely date to the late first century BCE or early first century CE, most likely refers to a Jina image, known as the Kalinga Jina. It may well have been a palladium of several dynasties. There is no way to know what the medium was of this image. A little north of Kalinga in present-day Bihar the Lohanipur torso was quite possibly an image of a Jina, and can safely be dated to at least as early as the first century CE. A century later, also from Bihar, comes the earliest evidence of Jina images cast in bronze.54 These images are also the earliest indisputable evidence of Jina images in eastern India. In conclusion, by the second century CE Jina images were being produced in multiple media in multiple places.

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By the end of the third century CE, there are references to Jina temples and images in Jain texts, most of them narrative texts. The descriptions of the rituals indicate that the culture of temples and images was well established, with more-or-less standardized ritual procedures. The complexity of the tradition as it appears in the texts indicates that it was a mature one, that had probably been in existence for at least a century. Finally, several centuries later, by sometime between the sixth and eighth centuries, we find Jain intellectuals theorizing about Jain images. The Jains did not develop a culture of images all on their own. The available evidence indicates that the development of the Jina image probably slightly preceded similar developments in Buddhism. It may be (as we will see in chapter 3) that these two similar traditions chose to emphasize different aspects of a larger, shared ritual culture of ancient India, the Jains emphasizing temples and images and the Buddhists emphasizing stupas and relics, in an effort to distinguish themselves from each other. But any such differences did not last for long. In both traditions the ritual cultures of images and iconographies emerged from the wider religio-cultural setting of ancient north India. A number of scholars have pointed to a passage in the fifth- or fourth-century BCE Ashtadhyayi (5.3.99) by the grammarian Panini as the earliest textual evidence of the use of images (Banerjea 1956: 94; Falk 1994: 325–39; Ghose 2002: 69; Quintanilla 2007: 35; von Steitencron 1977: 129–30). Panini distinguished between images meant for sale and those meant for worship. Panini’s reference was expanded upon several centuries later by the grammarian Patanjali in his second-century BCE Mahabhashya, in which he mentioned images of a number of deities (Banerjea 1956: 95; Ghose 2002: 69; von Steitencron 1977: 130). Von Steitencron referred to passages that mention temples (although not images) in six of the Grihya Sutras.55 These are Brahmanical texts that detailed the ritual requirements of Brahman householders. While the earliest levels of these texts date from the sixth to third centuries BCE, the passages that refer to images probably date from several centuries CE.56 By the time of texts from the early centuries CE, such as the Arthashasta of Kautilya, the Manava Dharmashastra, and the Mahabharata, there are many references to temples and images in Brahmanical texts. In sum, we find that Brahmanical texts also give evidence of the incorporation of temples and images in the religious life of what became the Hindu traditions in the same period that we see Jains and Buddhists developing them. Sculptural evidence of images dates from the middle of the second century BCE, when we start to find carved stone images of yakshas and yakshis at Bharhut and Mathura (Banerjea 1956: 106–12, Ghose 2002: 69, Quintanilla 2007: 24–35). Also from at least the second century BCE we start to find anthropomorphic representations of deities on coins (Banerjea 1956: 119–72). When we combine

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the Brahmanical, Buddhist, and Jain materials, we see a move toward embracing the use of material form to represent and/or embody divinity among all the religious traditions of north India by the early centuries BCE.

A Minimal Ideal The Jina image has long posed an interpretive problem for art historians. In its ideal, the Jina image symbolizes—and, for a Jain, even embodies—a perfection that stands outside time. The world as we know it is subject to a neverending sequence of cycles, some improving and some declining. Change is at the heart of our experience of the world, and that change is inherently unsatisfactory, a cause of ignorance and suffering. The Jina has broken through the karmic bonds that tie us to the cycles of changing time, and attained a state of spiritual stasis and perfection. Each Jina is now pure soul. Pure soul is characterized by the four infinitudes of perception, knowledge, potential, and bliss. But one infinite being is identical to another, for there can be no difference among infinitudes. Infinity is infinity. Each Jina image, therefore, should be like all others, if it is adequately representing the perfect virtues of the liberated Jina. Anyone who has spent time in a Jain temple, with its dozens, even hundreds, of seemingly identical Jina images, has experienced the disorienting sense of the Jain understanding and representation of perfection as undifferentiated.57 Art history, however, depends upon change and difference. If all images are alike, then there is nothing for the art historian to do. This is undoubtedly a major reason why the vast majority of art historians of South Asia have paid scant attention to Jain art. It has also posed a problem on the few occasions when museums have decided to mount exhibitions of Jain art, such as the Peaceful Liberators exhibition in 1994 to 1996, and the Steps to Liberation exhibition in 2000. Even the hardiest museum visitor would blanche at the prospect of room after room of nearly identical statues. The curators of these exhibits, therefore, have devoted much more space to images of other, unliberated deities, whose images can reveal a wide array of emotion and activity, as well to other genres within the broader Jain visual and material cultures. Something is lost in such a presentation, however, and that is a chance to understand better the Jain understanding of the spiritual goal, of the Jain perception of spiritual perfection. Janice Leoshko once in conversation observed that in the Jina image we have an example, rare in human art history, of a tradition that very early in its artistic development hit upon the perfect symbol for its highest aspirations. The decades and centuries of ever-changing forms one

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sees in the art histories of other religious traditions may be essential grist for the art historical mill, but from a Jain perspective may also indicate that these traditions have failed to achieve the perfect form for their spiritual ideals. As she has written (1999: 324): Even sympathetic studies of Jaina art offer astonishing apologies for the conservative sameness of such images. Indeed, the presentation of the Jina figure as either standing or seated in meditation has not changed since the time when sculptures depicting Jinas began to appear in some quantity during the first few centuries of the Common Era. But to view this as only a static characteristic is to miss the power of the unchanging portrayal of meditation for reflecting the dispassionate, non-active state of liberation of the Jinas.58 In an essay written in the context of the Peaceful Liberators exhibition, I argued that art historians were perhaps hindered in their understanding of the underlying dynamics (or, perhaps more accurately, dynamic stasis) by a host of “unexamined Romantic preunderstandings of the meaning and value of art and creativity.” I then suggested that there are within the contemporary art historical world examples that could better help us understand Jain art; in particular, I wrote, “after several decades of exposure to minimalist aesthetics in Euro-American art, by now we should be able to appreciate how creativity can be just as powerful when expressed within a strict set of predefined boundaries” (Cort 1996a: 622). Minimalism is an avant-garde art style, primarily in sculpture, that first surfaced in New York and Los Angeles in the early 1960s.59 As it spread geographically, it also spread into other media such as music, dance, fiction, and poetry. It also became accepted into the mainstream of Western art quite quickly. Minimalism is marked by an emphasis on simple, often repeated, geometric forms. Those forms are usually quite abstract, and look to be as much manufactured objects as created artworks. One of the goals of minimalist artists was to downplay and even erase any focus on the role, effort, and intention of the artist. The use of geometry and other mathematical systems emphasized the elimination of ego, as the “artists” claimed simply to be replicating the existing forms of the cosmos (Meyer 2000: 59, 89). The minimalist artists appeared to make no choices, nor to employ either emotion or intuition. Many of the actual pieces were assembled by skilled craftsmen who simply followed the artist’s plans. As David Batchelor (1997: 12) described: “The works are assembled and arranged rather than crafted and composed. They are not carved or modeled but welded, screwed, glued, bolted or simply stacked. The autographic trace of

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the expressive artist is eliminated.” In its anti-aesthetic aesthetic, minimalism also sought to emphasize either intellect or a sort of precognitive total apprehension, in place of an emotional response of awe, wonder, or beauty. In the words of Donald Judd, one the earliest practitioners and theorists of minimalism, “It isn’t necessary to have a lot of things to look at, to compare, to analyse one by one. The thing as a whole, its quality as a whole, is what is interesting. The main things are alone and are more intense, clear and powerful” (Judd [1965], quoted in Meyer [2000: 210]). A major theme in minimalist art was serialism, the repeated use of the same form. The use of series was intended to suggest that the particular piece itself was only part of a larger series, and so what seemed to be bounded was really boundless. The minimalist serial sculpture “is not a complete composition with clearly limited boundaries, but part of a limitless system based on a singular principle of ordering” (Meyer 2000: 86). In all this one can see some striking similarities to the symbolic and artistic system into which Jina images fit. The Jina image, whether seated or standing, can easily be reduced to a geometric form. The sculptors’ manuals (shilpa shastra) go into great detail to explain the exact proportions of the Jina image. Many modern printed editions of sculptors’ manuals include the layout of the ideal Jina image transposed onto a grid to illustrate visually these proportions60 (Figure 1.12). The well-trained sculptor begins his work by marking the symmetrical grid onto the stone, and so is able to replicate the Jina in its geometric

FIGURE

1.12. Sculptor’s outline of a Jina icon. After N. C. Sompura (1991: 242).

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FIGURE 1.13. Shvetambara Jina icon in preliminary stage of being carved, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (1995).

perfection in a manner that removes all trace of the sculptor’s individuality or even skill. (Figure 1.13) The goal is to point directly at the Jina himself, not at the sculptor as intermediary. This is underscored by the long-standing Indian tradition of sculptors not signing their works. Any Jina image ideally should be identical to all other Jina images. The seriality of the conception of the Jina is evident in many temples, especially when there are rows of identical images in a temple. In Jaipur, for example, there is a Digambara temple, constructed between 1796 and 1826, popularly known as the Chaubis Maharaj, “Twenty Four Lords” (Nyayatirth 1990: 24–25). In the lower level of the temple are twenty-four stone images, one of each of the twenty-four Jinas (Figure 1.14). This altar is at street level, so people passing by can look through a window and receive the auspicious sight (darshan) of the twenty-four lords, seated in two rows facing each other. Another set of twentyfour images is found in the Digambara Bhandara Basati temple in Shravana

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1.14. Digambara Jina icons, Chaubis Maharaj temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E.

Cort (2008).

Belagola in Karnataka (Figure 1.15). This is a much earlier arrangement of the same serial theme, dating to the mid-twelfth century (Nagaraj 1980: 27). Examples could be multiplied from all over India. There are limits, however, to this comparison between the classical Jain ideal of the Jina image and the modern artistic ideal of minimalism, and these limits are as revealing as the similarities. Minimalism is based very strongly on an anti-referential conception. A work of art does not refer to anything else; it just is, in and of itself: “minimal art does not allude to anything beyond its literal presence, or its existence in the material world” (Meyer 2000: 15). In this the minimalists were influenced, even when they didn’t acknowledge it, by the modernist dictum of the poet William Carlos Williams, repeated in many of his works, “no ideas but in things.” This rejection of reference and symbolism was explicit from the very beginning of minimalism, when Carl Andre, in what was probably the first enunciation of minimalist ideals, wrote in his 1959 homage to Frank Stella’s “Stripe Painting,” “Frank Stella’s painting is not symbolic. His stripes are the paths of brush on canvas. These paths lead only into painting” (Andre 1959, quoted by Meyer 2000: 21). In this emphasis on the object itself, and the denial of any other meaning, minimalism was sharply different from Jainism. The Jina image is not just

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FIGURE 1.15. Digambara Jina icons, Bhandara Basati temple, Shravana Belagola. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

a thing in itself; as we have seen, it is the embodiment in material form of transcendent and eternal spiritual virtues. The Jina is attended by thirty-four distinguishing characteristics. While the Jina image cannot portray or even symbolize all thirty-four, the knowledgeable Jain is aware of them when he or she views and worships the Jina image, and Jain theologians insist that by meditating on these characteristics the worshipper inscribes them upon his or her own soul. The Jina is also understood to possess thirty-five special merits or virtues (guna), and his body to exhibit 1,008 auspicious characteristics (lakshana; Krause [1999a: 337]). Many hymns sung by Jains in the presence of images describe in detail the virtues and characteristics. The Jina image in its geometric and symmetrical minimalism refers the worshipper to an ideal that transcends the image itself. Where the non-Jain art historian sees merely an endless repetition of form, and therefore a religioaesthetic that is profoundly lacking in imagination and creativity, the Jain worshipper sees the repeated representation of an eternal ideal. The minimalist Donald Judd thought that minimalism was a superior art form “because it did not posit a rational viewer who can discern an ideal order, only one who perceives simple material facts” (Meyer 2000: 25). The Jain argues that the Jina image is a superior—even supreme—material form because it embodies the

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ideal Jain order, and thereby allows the faithful and knowledgeable Jain worshipper also to embody that ideal.

Jina Images in History It is also important to recognize that from the perspective of art history the Jina image has not been a static ideal. The history of the Jina image, over 2,000 years, throughout India, and in the Shvetambara and Digambara traditions, has been one of constant change. Jain patrons, worshippers, and poets have worked within the rules of Jain theology to create a wide array of Jina images, much as a western jazz musician or classical Indian musician works within the restraints of the predetermined melody or raga and then improvises to create an ever new presentation of the “same” tune or raga. Change has been evident from the very beginning of the history of Jina images. While one might argue that in the beginning the patrons and sculptors were still experimenting with the form, and had not yet achieved the ideal they soon were to attain and then to maintain for centuries, I would counter that there has always been a dynamic creativity within the iconography of the Jina image. In part this has been a reflection of a creative tension within the very conception of the Jina, and this is the same tension that has led many to decry Jain iconography as boring. There are twenty-four Jinas in every cycle of time in this part of the cosmos, and when one adds together all the endless cycles of time, and the vast reach of the cosmos, the number of Jinas and other liberated souls is countless. Jains have therefore always spoken of the Jinas and Siddhas as plural, and Jainism can be characterized as a polytheist tradition. At the same time, one soul in its pure, liberated form is indistinguishable from another. Jains have therefore been equally comfortable speaking of the Jina as singular (in English, they freely have used the word “God”; Cort [1995d]), and Jainism can be characterized as a monotheist tradition. Jina icons have explored this dynamic tension between singularity and multiplicity, between monotheism and polytheism. While what may be the earliest extant Jina icon in the round is a standing image of Parshvanatha from Mathura, very soon we find also at Mathura a tradition of four-faced (chatur-mukha) images known as sarvatobhadra or “universally beneficial.” This iconography has continued to be popular (Figure 1.16). These images represent the Jina immediately after enlightenment, when each Jina preaches his first sermon to the assembled multitude of humans, animals, and gods in the universal preaching assembly known as the samavasarana. To indicate the universality of his message, he is depicted facing the four directions. This is also one of the eminences (atishaya)

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FIGURE 1.16. Sarvotabhadra Jina icon from North India, seventh century. Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Gift of Anna Bing Arnold.

of each Jina, for “though he sits down with his face turned towards the east, reflections of his shape are visible in the remaining three directions, so that he seems to be present fourfold” (Krause 1999a: 336).61 Most stone Jina images, whether standing or sitting, have been of single Jinas. The tradition of casting images in bronze has provided scope for other ways of multiplying the single Jina. By the second half of the first millennium CE we start to find increasing numbers of brass images in which a central seated Jina is surrounded by additional seated and standing Jinas. The most popular configurations have been images with three Jinas (tri-tirthika) and five Jinas (pancha-tirthika), with more complex figures of twenty-four and on occasion even seventy-two (Shah 1987: 96) (Figures 1.17 and 1.18) Multiplying the number of Jinas in an image has not been the only way to create diversity. While many Jina images are carved and installed on an altar in isolation, many others are accompanied by a carved surround (parikara), either as an integral part of the same sculpture, or as a separate frame. This was especially a way to elaborate upon a stone Jina image. The surround allows for even greater diversity (Bruhn 1969: 3–4; Shah 1987: 88–92). Early surrounds included attendants (possibly donors) in a worshipful pose. Soon they

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1.17. Shvetambara twenty-four Jina icon from western India, 1433 CE. Photograph Courtesy Peabody Essex Museum, Salem, MA.

FIGURE

came to include the deities—a male yaksha and a female yakshi, known also as shasanadevatas (or the “gods [who protect] the teaching”)—that attend each Jina. By the sixth century we find surrounds that depict the eight miraculous features (pratiharyas) that attend upon the enlightenment of each Jina (Figure 1.19). If the history of the Jina image when narrowly defined appears to be one of extreme conservatism, to the point of monotony (Bruhn 1969: 3), when we expand the frame of the Jina image to include the many ways of depicting a multitude of Jinas and the elaborate ornamentation possible in the carved surround, we see it instead to be a history of great creativity and invention.

The Worship and Veneration of the Jina Image In this book I focus on the narratives Jains have told to explain the existence of Jina images. This is not a book on the details of the worship and veneration of those images. Nonetheless, a brief word is called for here as to how Jains have customarily interacted ritually with these images.62

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1.18. Digambara 24 Jina icon, 24 Tirthankara Basati temple, Shravana Belagola. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

FIGURE

At the center of the Jain culture of temples and images are the Jinas, the enlightened and liberated teachers. According to Jain theology each Jina has attained the state of pure soul, devoid of all karmic bondage. This state is marked by the four infinitudes of perception, knowledge, potential, and bliss. It is also a state that is totally devoid of all contact with the material world, as the liberated soul resides in the highest realm of the cosmos. In contrast to many Hindu and Buddhist theologies of images, the Jain theorists of images have insisted that the Jina in no way is present in an image. To use Christian terminology, there is no “real presence” of the Jina in the image. He is, as Lawrence A. Babb (1996) so aptly put it, an “absent Lord.” Nonetheless, the long record of Jain hymns, narratives, and consecration rituals indicates that in practice most Jains have accepted that in a perhaps undefinable way there is nonetheless some sort of presence of the Jina in an image (Cort 2006b, Granoff 1998a, 1998b, 2001). In accordance with the Jain theology of divine absence in the image, the orthodox understanding of the rites of worship (puja), veneration (vandana), and visual interaction (darshana) is that they are acts of self-reflexive meditation.

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FIGURE 1.19. Shvetambara Jina icon of Parshvanatha with full parikara, Panchasara Parshvanatha temple, Patan. Photo: John E. Cort (1996).

By making offerings in front of the images, singing hymns to the Jinas who are symbolized by the images, and meditating upon the virtues embodied by the images, the individual Jain causes the virtues of the enlightened and liberated Jina to shine forth in his or her own soul. As we saw above in the descriptions of the offerings from the earliest Jain texts on images and worship, a number of items are offered in front of the Jina images. Because of the lack of any real presence of the Jina in the image, together with the Jain theological understanding that the enlightened and liberated Jina has conquered all desires (vita-raga) and so does not want anything, these are not offerings to the Jina. In Babb’s words, the worshipper does not “give” but instead “gives up.” In this the Jain rite of worship is significantly different from offerings in many Hindu contexts, especially to Krishna and the goddess, in which the theological understanding is that the deity partakes of the essence of the physical offerings and then returns them as blessed leftovers (prasada) to the worshipper. Despite the different theological understandings of exactly what happens in worship, there is significant overlap in the lists of what Hindus offer to a deity and Jains offer in front of the Jina. We saw above that the early texts mention the offering of a wide array of items: wet items that are applied directly to the image in the act of anointing (abhisheka) such as scented water, milk, yogurt,

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and ghee; items that are used to cool and clean the body of the image such as peacock-feather fans and scented cloths; items that are placed on the body of the image, such as sandalwood paste, flowers, garlands, clothing, and ornaments; items that are waved or placed in front of the image, such as incense, offerings shown in a mirror, lamps, rice, and cooked food; and performances in the presence of the image, such as hymns, songs, dance, and music. In addition, worshippers were described gifting to the temple other items that served to provide a grandly adorned setting for the worship of the Jina, and underscored the symbolism of the temple as a divine palace in which was enthroned the Jina as the true king of kings and god of gods. According to Vimalasuri in his Deeds of Padma, these items included parasols, fans, flags, mirrors, hanging banners, and carts in which to process the image. Medieval Jain ritual theorists, both Shvetambara and Digambara, standardized the offerings into set lists (Williams 1963: 216–24). The best known is a list of eight offerings, which is further divided into several that are offered directly onto the body of the image (anga-puja, literally “limb worship”) and those offered in front of the image (agra-puja, literally “worship before”). These eight are water, sandalwood paste, and flowers, that are applied to the image itself; and incense, a lamp, rice, food, and fruit, that are offered in front of the image. As Caroline Humphrey and James Laidlaw (2004) have observed, very few Jains restrict their offerings to just this list of eight. In other words, it is an ideological description of worship after the fact, not an operative normative prescription for worship. In recognition of this variability in the number of offerings, the theorists developed further lists of eleven, seventeen, and twentyone offerings (Williams 1963: 220). A fundamental distinction in Jain society is that between monks and nuns on the one hand, and laymen and laywomen on the other. As one of their five great vows (mahavrata) at the time of world renunciation, monks and nuns commit to a total renunciation of all notions of possession. Laypeople, on the other hand, while enjoined not to be ensnared by the material world and possessiveness, are understood by their very nature to be involved with the physical world. As a result, only laypeople can participate fully in the ritual culture of images, for only they have material goods to offer to Jina images in the act of worship. Monks and nuns therefore should not perform worship (puja) with physical objects. They should only perform worship in a spiritual (bhava) manner. A major part of spiritual worship is the ritual recitation of an ancient set of hymns known as chaitya vandana, “veneration of the images” (Cort 1995e, 2001b: 64–71, 2002a: 71–81). Despite this division, Jain monks are still involved with many aspects of the material culture of images, such as the installation and consecration of images (Cort 2009). Images and temples, therefore, have

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been a central presence in the ritual cultures of the image-worshipping Jains, both mendicant and lay, for nearly two millennia. In chapter 5 we will see that the seemingly ubiquitous presence of Jinas in Jain ritual culture has not gone unchallenged. Within the Shvetambara fold, from the sixteenth century onward there have been voices raised in explicit criticism and condemnation of the use of material images in the pursuit of the Jain goal that is in the end a totally immaterial, spiritual one. First with the layman Lonka Shah, and then later with the Sthanakavasi and Terapanthi congregations that emerged out of the traditions of his followers, there has been a persistent rejection of images. Within the Digambara fold there has not been as explicit a rejection of images, but there did arise in the fifteenth century the aniconic tradition of Taran Svami that has eschewed images (Cort 2006a). Further, the very insistence of the image-worshipping Jains, both Digambara and Shvetambara, on the universality of Jina images, can be read in part as a response to criticisms of the ritual use of Jina images. These criticisms, however, remain silent in the historical record, and at best can only be inferred. The Jain narratives of the presence and worship of Jina images throughout Jain history, and throughout the cosmos, can also, as we will see in chapter 2, be read as a vision of the world in which the Jina image is indeed, as the late Kendall Folkert (1993: 147–52) subtitled one of his essays, the “Jina at the center.”

2 A Cosmos Filled with Eternal Icons: Icons, Cosmology, Mandalas, and Scripture

There isn’t really a Jain “history” of icons according to the iconworshipping Digambaras and Shvetambaras. There is a simple reason for this: according to the cosmologies of both traditions there is no origin of the practice. The icons, and the temples in which they are enshrined, are understood by the Shvetambaras to be eternal (shashvata), and by the Digambaras to be uncreated (akritrima). If “history” implies origins and change, then a presentation of icons as uncreated and unchanging is an attempt to deny their historicity. The imageworshipping Jains’ claim that Jina icons are eternal removes the entire ritual culture from any possibility of historical interrogation. There is no evidence that this Jain understanding of icons was elaborated as a defense of icons. As the Shvetambara Pandit Hansraj Shastri wrote, no explicit articulation of a critique of Jina icons is found in any Jain text before the sixteenth century (Hansraj 1956: 81). Nonetheless, I argue that it is reasonable to read the Jain accounts of Jina icons and temples as uncreated and eternal as responses either to a generalized anxiety about icons, or to arguments by unknown critics. Locating the origin of the institution in a timeless past, and claiming that icons have no origin and so are contemporaneous with the beginningless cosmos itself, is an effective argument against opponents who criticize the culture of icons as humanly created and therefore fallible. The Jains have not been alone in their anxieties about whether or not it is appropriate to use icons to depict and worship the divine. One finds extensive evidence of

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this in both the Brahmanical Hindu and Buddhist traditions.1 At the same time, however, we must read these accounts with the assumption that texts, at least to some extent, “mean” what they say, or at least what their authors and commentators “say they say.” Such a reading acknowledges that we do not have any clear evidence that any defensive strategy motivated the development of these accounts. We see in these texts a grand vision of the cosmos as eternally filled with, and grounded on, icons of the Jinas, the enlightened and liberated souls who themselves embody perfect truth.

The Eternal Icons of Nandishvara Dvipa The “narrative” of Jina icons as eternal is found in Jain cosmology.2 The Jains have shared with the Hindus and Buddhists a vision of the universe as extending infinitely in both time and space. Jain authors have lavished great effort in providing the details of this infinite universe in mind-boggling dense textual and painted descriptions. In part this is indicative of a love of the complex and the grand. As I have discussed elsewhere (Cort 2001b: 19–22, 2009b), these descriptions are also intended to overwhelm the person who contemplates the description of the endless cosmos with a sense of world-weariness. In such a vast universe, the individual human is an insignificant speck. Further, it is a universe filled with the inevitable sufferings of aging, illness, and death, for which only the Jain path to liberation provides a permanent remedy. That remedy is available only to souls that have taken human embodiment, since only humans have the ability to make fully moral judgments, and therefore practice fully a religious life. If one is in the right body in the right place and right time, then the proper response to understanding the immensity of the cosmos, the universality of suffering, and the immense odds against being reborn as a human being, is to seize the rare opportunity for spiritual advancement. According to Jain cosmology, the universe is divided into three vertical levels. The vast upper level is filled with the heavenly residences of gods. These are temporal beings who, due to the good karma accumulated from previous lives, lead long lives full of pleasure. The vast lower level is filled with the hellish residences of demons and souls in torment for karmic misdeeds, as well as other beings with superhuman powers who can affect human affairs. Only in the wafer-thin middle level do humans, animals, and plants reside. Even in that middle level humans can reside only on two-and-a-half continents in its center. Spreading out from these are a concentric series of oceans and continents. The eighth continent is Nandishvara Dvipa, translated by Caillat and Kumar (1981: 110) as “the continent of rejoicing.” This continent is filled with eternal Jina

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icons—5,616 to be exact—in fifty-two eternal Jina temples.3 The gods come here three times a year for eight-day festivals to worship the eternal icons. It is this divine rejoicing and celebration that gives the continent its name. The icons are of four Jinas: Rishabha, Chandranana, Varishena, and Vardhamana. These are known as the four eternal (shashvata) Jinas, because Jinas with these names are found in each cycle of time and in one or another of the fifteen regions of the universe (karma bhumi) in which a full spiritual life and therefore liberation is possible (Shah 1987: 100). Descriptions of Nandishvara Dvipa are found in texts of both traditions from the first millennium CE, with the earliest Shvetambara accounts predating the Digambara ones. The Blessed Scripture (Bhagavati Sutra), also known by its older name as the Scripture of the Teaching of the Expositions (Vyakhya Prajnapti Sutra) is the largest and among the most important of the Shvetambara Jain “scriptures.”4 In chapter 9 of book 20, a section of the text from the fourth century CE (Ohira 1994a: 162), Mahavira’s disciple Indrabhuti Gautama asked Mahavira about the modes of superhuman travel of which certain mendicants are capable due to magical powers.5 Mahavira replied that there are two: Spell Travel and Thigh Travel.6 Both enable the mendicant to travel not only throughout this continent of Jambu Dvipa, to which humans are otherwise restricted, but also to other continents. In particular, Mahavira singled out their ability to travel to Nandishvara Dvipa. There they construct a preaching assembly (samavasarana), and perform the rite of veneration (vandana) to the chaityas.7 The term chaitya was understood to refer to a temple, and therefore also metonymically to refer to the icons enshrined within the temple. As we will see, the iconoclastic Sthanakavasi tradition disputed this interpretation. Over the centuries the descriptions in Shvetambara and Digambara texts became ever more detailed, so that by the medieval period we find accounts an elaborate heavenly landscape.8 The following account is taken from the Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Places (Vividha Tirtha Kalpa), composed in the early fourteenth century by Shvetambara monk Jinaprabhasuri (ca. 1261–ca. 1333). This illustrious monk was an honored member of the court of the Tughlak Sultan Mahammad Shah. He was also head of a branch of the Kharatara Gaccha of the Shvetambaras, and the author of a number of standard works on doctrine and practice that were subsequently normative for the Kharataras.9 Jinaprabhasuri devoted chapter 24 of his Guidebook to a description of Nandishvara Dvipa.10 His description overlapped significantly with that of Hemachandra in his Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons (Trishashti Shalaka Purusha Charitra). Hemachandra composed his mammoth universal history of Jainism in the middle of the twelfth century for his patron King Kumarapala of the Chaulukya dynasty, with its capital in Anahillavada Pattana

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in what is today northern Gujarat.11 Jinaprabhasuri might have borrowed his description directly from Hemachandra, and he clearly was familiar with the earlier text. He concluded his description by saying that what he wrote was in accordance with what earlier teachers had written, and this may be a veiled reference to Hemachandra’s text. It is also possible that both Jinaprabhasuri and Hemachandra borrowed from earlier Shvetambara texts. In part the very nature of the material leads to formulaic description. (See Figures 2.1 and 2.2 for depictions of Nandishvara Dvipa that make it easier to follow Jinaprabhasuri’s text.) Here is Jinaprabhasuri’s description. The eighth continent is Nandishvara. It resembles heaven. It is encircled by the ocean Nandishvara. It is 1,638,400,000 yojanas in diameter.12 [One yojana is roughly eight miles.] It is an enjoyment land of the gods, with gardens of various designs. It is made beautiful by the congregations of gods who come here to worship the Jinas. In its center stand four Antimony mountains. Each one is 10,000 yojanas in diameter at the base and 1,000 yojanas high. The mountain in the east is Delight of the Gods (Devaramana), in the south is

FIGURE 2.1. Carved plaque of Nandishvara Dvipa from Ranakpur, 1439 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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2.2. Digambara icon of Nandishvara Dvipa from Mudbidri, ca. sixteenth century. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

FIGURE

Permanently Brilliant (Nityodyota), in the west is Self-Illuminating (Svayamprabha), and in the north is Delighting (Ramaniya). On them are Jina temples a hundred yojanas long, half as many yojanas wide, and seventy-two yojanas high. Each of them has four gates that are sixteen yojanas high, eight yojanas deep, and eight yojanas across. The gates are named after the gods, deities, serpent deities, and flying deities with which they are associated. In the middle of each temple is a jeweled platform sixteen yojanas long and wide, and eight yojanas high. Above the platforms are divine umbrellas made of many jewels, which are much wider and higher than the platforms. On the platforms are 108 icons of each of the four eternal Jinas: Rishabha, Vardhamana, Chandranana, and Varishena. Each one is

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made of gems, seated in the lotus position, and accompanied by its retinue. Next to each icon is a serpent deity and a protector deity holding a full pot, and behind each is an icon of an umbrella-bearer. In the temples are incense, jars, garlands, bells, the eight auspicious symbols, banners, umbrellas, gateways, baskets, trunks, and platforms. There are sixteen full pots as adornments. The earth is made of gold and silver sand. There are silver entrance pavilions the same size as the temples, as well as dance pavilions, assembly halls, and platforms. At every step there are pleasing memorial tumuli (stupas), icons, pretty temples and trees, divine Indra banners, and lotus ponds. Each of the tumuli has four doors. Each also has sixteen icons, for a total of 2,508 icons. In the four directions from each Antimony mountain are fishless pure lakes. These are lotus ponds 100,000 yojanas long, 100,000 yojanas deep, and 100,000 yojanas across; 500 yojanas beyond each lake are great gardens, 500 yojanas wide and 100,000 yojanas long. These are known for their fragrant flowering trees. In the middle of the ponds are Milky Mouth (Dadhimukha) mountains made of crystal, in the shape of grain sacks. They are noteworthy for their ornaments, verandas, and groves. They are 64,000 yojanas high, and extend 1,000 yojanas into the earth. They are 10,000 yojanas wide at both the bottom and the top. Between each lotus pond are two Love-Making (Ratikara) mountains. There are 32 Love-Making mountains in total. There are temples of the eternal Jinas on these Milky Mouth and Love-Making mountains, just like on the Antimony mountains. There are four Love-Making mountains in the intermediate directions of the continent. These are 10,000 yojanas long and wide, and 1,000 yojanas high. They are made of many divine gems, and are in the shape of drums. On the two Love-Making mountains to the south are the palaces of the god Shakra [another name for Indra], and on the two to the north are the palaces of the god Ishana. The palaces of the eight great goddesses are in the eight directions. They are 100,000 yojanas wide and long, and adorned with Jina temples. The bountiful gods along with their retinues perform the eight-day festival (ashtahnika) at the temples on the special days of the Jinas. Shakra

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performs the festival in the four-doored Jina temple of eternal icons on the mountain Delight of the Gods in the east. Shakra’s four directional guardians perform the festival in accordance with the precepts in the temples of the eternal Jina icons on the four Milky Mouth mountains in the ponds in the four directions from Delight of the Gods. Ishanendra performs it on the Antimony mountain Delighting, and his directional guardians perform it on the Milky Mouth mountains in the ponds. Chamarendra performs the festival on the Antimony mountain Permanently Brilliant, and his directional guardians perform it on the Milk Mountains in the ponds. Balindra performs the festival on the Antimony mountain Self-Illuminating. His directional guardians perform it on the Milky Mouth mountains in those ponds. The gods start fasting on Divali, and perform the worship of Nandishvara at the appropriate time, and thereby attain protection and wealth. The person who in a spirit of devotion worships Nandishvara on the three annual eight-day festivals by singing praises and hymns and recitations to the temples will surely cross over his sinful karma. Nandishvara Dvipa as described in such great detail by Jinaprabhasuri is a circle, a symbol of stability and wholeness. It is subdivided according to both horizontal and vertical lateral symmetry into four identical quadrants, four also being a symbol of wholeness and totality, as indicative of the four cardinal directions. This fourness is then replicated over and over, creating a virtual forest of temples and icons of the four eternal Jinas. Clearly this is not a map of any humanly experienced landscape that has been shaped by the environmental and geological forces of wind, rain, erosion, and plate tectonics. It is a map of an ideal world that is perfect in its symmetry and impervious to the effects of time. The resemblance of this description of Nandishvara Dvipa to the various Buddhist Pure Lands is striking, and it is quite possible that the two cosmological traditions interacted with each other.13 The rigorous symmetry of Nandishvara Dvipa also aided in the memorization of its details; once a practitioner understood the mathematics used to generate the landscape, he could replicate it with relative ease. These features of being simultaneously complex and simple, of being a symmetrical and stylized landscape, and of being indicative of a perfection that stands outside time (and therefore suffering) rather than within the forces of time and change, all show how the Jain depiction of Nandishvara Dvipa is a depiction not of a specific place with all the particularity of geography as normally experienced by humans. Rather, it is a mandala.

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Mandalas and Icons At its most basic, a mandala is any sort of geometric design, usually square or circular, that is at once complex and essentially symmetrical.14 They are found in the Buddhist, Hindu, and Jain traditions, although the mandalas of the esoteric Buddhist traditions are probably the most studied and hence the bestknown ones. A mandala is a depiction of the ultimate order of the cosmos in an abstract form, indicating that beneath the seeming randomness and asymmetry by which humans experience the world there is an order that may appear at first to be highly complex, but in fact is well ordered in its balanced geometric regularity. Most mandalas are portrayed as two-dimensional paintings on cloth, although the Tibetan tradition of constructing temporary low relief mandalas out of colored sand has become well known in recent years through the frequent installation of these mandalas in museums and on college campuses. The Tibetan Gelugpa monk and Tantric expert mKhas-grub-rje (1385–1438) wrote in his Fundamentals of the Buddhist Tantras that there are four types of mandalas. In addition to the two-dimensional mandalas of powder and cloth, there are conceptual mandalas formed in meditation, and the transformation of the human body into a mandala in meditative rituals (Lessing and Wayman 1968: 271). The translators of mKhas-grub-rje’s text call attention in a footnote to a sixfold classification of mandalas: made of syllables, made of attributes, made of hand gestures, made of images, made of flowers, and finally those “of the [deity] host” (271n2).15 The mandalas of colored powders and flowers are three-dimensional objects, but in their basic presentation they are of such low relief that they remain largely two-dimensional. The reference to mandalas made of images (or icons), however, indicates that it is possible for mandalas to be fully threedimensional. Martin Brauen (1998: 11–12) mentions three large three-dimensional mandalas in the Tibetan tradition: a Kalachakra mandala in the Potala Palace in Lhasa, another in the Sumeru temple in Chengde (Jehol), China, and a third in the Zangdog Palri Monastery in Kalimpong, West Bengal.16 Brauen (figs. 48–9) also has published a photograph of a smaller three-dimensional mandala from Nepal now in the collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London (IM 91-1936), consisting of a central icon of the Buddha Chandaroshana enshrined in a palace temple surrounded by icons of eight other deities. A smaller three-dimensional mandala from the Newar Buddhist community of Nepal, dating from about the sixteenth century, is in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (2002-96-1). It consists of a central icon

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of the Buddha Samvara embracing his consort Vajravarahini (but simply atop a six-pointed star, not in a palace temple) surrounded by icons of a retinue of six deities. Similar small three-dimensional mandalas are found in other museum collections, and if research attention were turned to them it would probably turn out that they are more widespread than currently realized. Despite the seeming predominance of two-dimensional mandalas in the scholarly literature, in museum collections, and in Buddhist practice, Brauen has astutely written of the “intrinsic three-dimensionality of all mandalas” (12). In a similar vein, Elizabeth ten Grotenhuis (1992: 2) has written: “A two-dimensional mandala . . . is meant to be transformed into a three-dimensional realm, usually a palatial structure, by means of contemplation and ritual.” Mandalas in Buddhism are particularly associated with the Tantric or Vajrayana Buddhist schools of central and eastern Asia. They are at the heart of the practices and cosmology of the Shingon school in Japan, for example; and here again we see that side by side with a predominance of two-dimensional painted icons is a conception of their inherent three-dimensionality. One of the oldest Shingon temples in Japan is that of To-ji in Kyoto. While the temple was part of the original 794 plan for the new imperial capital, in 823 it was placed under the control of Kukai (774–835; also known as Kobo Daishi), who brought the Shingon teachings from China and established them in Japan (Sawa 1972: 130). Among the treasures of To-ji are the two oldest painted mandalas in Japan, dating from the late ninth or early tenth century. The Womb World (also translated as Matrix World) Mandala (Sanskrit Garbhakoshadhatu Mandala, Japanese Taizokai Mandara) depicts the physical, phenomenal world of our ordinary experience, whereas the Diamond World Mandala (Sanskrit Vajradhatu Mandala; Japanese Kongokai Mandara) depicts the ultimate, transcendental world of true reality. The practitioner meditates on both of these, with the goal of realizing that in fact the two are inseparable (non-dual) from each other.17 To-ji is also famous for its large three-dimensional mandala in the Lecture Hall (Ko-do).18 Either all twenty-one icons of the mandala, or just the icon of the fierce protector deity Fudo Myo-o (Sanskrit Achalanatha), are believed to have been brought from China by Kukai himself when he returned in 806.19 These are the twenty-one principal deities of the Diamond World Mandala, showing how the mandala was less a two-dimensional map of an ideal Buddhist realm than it was the three-dimensional physical embodiment of that realm. This Shingon emphasis on the three-dimensionality of the two mandalas is also seen in the slightly younger temple of Kongobu-ji, the chief temple of the Shingon sect, which Kukai founded on Mount Koya south of Kyoto in 816.20 The orientation of the buildings in this temple complex represented a radical

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departure from previous Japanese Buddhist temples. Rather than have the buildings form a hierarchical line, Kukai constructed two pagodas side by side. One of these is the Diamond World pagoda, and the other the Womb World pagoda. On the altar of each are icons of the five Buddhas appropriate for that mandala. The icons bring the paradise of Shingon into this very world. This is underscored by their being three-dimensional sculptures, not two-dimensional paintings. Takaaki Sawa (1972: 88–89) further notes that the original ritual function of the Shingon painted mandalas was not to hang on a wall, as they are presented today. They were laid on the altar, and icons and other ritual objects were placed upon them. The original mandala Kukai brought from China was unable to withstand such rough wear, and in 821 it needed to be replaced (94).21 The three-dimensionality is still clearer when we look at the close connections between mandalas and architecture. While in many respects mandalas resemble maps, they more prominently resemble architectural plans (ten Grotenhuis 1999: 2), as a building to remain stable depends upon the same symmetry that underlies a mandala. The textual descriptions of mandalas frequently employ the language of architecture, as the elements within mandalas are described as temples or palaces (Brauen 1988: 69–74; Wayman 1990: 82–110), two architectural forms that have overlapped to a significant extent in South Asian history. As Takaaki Sawa (1972: 91) describes the mandalas of Japanese Shingon Buddhism, “The general plan is not unlike an ancient castle with gates in four directions and with the king in the center, from which vantage point he maintains surveillance over his retainers and soldiers.” Most scholarship on mandalas has interpreted them within the ontological frameworks of either Buddhist or Hindu non-dualism, whether of the esoteric Tantric variety or the exoteric Mahayana and Advaita varieties. Broadly speaking, these are philosophical systems that in the end devalue the multiplicity of form as in fact only an illusion. They are also traditions that contain to a significant degree either an explicit critique of icons, or an implicit devaluing of them, what Richard Davis (1997: 47–49 and 2001: 12–24) has called the “monist demotion” of icons. In this framework, mandalas have been interpreted as meditative props that aid the individual meditator in understanding the ultimate unreality of material form and thereby transforming one’s consciousness so that one realizes the unity or non-duality that in fact constitutes reality. This interpretation of mandalas has been strongly influenced by the work of the psychologist Carl Gustav Jung (1972), for whom mandalas reflect the underlying transcultural structure of what he termed the “collective unconscious.” In the Jungian system, the creation of a mandala by a person is “a manifestation of psychic centering” (Kast 1992: 109), and “the formation of a mandala is a definite sign that the coherence of the ego complex can be spontaneously

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reestablished through the constellation of the archetype of the self ” (111). This Jungian interpretation was picked up most obviously by the Italian scholar of Tibetan Buddhism Giuseppe Tucci in his The Theory and Practice of the Mandala, where he described mandalas as “psycho-cosmogrammata” that reveal to the neophyte “the secret play of the forces which operate in the universe and in us” and thereby lead him “to the reintegration of the consciousness” (Tucci 1970: vii). An interpretation equally indebted to Jung was given by Ajit Mookerjee and Madhu Khanna, who described the mandala as “an archetypal image signifying wholeness and totality” (Mookerjee and Khanna 1977:34). The Jungian emphasis on inner spiritual transformation, and devaluation of external ritual practice, has in less overt form been a presence in much if not most European and American scholarship on mandalas over the past several decades. Thus, Robert A. F. Thurman, in his foreword to the catalogue of a recent exhibition of mandalas from throughout Asia, wrote, “Ultimately, the mandala represents an inner spiritual journey in visual form” (Leidy and Thurman: 8).22 This psychological framework for understanding mandalas may be helpful in understanding the use of mandalas in esoteric Buddhist and Hindu practice. But it unduly minimizes the extent to which mandala symbolism is found in a wide array of exoteric contexts. Geri Malandra (1993) has analyzed the Buddhist complex of rock-cut temples at Ellora from the seventh and eighth centuries as employing a mandalaic framework. While Malandra says that these temples exhibit the imagery of early Tantric Buddhism, the temples themselves form a three-dimensional mandala. Perhaps the most famous three-dimensional mandala, one that also rests upon esoteric Tantric philosophy, but, I would argue, also involves a more obvious exoteric dimension as a way to envision an orderly cosmos, is the great eighth–ninth century monument of Borobodur in Central Java (also spelled Barabadur; Gómez and Woodward [1981]; Mus [1998]). Paul Mus (1998: 94) said of it, “the storeys of the monument correspond to those of the cosmos and the whole will form a singularly expressive scale model of the universe.” Less well known, but of equal significance, is the nearby contemporary monument of Candi Sewu.23 These monuments themselves were giant three-dimensional mandalas. To a large extent the meaning of the mandalas was translated onto the monuments through the use of Buddha icons—250 icons at Candi Sewu and 504 at Borobudur (Soekmono 1990: 72–77). Several centuries later, Candi Jago, construction of which started between 1268 and 1280, was also laid out as a large mandala (O’Brien 1988).24 The focus on mandalas in psychological and esoteric frameworks also minimizes the extent to which mandalas are in large part complex arrangements of icons.25 The connection between mandalas and icons is seen more clearly when we remember that textual descriptions of mandalas employ the language

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of temples. Candi Sewu and Borobudur illustrate this connection. Two other Indonesian Buddhist remains also indicate this connection between mandalas and icons. In 1913 a hoard of small bronze Buddhist icons from the tenth or eleventh centuries was uncovered at Nganjuk in East Java. While the hoard is now dispersed, Jan Fontein (1990: 231–33) estimates that there may have been as many as ninety icons it. Originally these icons would have been arranged to form a three-dimensional Mandala of the Adamantine Sphere (vajradhatu mandala). More recently, in 1976, another smaller hoard of early tenth-century bronze icons was uncovered in Surocolo in Central Java (1990: 223–30). Of the twenty-two small bronzes, each between 21⁄8 and 4 inches high, nineteen were from another Buddhist mandala that has not yet been positively identified. These two sets of small icons exhibit clearly the close connection between icons and mandalas. The three-dimensional Newari mandalas mentioned above, which consist of geometrical and symmetrical arrangements of icons centered around a palace temple, give evidence that this conceptualization of a mandala as an array of icons was widespread in the Buddhist world. We see that there has been a scholarly preoccupation with the role of mandalas in meditative and visualization rituals. In them the practitioner slowly creates a mandala in his mind as a replication of the process of the creation of the seemingly substantial world. He then dissolves the mandala back into first a unitary consciousness and then, in the Buddhist context, into emptiness itself. Meditation with a mandala is thereby a method of realizing the ultimate reality of the world. But this particular focus has obscured other understandings of the mandala. Robert Sharf (2001) recently investigated the ritual use and understanding of mandalas in the esoteric Shingon Buddhist tradition of Japan. He expected, in accordance with scholarly model of the use of mandalas, to find that the twodimensional mandalas served as visual props to the visualization meditations of the practitioners. But this was not the case. Instead, in Shingon practice the mandala is the site of the invocation of the deities themselves, and so it becomes the “real presence” of those deities. Here we see a close corollary between two- and three-dimensional mandalas and three-dimensional icons, which in the Buddhist, Hindu, and Jain traditions all involve, in one way or another, the real presence of the deity. While icons can serve as aids to meditation and visualization, they serve much more so as the actual embodiment of the deity.26 When we see that a mandala can be understood as an arrangement of deities, we see that icons of those deities are essential to a mandala. We also see how the Jain description of Nandishvara Dvipa is a description of a mandala of icons. The symmetry and the geometric stability of Nandishvara Dvipa indicate

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that it is a part of the universe that stands outside of the vagaries of time and change that mark the part of the universe in which we reside. The Jain depiction of Nandishvara Dvipa is an example of what we can call a “mandalaic imagination.” This is a way of seeing the cosmos as stable, geometric, and symmetrical. The world as we experience it in our unenlightened everyday consciousness is fluid, random, and without any perceivable order. In the mandalaic imagination, spiritual insight consists in seeing through this chaotic everyday world to the underlying structure. It is a structure that is comforting and reassuring in its regularity and predictability. The mandalas of the South Asian religious traditions are among the bestknown examples of the mandalaic imagination, but they are by no means unique in global religious history. The mandalaic imagination can also bee seen at work, for example, in the medieval Christian view of the world so vividly portrayed in Dante Alighieri in the early fourteenth century in his Divine Comedy.27 While Hell is a place where one sees the “anarchy of evil,” it is still a place where “the medieval passion for order imposes a coherent classification and a rigid external symmetry” (Sayers 1955: 61). Thus, there are four levels of hell, comprising a total of nine circles, each one inhabited by souls that had committed specific kinds of sins: the lustful, the gluttonous, those who were violent against their neighbors, and others. All of these levels are in the form of discs around a common axis.28 Purgatory is in the shape of a single mountain, with the different levels consisting of flat terraces that ring the mountain—in other words, a mirror image of Hell. While there are fewer layers in Purgatory, it has a more elaborate symmetry. Finally, Paradise comprises a set of ten concentric heavens. Each is associated with one planetary body, is inhabited both by different categories of human souls and angelic orders, and represents different virtues.29 In addition to being highly symmetrical, the ultimate structure of the cosmos according to Dante shows how the mandalaic imagination is also founded upon numerical sequences. Each of the three levels of the eternal cosmos “Is built up on a numerical system of 7 + 2 = 9 + 1 = 10 (seven being the sacred number; 9 the square of 3, the number of the Trinity, and 10 the ‘perfect number’)” (Sayers 1955: 63). The world of sin (Christian) or chaotic rebirth (South Asia) lacks any perceivable mathematical structure; the world of ultimate reality is ordered—even if, as in the South Asian examples, the numbers are so large as to be uncountable. Philip Lutgendorf (2007: 251) has commented on the power of numbers in the Brahmanical Hindu tradition: “In the Sanskrit shastras, recurring numerological patterns impose meaningful design on the chaotic world of everyday experience, and in the realm of [pilgrimage] literature, such patterns sanctify the landscape by linking diverse sites in a geometric

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mandala.”30 We see a similar fascination with numbers in the Jain descriptions of the cosmos and, as we will see below, the vast number of eternal temples and Jina icons that fill that cosmos. The organizing power of the mandalaic imagination, with its emphases on symmetry and numerological patterns, becomes clearer when we contrast it with a cosmology that is not based on mandalaic principles. Perhaps the best example is Japan. In the late first millennium CE, Esoteric Buddhism brought to Japan a rich tradition of mandalas from South and Central Asia (ten Grotenhuis 1999). Within a few centuries the highly symmetrical mandalas gave way to a preference for landscape painting to depict ultimate reality, even if the paintings were still called mandalas (or, in the Japanese context, more properly mandaras). These paintings show a “dislike for and a careful avoidance of ordinary symmetry or regularity” (Anesaki 1973: 13). By the time the indigenous kami-worshipping Shinto tradition adopted the genre of mandala painting in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the genre had undergone a profound change. Elizabeth ten Grotenhuis has written that whereas “esoteric mandalas can be can be understood as cosmic ground plans or maps, showing the relationships among deities and natural forces . . . kami mandara are also maplike, but they show recognizable sacred precincts on earth” (ten Grotenhuis 1999: 143). The Buddhist (and Jain) mandalas in their symmetry depict what Stephen Addiss has termed “rationality and timeless balance.” Japanese portrayals of the world, however, feature “asymmetry and open space . . . [that] can suggest emotion and a sense of movement and change” (1996: 9). In the same vein, Donald Keene (1995) has written that irregularity—and in particular, incompleteness and asymmetry—is one of the chief characteristics of Japanese taste. Haga Koshiro (1995) has written in similar terms that irregularity and imperfection are essential to the central Japanese aesthetic principle of wabi. We can see why the Jains prefer regular, symmetrical mandalas to irregular, asymmetrical landscape paintings. In contrast to the Japanese vision of reality as fluid, changing, and asymmetrical, according to Jains the liberated soul is a perfected soul (siddha), and the Jina icon should clearly convey that perfection through its symmetry. It is precisely emotion and change that are overcome in the Jain vision of spiritual perfection. A mandala depicts the underlying stable structure of the cosmos. It reflects the eternal and enlightened underlying structure of what is “really real,” not the illusory and fluctuating experiences that unenlightened humans take as real. In the Jain case, as seen in the mandalaic depiction of Nandishvara Dvipa, this is a structure of eternal icons of the eternal Jinas enshrined in eternal temples, and the eternal worship of those icons by the ideal worshippers, the Indras.

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The Eternal Icons of Nandishvara in Jain Ritual Cultures Framing the Continent of Rejoicing and its eternal Jinas with the concept of the mandala gives us a deeper insight into the power of Nandishvara Dvipa in the Jain religious imaginaire. For Jains it is a profoundly satisfying image of ultimate reality. While the geographical details of Nandishvara Dvipa are a matter of specialist knowledge, the general outline of the continent, its eternal temples with the icons of the eternal Jinas, and the worship of those icons by the gods are all well known to both Digambara and Shvetambara Jains. This information is vectored into Jain ritual culture in a variety of ways, through architecture, art, and ritual. The net effect of the ubiquitousness of Nandishvara Dvipa in Jain culture is that no Jain seemingly ever has to learn about the eternal temples and Jina icons. They are an integral part of the very fabric of Jainism as lived experience in India, to which any person who participates in Jain ritual, visual, and material culture from childhood is exposed on a regular basis. Nandishvara Dvipa has been the subject of representation in both twoand three-dimensional media. Manuscripts of cosmographical texts have frequently been illustrated with simple schematic paintings of Nandishvara, as seen in the seven examples from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries from western India published by Colette Caillat and Ravi Kumar in The Jain Cosmology (figs. 47–53).31 The manuscript illustrations were probably seen mostly by monks and select laymen, but other visual representations of Nandishvara have been much more accessible. Shvetambaras have a tradition of carved stone plaques of the fifty-two temples on Nandishvara. These are circular and highly symmetrical, showing four groups of thirteen temples interspersed with the trees and ponds described in the texts. They were located prominently on the walls within the main pavilions of temples so that people could recite hymns of veneration to Nandishvara during the course of their regular worship. A Nandishvara plaque from 1200 originally in the compound of the Neminatha temple atop Mount Girnar, and now in the Sagaram Soni temple, is the oldest extant “map” in India (Schwartzberg 1992: 296). Two of the most famous of these plaques are at Ranakpur, and both are dated to 1439 (Shah 1955c: fig. 89, 1987: fig. 179) (Figure 2.1). U. P. Shah has discussed a Nandishvara plaque at the important pilgrimage shrine of Girnar (1955c: 121, 1987: 22). Eberhard Fischer and Jyotindra Jain published a sixteenth-century plaque from Jaisalmer (1978: II: fig. 27), and Chandrakant Kadiya (2000a: fig. 11) published a more recent marble plaque from a temple in Cambay.32 The Digambaras have preferred sculptures in the round, both carved stone and cast bronze, to depict Nandishvara. These are tapering mountains,

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with thirteen seated Jina images on each side. These are found throughout the Digambara areas, with published examples from medieval Tamil Nadu (Ramachandran 1934), Gujarat from 1039 and 1416 (Pal 1995: figs. 11 and 12), and a modern one from Karnataka (Shah 1955c: fig. 63)33 (Figures 2.2 and 2.3). The symbolism of the fifty-two temples is also expressed in a style of medieval and modern Shvetambara temple known as the Nandishvara temple. These are especially found at major pilgrimage shrines. The main temple, with its high altar fronted by a large assembly hall, is surrounded by a covered pavilion containing fifty-one smaller temples, each with its own spire and flag, and its own altar. The resulting large open space, with the central high temple spire surrounded on all four sides by fifty-one smaller temple spires, creates a unique architectural layout to Jain pilgrimage shrines. This plan goes back

FIGURE 2.3. Digambara icon of Nandishvara Dvipa, Bhandara Basati temple, Shravana Belagola. Photo: John E. Cort (1999).

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to famous historical precedents at Abu and Girnar. The fifty-two shrine plan became sufficiently canonical that it found mention in the early-twelfth century Vastuvidya (Science of Architecture), which mentions it as an option along with a plan of twenty-four shrines.34 The fifty-two-shrine Nandishvara Dvipa temple continued to be a prestigious model for the most lavish of pilgrimage temples, as seen in the Hathising temple in Ahmedabad, built in the mid-nineteenth century by the wealthy merchant Hathising Kesarising (Dhaky 1998). This plan is very popular in the large, expensive temples being built by rich patrons today (Figure 2.4).

FIGURE 2.4. Plan of Shvetambara 52-shrine Nandishvara Dvipa temple. After P. O. Sompura (1967: 31).

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The icons on the fifty-two altars are of the more usual twenty-four Jinas of this era. Icons of the four eternal Jinas are fairly rare. The goal of the fifty-two altar temple is not to replicate Nandishvara Dvipa exactly. Rather, we see how the divine pilgrimage to Nandishvara is replicated in a humanly accessible pilgrimage shrine, and the divine pilgrimage becomes the paradigm for human pilgrimage, and even for the daily visit to and worship at a temple. Another version of the Nandishvara temple was created in 1837, when Ujambai, the daughter of a prominent Jain family in Ahmedabad, commissioned a small temple dedicated to Nandishvara Dvipa atop Mount Shatrunjay, the most important Shvetambara pilgrimage shrine in western India.35 Instead of a layout focused on a central altar and image, inside the temple are fifty-two small four-faced spires, with a Jina image on each of the four sides. The use of colored glass in the stone latticework windows, a modern innovation when the temple was built, adds to the charm of this forest of shrines (Figure 2.5). This architectural device is not limited to the Shvetambaras, as there is a similar Digambara temple with fifty-two four-faced spires in Delhi as well

FIGURE 2.5. Shvetambara Ujambai Nandishvara Dvipa temple, Shatrunjaya, nineteenth century. Photo: John E. Cort (1985).

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(Figure 2.6). Gopilal Amar mentions a recent large Digambara temple on the model of Nandishvara Dvipa at the base of the important pilgrimage shrine of Parasnath Hill in Jharkhand (1974–75: 529). According to Balbhadra Jain (1974–88: II: 157), this is an eight-cornered pavilion. In each of the four directions is a platform with thirteen shrines on it. Also on each platform are the Love-Making, Antinomy, and Milky Mouth mountains. In the words of the author, “This construction is most attractive and astonishing.”36 The eternal images and temples on Nandishvara are also vectored into Jain ritual culture through annual and special ritual observances. Among the oldest of the annual observances of the Jains, both Digambara and Shvetambara, is the thrice annual ashtahnika or “eight-day” observance. It takes place every four months, from the eighth of the bright half of the months of Ashadha (June–July), Karttika (October–November), and Phalguna (February–March)

FIGURE

2.6. Digambara Nandishvara Dvipa temple, Delhi. Photo: John E.

Cort (1995).

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through the full moon, and is in direct imitation of the eight-day celebrations on Nandishvara Dvipa by the gods. R. Williams notes that it is the only annual observance discussed in the older manuals of lay conduct (shravakachara), and is found in both Digambara and Shvetambara manuals (1963: 232). They prescribe a procession in which a Jina image is taken out and paraded in a cart. The observance has fallen into disuse, however, and remains largely as a part of monastic life. In the Shvetambara monastic calendar it marks the four-monthly performance of a special rite of confession (pratikramana). The Digambara nun Aryika Jnanmati (1991: 454–73) gives the prescription for its observance by Digambara mendicants in accordance with Pandita Ashadhara’s mid-thirteenth-century Nectar of Dharma for the Homeless [Monks] (Anagara Dharmamrita).37 During these eight days the monks add to their regular daily practice the recitation in the temple of several devotional texts known as Bhaktis (“Devotions”), one of which is the sixty-verse Sanskrit Devotion to Nandishvara (Nandishvara Bhakti).38 The Digambaras still retain a lay observance of the Nandishvara ashtahnika. According to Ramesh Chandra Jain, it is celebrated thrice annually “with great ostentation [dhum-dham]” (1996: 26).39 He gives instructions for a special fast and related ritual activities to be performed for the eight days.40 He concludes by listing some of the results from the proper performance of the rituals, including the elimination of disease, becoming a world-conquering emperor (chakravartin), becoming a monastic leader under a Jina (ganadhara), becoming a Digambara “nun” (aryika),41 and becoming a powerful deity residing in a heaven. The Shvetambaras no longer observe the three annual ashtahnika festivals, but the imitation of the worship by the gods has entered into Shvetambara ritual culture in another way. Anytime there is the consecration and installation of new Jina images, especially if this is in the context of either a new or newly renovated temple, the local congregation will hold a multiday festival. The ideal number of days for such a festival is eight, and it will explicitly be called an ashtahnika. In consecrating and worshipping new Jina icons, therefore, contemporary Jains explicitly model their activity upon the eternal celebration of the gods on Nandishvara Dvipa. Both Digambaras and Shvetambaras also learn about the eternal temples and images on Nandishvara through the performance of larger congregational rituals (pujas) on special occasions such as the consecration of images and felicitation of those who have performed long fasts. The North Indian Digambara poet Dyanatray composed his Hindi Worship of Nandishvara (Nandishvara Puja) sometime in the early eighteenth century in either Delhi or Agra. The

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first verse of his liturgy ties the ritual specifically to the eight-day ashtahnika, and describes the ritual as a human imitation of the deities: Of all the festivals the eight-day one is the best. The gods go to Nandishvara and celebrate for eight days. We can’t go there, and so we establish icons here. Worship the icon in the Jina temple for your own welfare.42 A similar, although longer, ritual was composed by the Shvetambara Murtipujaka Tapa Gaccha monk Dharmchandra. He wrote his Gujarati Worship of Nandishvara Dvipa (Nandishvara Dvipa Puja) in the port city of Daman during the four-month rainy season retreat (chomasu) in 1840. He enumerated all the powerful flying monks and heavenly deities who celebrate on Nandishvara in the conclusion of his text: Sing, O sing, sing at the Nandishvara shrine. Those excellent monks who can thigh-travel and spell-travel join the assembly of gods. Kinnara gods, kinnari goddesses, and kechara gods all come along with the sixty-four divine kings and the captivating apsara and indrani goddesses. The assembly bathes the icons. They dance in the temple and sing in sweet voices. Worshipping the Jina drives away delusion.43 In 1819 the Shvetambara Murtipujaka Jains in the Kharatara Gaccha of Jaipur constructed a new temple to the eighth Jina Chandraprabha in the old capital of Amer just north of Jaipur. As part of the celebration to consecrate the temple, they made a pavilion out of wood and lac for the performance of a special puja to Nandishvara Dvipa. It was the site of the performance of a Worship of Nandishvara Dvipa (Nandishvara Dvipa Puja), written for the occasion by the

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Kharatara Gaccha monk Mahopadhyaya Shivchandragani, who lived in Jaipur from 1819 until 1822. This was one of several liturgies he composed for the local Kharatara Gaccha during his stay there. According to the editor of the text, the contemporary Kharatara Gaccha scholar Mahopadhyaya Vinayasagar, the pavilion was still in existence as of 1990, although in a dilapidated condition and so in need of renovation. He pointed this out to the local Kharatara Gaccha congregation, which arranged for repairs. In 2006 Vinayasagar informed me that the pavilion is now in much better condition. Shvetambara Jains do not sing of Nandishvara Dvipa and its eternal icons only on these special congregational occasions. Every Shvetambara temple is the site of the performance of a bathing ritual (snatra puja), done usually to a small metal icon placed on a bathing stand in the main pavilion in front of the central icon, but also by extension to the main icon itself. This is done minimally on the first day of the month, but in most temples is done daily. While the bathing ritual is performed only once to the main icon, since after the ritual the icon is elaborately adorned, and further bathing would negate the adornment and insult the layperson who paid for it, the bathing ritual may be performed to a portable metal icon by other devotees as well. The bathing ritual is also central to all larger festivals.44 The liturgy for the bathing ritual in temples belonging to the Kharatara Gaccha was composed by an illustrious monk named Devchandra. He was born in 1689 near Bikaner, initiated as a monk ten years later, and was a charismatic and wonder-working leader of the early eighteenth century Kharatara Gaccha community in western Rajasthan. He died in 1775, but is believed by many people in the Kharatara Gaccha still to be working his miracles.45 His liturgy describes how the bathing of the Jina icon is modeled directly on the bathing of the infant Jina himself by the Indras and other gods on Mount Meru, an event I discuss later. After Indra has finished bathing the newborn, he returns the Jina to his mother, saying, “Your son is our support.” Devchandra establishes a connection between two paradigms for daily worship—the lustration atop Mount Meru by the gods of the living Jina right after its birth, and the worship by those same gods of the eternal Jina icons on Nandishvara—when he sings: The lord of the gods, full of devotion, went to Nandishvara where he generously performed devotion. Each god in his own abode and with his own queen

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tells the essence of the Lord’s virtues. At the celebrations of His birth and his enlightenment their minds are full of desire [for liberation].46 Devchandra then lists the lineage of his teachers, and concludes the liturgy by singing an oft-repeated theological justification for icons, that in a time when it is impossible to meet a Jina in person, the Jina icon is an equivalent stand-in: Devchandra has worshipped the Jina in birth after birth. The Jina icon is the equivalent of the Jina, so it is explained in the Scriptures. Therefore worship it with devotion.47 Shvetambaras in the Tapa Gaccha sing a liturgy composed in the early nineteenth century in Ahmedabad by the monk Pandit Virvijay. He was born in Ahmedabad in 1773, and initiated into the monastic order in 1792. He was elevated to the post of pandit (also known as pannyas) in 1811, and from then until his death in 1852 he was the leader of the small band of monks in the Tapa Gaccha who kept alive the tradition of following the five monastic vows in their full form, and so were known as the Seekers (samvegi). Virvijay’s text is almost identical to that of Devchandra. Either they both adapted an earlier text, or, as I think more likely, Virvijay “translated” Devchandra’s liturgy from Rajasthani into Gujarati. Virvijay also describes the bathing of the infant Jina, after which Indra returns him to his mother, exclaiming, “He is your son, but he is our master. We are the servants, he is our support.” Virvijay then establishes the same paradigmatic connection between the lustration of the living Jina on Mount Meru and the worship of the Jina icons on Nandishvara: Three-hundred-and-twenty gods, their clothes dripping with gems, gold and rubies, in order to express the fullness of their joy go to Nandishvara Dvipa. The gods celebrate for eight days each in his own abode and each with his own queen. They desire renunciation and enlightenment and so they sing the virtues of each eternal Jina.48

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The Eternal Icons of Mount Meru The cosmography of Nandishvara Dvipa and its eternal icons takes us not to the edge of the cosmos, but certainly to a part of it that is far away, and unattainable to humans. It serves as a parallel, idealized vision of the way the cosmos should be. Humans can imitate the gods who worship the eternal icons; but the displacement of Nandishvara Dvipa to somewhere else in the universe— almost as a sort of “parallel universe”—reduces its power as a foundational symbol for human life here in this part of the universe. We also find eternal Jina icons at the very center of the Jain cosmos, at the axis around which the universe is oriented. In common with other Indic cosmologies, the Jains conceive of the universe as centered around the axial Mount Meru. This large mountain at the very center of the universe serves both as the hub for the human realms that spread out from it horizontally, and the vertical axis that links the human realm with those of infernal beings below and heavenly beings above. Typical of the way that Jain cosmology expresses a love of multiplication, there is not a single Meru but actually five of them. To understand why this is so requires a further understanding of the Jain cosmology. The middle range of the universe, in part of which humans can live, is a thin horizontal slice of the cosmos that extends out for a finite, but nearly unimaginable, distance. This wafer consists of a series of concentric continents, divided by oceans. (Nandishvara Dvipa is the eighth continent.) Each continent is twice as wide as the preceding one. Humans live on the innermost continents: Jambu Dvipa, the “Black Plum Continent,” is in the center.49 It is the one continent that is a circle, not a ring. It is surrounded in order by Lavana Samudra (“Salt Ocean”), Dhatatikhanda Dvipa (“Fire Flame Tree Continent”), Kala Samudra (“Black Ocean”), and Pushkara Dvipa (“Blue Lotus Continent”). Humans reside only on Jambu Dvipa, Dhatatikhanda Dvipa, and the inner half of Pushkara Dvipa. Since Dhatatikhanda is twice as large as Jambu Dvipa, it is divided into two regions. Similarly, the humanly inhabited half of Pushkara Dvipa is also twice as large as Jambu Dvipa, and so is also divided into two regions. There are therefore five regions inhabited by humans. Despite the obvious difference that Jambu Dvipa is a circle and the others are rings, and differences in the way that time works in them (differences that need not concern us here), the five regions in which humans reside are considered to be replicas of each other. In other words, Jain cosmographers were concerned to harmonize two visions of the cosmos. One is a mandalaic vision of the cosmos as symmetrical and centered on the cosmic Mount Meru. The other is a vision of the cosmos as expanded

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greatly beyond the known human realms in India, but in which the additional realms are essentially replicas of India. Each of the five human realms is centered around a cosmic mountain known as Meru.50 It is noteworthy that these are the only Merus in the cosmos. Even though they cannot be visited by humans, and in this are similar to Nandishvara Dvipa, they nonetheless serve to center the human realms, and in some sense have no meaning outside of their human connections. Jambu Dvipa is located around a Meru known as Sudarshana, “Good Sight.” There are four other Merus in other parts of the humanly inhabited universe. These are Vijaya (“Victory”) in eastern Dhatakikhanda Dvipa, Achala (“Unmovable”) in western Dhatakikhanda Dvipa, Mandara (“Firm”) in eastern Pushkara Dvipa, and Vidyunmali (“Lightning Garland”) in western Pushkara Dvipa. The five are identical in shape. Sudarshana is slightly higher than the other four, and so is known as Sumeru (“Good Meru”), whereas the other four are simply Merus. Since only Jambu Dvipa is a circle, it is the only one for which the Meru serves as a hub. Each of the other four realms consists of half of the arc of the ring. In each of them the Meru is located in the middle of the arc. The five Merus, therefore, stretch out along an east–west axis across the three continents.51 Sudarshana extends 1,000 yojanas under the surface of the ground, and so into the topmost part of the nether regions. It extends 95,000 yojanas above the ground, and so into the lowest parts of the celestial regions. Each Meru is encircled at various levels by four concentric forests. Each of these forests has four eternal temples with an eternal icon made of emerald facing the four cardinal directions. As a result, there are sixteen eternal icons on each Meru, and eighty eternal icons on the Merus in total. Surrounding the peak of Sudarshana is a platform, with four pedestals facing the cardinal directions. The eastern and western pedestals, which face the parts of Black Plum Continent known as Bharata (where India lies) and Airavata, are made of gold. The northern and southern pedestals, which face eastern and western Videha, are made of silver. These pedestals perform a central function in the lives of each Jina, the twenty-four in each cycle of time in Bharata and Airavata and the twenty in each cycle of time in the two Videhas. When a Jina is born, the Indras or kings of the gods replace the newborn infant with a doppelgänger (in order not to worry the new mother), and bring the actual infant to the top of Sudarshana to the relevant pedestal. There the Indras, their Indranis or queens, and all their attendants hold a grand festival to give the infant Jina (or, more properly, Jina-to-be) its postpartum bath. This is the charter for all subsequent ritual lustrations (abhisheka) of Jina images, a ritual that should be performed daily to any consecrated Jina image. As Lawrence Babb has convincingly shown, the Indras and Indranis serve as

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the models that Jain laymen and laywomen imitate when they perform the worship, and in particular the lustration, of Jina images: “On infinite occasions through infinite time the gods and goddesses [Indras and Indranis] have come forward to be the prime admirers and supporters of those who are truly worthy of worship in Jainism, the Tirthankars [Jinas]. This is the paradigm for the worshiper’s role in Jainism” (1996: 79).52 To underscore this paradigm, the principle worshippers in any larger public ritual of image worship don costume crowns to embody this transformed role as Indra and Indrani (see the illustration at Babb [1996: 80]). Further, the elaborate stand, in many cases made of beaten silver over a wooden frame, on which an icon is placed for a bathing ritual, is itself a representation of Meru. These stands, several feet in height, taper up five levels to the topmost one where is temporarily enshrined the portable metal icon of a Jina, standing in for the Jina himself, and allowing the Jain worshippers to participate vicariously in the birth lustration of the Jina by the Indras and Indranis. Our discussion above of the role of the Indras and Indranis in the worship of the eternal icons of the Jinas in the temples on Nandishvara Dvipa further underscores Babb’s analysis of the role of Indra as the paradigmatic worshipper of the Jina icon. While the observance of the three annual eight-day festivals in imitation of the festivals of icon worship celebrated by the Indras has largely faded into abeyance in recent centuries, it is still found in residual form in the Jain ritual calendar. Further, this paradigmatic celebration is still well known by most Jains today. Just as the Indras gather for eight days to worship the icons of the Jinas, so do humans gather for eight days to consecrate and worship icons of the Jinas. Thus, while both Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru are geographically distant and unattainable by humans, they play central roles in the understandings of Jains in this world of their ideal roles. The Indras eternally worship Jina images at the center of the cosmos atop Mount Meru, and in the perfect parallel cosmos of Nandishvara Dvipa, and so humans in imitation of these ideal worshippers should also worship Jina icons.

The Four Gateways to Black Plum Continent Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru are not the only locations of eternal Jina icons. Once one is alerted to their presence, one finds eternal icons seemingly everywhere in the cosmos. Let us look at just one more example of the many that pervade Jain cosmological texts: the temples and icons of the four eternal Jinas found at the four gateways to Black Plum Continent (Jambu Dvipa).53

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The Scripture on Classification of the Animate and Inanimate (Jivajivabhigama Sutra) is in the form of a series of questions posed by Indrabhuti Gautama, one of Mahavira’s foremost disciples, and Mahavira’s answers. Gautama asked how many gateways there are to Black Plum Continent, on which India (Bharata) is located. Mahavira replied that there are four gateways, the names of all of which are variations on “victory”: Vijaya, Vaijayanta, Jayanta, and Aparajita. Mahavira then described the first of these, Vijaya, located at the eastern edge of Black Plum Continent, in great detail. Later he said that the descriptions of the other three gateways parallel that of Vijaya. Vijaya is also the capital of an identically named deity, Vijaya. In the center of the capital is a large temple, which Mahavira described in great depth. To the north of the temple is a large assembly pavilion, the Sudharma Sabha, which he also described in detail. In three directions from the pavilion—east, north, and west—are three gateways, outside of which are sets of two pavilions. In the center of the further pavilions are jeweled altars (manipithika), atop which are memorial tumuli (caitya stupa). These tumuli in turn are surrounded by four jeweled altars, on which are enshrined icons of the four eternal Jinas: Rishabha, Vardhamana, Chandranana, and Varishena.54 The Digambara Yativrishabha in his Exposition on the Three Worlds also described these four gateways in great detail. The Shvetambara Scripture on Classification of the Animate and Inanimate dates from roughly the latter half of the fourth century, and Yativrishabha’s text from the sixth century, so they represent descriptions of the shared development of Jain cosmology that are close in time. Looking at his description again shows the Jain mandalaic understanding of the cosmos pervaded by temples and icons. Black Plum Continent is the one that is truly a circle, and so most closely approximates a circular mandala. It is symmetrically divided along both the east–west and north–south axes by many rivers and mountains.55 At its extremity it is ringed by a high plinth ( jagati) that separates it from the encircling Salt Ocean. There are four gateways (dvara) through the plinth, by which access between the continent and the ocean is channeled. The four gateways are Vijaya in the east, Vaijayanta in the south, Jayanta in the west, and Aparajita in the north. These names indicate that they are modeled on the ideal gateways of the royal citadel of a conquering king. Each gateway is eight yojanas high and four yojanas wide, with an entranceway that is four yojanas in length. The doors of the gateways are made of diamond, adorned with beautiful garlands, and always guarded by Vyantara (Interstitial) gods. At each gateway there is a temple, surrounded by seventeen fields. Each field has a fine veranda, on which are jeweled lanterns, pillars with carved figurines, and illustrated banners. The temple has a lofty jeweled superstructure that is covered with sculpture on all

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sides. The temple is served by deities and angels (apsaras). The height and breadth of these temples is such that one can’t even imagine nowadays. Each temple is fronted by a lofty entrance tower (gopura). Enshrined within is a Jina icon, seated on a lion throne, with a triple parasol above it, a halo behind it, and on either side fly-whisk bearers.56 This central part of the cosmos, where humans can live and where a full spiritual life is possible, is in the perfect form of a circle—one of the two archetypal shapes of a mandala. Access to this perfect shape is restricted to the four cardinal directions. At each of these points is a lofty gateway, just as one would find in a royal citadel. The gateway is guarded by powerful deities. More importantly, each gateway is the site of yet another eternal Jina temple in which is enshrined an eternal Jina icon. Jinendra Varni (1970–95: II: 303–04) has summarized the Digambara enumeration of the Jina temples and shrines in the cosmos.57 In the heavens of the Bhavanavasi (“Hall Dwelling”) gods there are 77,200,000 Jina temples. In Ratnaprabha (“Jeweled Underworld”), the highest portion of the lower realm of the cosmos, there are 30,000 Jina temples in the residences of the Interstitual gods. Here on Jambu Dvipa (Black Plum Continent) reside many gods, and the residences of all of them are adorned with Jina temples. In the Lavana Samudra (Salt Ocean) there are 142,000 cities of Interstitial gods, in each of which there are Jina temples. There are Jina temples in all the different regions inhabited by the Jyotisha (“Luminary”) gods, so many that the number is uncountable. The residences of all of the Indras who live in the heavenly realms contain Jina temples. As we saw, there are also temples on Nandishvara Dvipa. In addition, there are Jina temples on the continents of Dhatakikanda, Ruchakavara, and Kundalavara.58 Varni summarizes his discussion of Black Plum Continent, the innermost continent on which India is found, by saying that the total number of Jina temples there is 1,796,296—plus both a countable and an uncountable number!

Meru and the Eternal Icons in Jain Ritual Culture Shvetambara cosmographical texts are frequently accompanied by schematic illustrations of both Sudarshana Meru and the five Merus. Caillat and Kumar have published nine manuscript illustrations from western India from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that show one or five Merus (1981:illus. 73, 82, 83–90), and van Alphen has published a slightly older one from the sixteenth century (2000: illus. 47) (Figure 2.7). In addition, while most of the well-known illustrations of the Jain “Cosmic Man” (loka purusha), the cosmos

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FIGURE 2.7. Shvetambara illustration of Meru, from manuscript of Sangrahani Sutra, sixteenth or seventeenth century. Collection Navin Kumar, New York.

in the form of a standing person, show the center of the thin human wedge of the universe at the man’s waist tilted ninety degrees and so as a map, a few less anthromorphic and more schematic illustrations show the central portion from the side, and so Meru appears as a pronounced bump in the middle of the human realm (Caillat and Kumar 1981: illus. 10). Lustration stands made from beaten silver over a wooden frame are found in all Shvetambara temples. These are known as Merus, and are used to lustrate a portable metal Jina icon on a daily basis. Other than these, three-dimensional representations of Meru appear rarely in Shvetambara settings. U. P. Shah refers to a stone Meru in the Luna Vasahi temple at Mount Abu (1955c: 117). Shah observes that sculptures of Meru are more often found in

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Digambara temples, and he has published an illustration of a metal icon of Meru, dated to 1457 CE, from a Digambara temple in Surat (1987: fig. 184).59 This is an elegant tapering five-tiered structure, with four Jina icons facing out from each level. Since there are only four tiers of icons, for a total of sixteen images, on each Meru, the topmost level with its four Jinas must represent not the eternal Jina images but the actual Jina at the moment of his birth lustration, in this case again multiplied to the four directions.60 Julia Hegewald (2000: 16–17) has mentioned large sculptural representations of one or more Merus in Digambara temples in a number of Digambara temples. She noted that smaller bronze representations are more common in southern India, and larger stone sculptures more common in the north.61 While texts in both traditions describe the five Merus at great length, in the Shvetambara tradition the fact that there are five quickly diminishes in importance. In Shvetambara devotional culture, the single Meru at the center of Jambu Dvipa is the focus. Most Shvetambaras may be aware that there are five Merus, but this is not a significant fact, and only the most erudite know their names. This is not the case among Digambaras. Digambaras refer less to a single Meru, and more commonly to the five Merus. Many can quickly recite their names, in part because of the liturgies devoted to the worship of all five. Most Digambara temples in north India contain multiple sets of five large metal cones on the altars, which represent the five Merus. Special attention is paid to them during the three annual ashtahnika festivals, when laity perform the same eight-substance worship to them that is normally performed to Jina icons (Figures 2.8 and 2.9). In theory, as we saw above, the three ashtahnika festivals are dedicated to the imitation of the gods’ worship of the eternal Jina icons on Nandishvara Dvipa. That the icons of the five Merus are the material focus of this observance indicates yet again how the different cosmological elements that underlie the Jain understanding of the eternality of Jina icons tend to meld into each other. What results is a single overarching sense that when a person worships a Jina icon in a temple, she or he is participating in a timeless and universal practice of gods and humans. The five Merus have also been the subject of extended Digambara devotional texts. Dyanatray, the eighteenth-century poet who composed what are still today the most popular north Indian Digambara liturgies, wrote a short liturgy devoted solely to the five Merus, his Worship of the Five Merus (Pancha Meru Puja). The worshipper makes the standard offerings of eight substances to the icons of the Merus, while singing hymns that describe them in detail, and that give assurance that “by worshipping the images at these Jina abodes one escapes [the painful dualities of] pleasure and pain.” The concluding verses

FIGURE 2.8. Digambara set of icons of five Merus, Bhattarakji Nasiyan temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (2006).

2.9. Digambara set of icons of five Merus, Bara Terapantha temple, Jaipur. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

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of the liturgy include an abbreviated description of the five Merus. Dyanatray’s short text is found in almost all collections of devotional and ritual texts— hymnals, if you will—that are found in dozens of well-used copies in every Digambara temple in north India. Another Digambara liturgy for the worship of the five Merus explicitly makes the connection between the eternal temples on these mountains and the eternal temples on the mountains of Nandishvara Dvipa. The Rite for Worshipping the Jinas on the Five Merus of the eighteenth-century Digambara poet Pandit Tekchand is a much more extended set of hymns to the five Merus.62 It is printed in the same volume with his Rite for Worshipping the Jinas on Nandishvara Dvipa, which again underscores the connection between the Merus and Nandishvara Dvipa. The popularity of Tekchand’s text is seen in that it is found in many oft-reprinted locally published and inexpensive editions. More recently, the contemporary nun Aryika Jnanmati, a prolific author of all manner of ritual and philosophical texts, has composed a modern Rite for the Five Merus.63 While the eternal temples and icons on Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru receive much more Jain ritual attention than the other eternal temples and icons, the expanded sense of a universe that is filled with Jina icons and temples is expressed in the short Honoring the Uncreated Temples (Akritrim Caityalayom ka Arghya) that is recited by many north Indian Digambara laity as part of their daily worship in the temple or at their home shrine.64 Different liturgical manuals give different versions of this recitation. The shortest and most common is the following single Hindi verse: There are 85,497,418 Jina temples. Gods, demigods and humans eternally worship in the three worlds. We sing this Honoring in the three worlds and by this worship overcome suffering in the world.65 This practice of honoring all of the temples and their icons has a long pedigree among Digambaras. Nemichandra Siddhantachakravarti concluded his latetenth century Essence of the Three Worlds (Trilokasara) by expressing his veneration of the icons of the Jinas and Siddhas, both uncreated and created, that are very beautiful, made of gems and gold, and well formed.66 On the Shvetambara side there is a lengthier text that is found as part of the set of ritualized devotional and confessional recitations known as pratikramana (Cort 2001b: 123–24; Laidlaw 1995: 192–215). In the Murtipujaka Tapa Gaccha, part of the daily evening pratikramana that is performed as a matter of course

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by all monks and nuns, and optionally by a small number of more religiously observant laity (usually either retired people or young people inclined toward becoming renouncers) is the Gujarati Veneration of All the Shrines (Sakala Tirtha Vandana). This was composed by the Tapa Gaccha monk Jivvijay sometime in the first half of the eighteenth century, probably in the city of Patan in north Gujarat. His composition was based on earlier liturgies, in particular the twenty-four-verse Prakrit Hymn to the Eternal Icons (Shashvata Caitya Stava) by the Tapa Gaccha monk Devendrasuri (d. 1270). Devendrasuri was almost single-handedly responsible for writing the texts necessary for the autonomous ritual culture of the then new Tapa Gaccha. In rather uninspired verse Jivvijay enumerates the eternal Jina temples and images in each realm of the universe: in all of the heavens together there are 8,497,023 temples and 1,529,444,760 eternal Jina icons; in the underworld realms there are 77,200,000 temples and 13,896,000,000 icons; and in the human realms there are 3,259 temples and 391,320 icons. These are all of the four eternal Jinas—Rishabha, Chandranana, Varishena, and Vardhamana—whom the poet praises as a “string of virtues.” Jivvijay then praises the Jina icons in some of the more important shrines in this part of the universe (including Ashtapada, see chapter 4), and more generically the icons in every village, town, and city. He concludes his list by honoring the living monks, who are, in language similar to that he used for the eternal Jinas, “necklaces of virtues.”

An Alternative Iconoclastic Cosmology The cosmological accounts of the eternal Jina icons on Nandishvara Dvipa, the five Merus, and elsewhere in the cosmos have proven to be a formidable challenge to the iconoclastic theology of the Shvetambara Sthanakavasis. If Jina icons are an immutable part of the cosmos, then it is hard to advance a critique of icons and their worship as really just misguided idolatry. The Sthanakavasi critics of icons have therefore had to develop strategies to address the narratives of eternal icons. Many of the Shvetambara accounts of Jain icons are found in post-canonical, medieval literature, in particular the large body of narrative literature about Jinas, other Jain mythic heroes, and historical Jain mendicants and laity, and also the equally large corpus of Jain hymns, many of which were composed in devotion to particular icons. The iconoclastic Sthanakavasis were able to disregard all of this literature as the fanciful idolatrous creations of corrupt and ignorant authors, as we will see in the Sthanakavasi denunciation of Dhaneshvarasuri’s Glory of Shatrunjaya (chapter 5). But this tactic could not work to discredit the

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many accounts of icons found in the orthodox Jain canon of scriptures, many of which are shared between the Murtipujakas and the Sthanakavasis. The Sthanakavasis could have simply rejected all those scriptures in which there is mention of icons, arguing that they were either spurious texts or the subject of later idolatrous interpolations. While some earlier scholars, in accord with certain Jain traditions, assumed that the smaller Sthanakavasi canon of thirty-two (or thirty-one) texts, in contrast to the Murtipujaka canon of fortyfive, arose from the Sthanakavasi rejection of those texts that mention icons (e.g., Schubring [1962: 66]), even a cursory reading of the texts retained by the Sthanakavasis shows that they retain many references to icons.67 The avenue that remained open to the Sthanakavasis to allow them to retain their scriptures and at the same time maintain their opposition to icons involved reframing the understanding of the texts to change the meanings in an iconoclastic manner. This is the tact that most Sthanakavasi authors have followed. It has involved dealing with the scriptures in two ways. The first has been to distinguish between the earliest level of the scriptures, the sutra texts said to be the words of Mahavira himself, and the voluminous later levels of exegesis and commentary. This went a long way toward solving the problem, since there are many more references, and clearer references, to Jina icons in the layers of commentary than in the sutras. To deal with the references to icons in the sutras required a hermeneutical approach of strategically altering the understanding of key words. The Shvetambara canon of scriptures has long been the subject of a complex process of interpretation and commentary. The earliest commentaries predate some of the later scriptural texts, and other scriptures are so embedded in their commentaries that the effort to separate the two is highly artificial and arbitrary. In addition, as Paul Dundas (1996: 77, 2007: 75) has pointed out, some of the commentarial methodologies are found within the scriptures themselves, indicating that there has probably never been a time when the scriptures have not been the subject of interpretation and commentarial enterprise. The twentieth-century Murtipujaka intellectual Muni Jnansundar (1936b: 26–29), who was one of a number of influential converts to the icon-worshipping fold from the iconoclastic Sthanakavasis, gave a historical explanation for the growth of the commentaries in the context of his defense of the antiquity, and therefore orthodoxy, of worship of Jina icons. In the beginning Mahavira and the other Jinas preached the fundamental meaning of the scriptures (Agama). This meaning was then collected by the initial followers of the Jinas, the pontiffs (ganadharas), in the form of the basic Scriptures (Sutra). In the second century after the liberation of Mahavira, the monk Bhadrabahu, leader

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of the community and the last to know by heart all fourteen of the subsequently lost Ancient Texts (Purva), composed the first layer of commentary on the basic scriptural texts in the Explanations (Niryukti). In the third century CE, at a time when some monks were still alive who knew ten of the Ancient Texts, the monk Gandhahasti composed more extensive Commentaries (Tika) on the Scriptures that had been collected by the pontiffs. In these texts Gandhahasti explained the deep inner essence (gurh rahasya) of the Scriptures so that the common people could understand it.68 Over the centuries people found even Gandhahasti’s Commentaries increasingly difficult to understand. In response to this problem, in 876 monk Shilanga wrote a new set of Commentaries on eleven Scriptures.69 These eleven were the surviving Limbs (Anga), the most basic of the Scriptures. The twelfth Scripture, the Disputation about Views (Drishtivada), had long since been lost. Shilanga based his Commentaries on those of Gandhahasti, and they so effectively supplanted the earlier works that Gandhahasti’s commentaries are now lost. According to Jnansundar, Shilanga’s texts quickly posed the same problem of clarity as those of Gandhahasti. In 1063 the monk Abhayadeva composed Commentaries on nine of the Limbs, basing his texts on those of Shilanga. This had the result of again rendering the earlier texts obsolete, so that only two of Shilanga’s Commentaries, on the Scripture on Behavior (Acharanga Sutra) and Scripture Relating to Heretical Views (Sutrakritanga Sutra)—those two on which Abhayadeva did not write Commentaries—still survive. The process of commentaries becoming evermore difficult for people to understand continued. In the fifteenth century, Acharya Jinahamsasuri composed the Illuminator (Dipika) on the Scripture on Behavior.70 Finally, people found all of these texts, composed in Prakrit and Sanskrit, too difficult, so in the sixteenth century Acharya Parshvachandrasuri wrote Gujarati Paraphrases (Tabba) on thirty-two of the scriptures, basing his vernacular texts on the earlier Sanskrit Commentaries.71 Jnansundar concluded his discussion by emphasizing that despite all of the changes in Jain society over the 1,300 years between Gandhahasti and Parshvachandrasuri, there was a broad consensus of belief in the authority of all of these textual layers. “The [commentators] were all intellectuals of superior quality, and they understood that the foundation of their religion was to be found in the combination of Scriptures and Explanations and Commentaries, and that the traditional teachings (shasan) were based upon that foundation” (1936b: 29). Jnansundar here argued that the later commentaries were every bit as important as the chronologically earliest level of the canon, found in the Scripture texts. The essential meaning of the Scriptures was so profound, deep,

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and even hidden that few if any could understand them on their own. The layers of commentary were necessary: Those acharyas who were the foundation of the traditional teachings and the protectors of religion composed the Explanations, Commentaries, Dispersions (Churni), Expositions,72 Glosses (Vritti) and similar texts on the Scriptures with the intention of unfolding the deep essential meanings contained in the Scriptures for the education of people who sought liberation but were of only common intellect. These weren’t mere lamps, but spread a light just like that of the sun. (1936a: 23) Jnansundar was not alone in this valorization of the commentarial layers; in fact, he was expressing what for many centuries has been the consensus opinion of the mainstream of the Murtipujaka community. Paul Dundas has discussed two of the earlier and most forceful articulations of this basic position, although we can see that they enunciate different emphases on the exact relationship between the Scriptures and the later commentaries than we find in Jnansundar.73 One of the most popular late medieval Gujarati hymnists was the Murtipujaka mystical poet Anandghan.74 Among his compositions was his Twenty-Four (Covishi, Chaubisi), a set of twenty-four hymns, one each devoted to the twenty-four Jinas. In the eighth of the eleven verses that he devoted to the twenty-first Jina Naminatha he wrote: Dispersion, Exposition, Scripture, Explanation, Gloss, and the experience of the authoritative tradition of teachers: these are known as the limbs of the Doctrine Man. Whoever cuts one off will attain a bad rebirth.75 As Paul Dundas (1996: 73) succinctly summarizes Anandghan’s point, “the sutra text [what I have translated Scripture] is here not privileged by being depicted as the head or the most important part of the doctrine-man and is instead understood by Anandghan as merely an equal participant in a broader and interrelated nexus involving root scripture, commentary and interpretation.” Whereas Jnansundar saw the commentaries as making clearly evident an essential meaning located deep in the Scriptures, Anandghan saw the Scriptures and the various levels of commentary—he specifies four, but his intent would seem to be inclusive—along with the living tradition of learning passed between authoritative teachers and duly initiated disciples (parampar) as all equally important. Where Jnansundar saw a hierarchy of sources of scriptural knowledge, Anandghan saw six equal sources.

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The Tapa Gaccha intellectual and polemicist Mahopadhyaya Dharmasagara (1522–1596), writing a generation before Anandghan, appeared to employ a hierarchy of scripture that was the reverse of Jnansundar’s. In verse 25 of his Thirty-two Verse Invitation to Mahavira Dharmasagara wrote, in Dundas’s paraphrase, “an individual reading a sutra without commentary is, as it were, attempting to open a locked adamantine casket with his teeth.”76 Elsewhere, in his best-known work, the 1575 Examination of the Doctrine, he provided an extended analogy between the relationship between scripture and commentary and the relationship between a cow and its nursing calf: [H]e explains how the milch-cow is the sutra and the calves are the commentary, in this case the niryukti variety. Just as the calves predispose the cow to give milk, so the niryukti makes the sutra disposed to give up its meaning. The skilful milker of the cow described in the story is the commentator who is familiar with the canonically sanctioned modes of explanation and analysis. . . . On the other hand, a person who undertakes to teach on the basis of scriptural texts without the necessary qualifications is, as it were, trying to milk an emaciated cow without feeding it, while those heretics who base their interpretation of Jainism on the sutras as exclusive authority are in effect trying to drink milk from a dead cow.77 Their emphasis on the exact nature of the relationship between scripture and commentary may vary, but Anandghan, Jnansundar, and Dharmasagara all agreed, in common with Murtipujaka intellectuals for the past millennium or more, that it is not possible to understand the earliest level of scripture, that which is chronologically closest to Mahavira, without the full apparatus of commentary. Commentary, therefore, is essential, and is to be understood not as a secondary phenomenon dependant upon scripture, but rather as an integral, indivisible part of scripture. Further, all three of these authors wrote with a particular target in mind. Each of them knew who the heretics were that were trying to severe scripture from commentary, and by accepting only the Scriptures were trying “to drink milk from a dead cow.” These were the iconoclastic Sthanakavasis.78 The Sthanakavasis have maintained a very different understanding of the relationship between the Scriptures and the commentaries. The Sthanakavasis do not view the commentaries as laudable and essential elements in the scriptural tradition. From the Sthanakavasi perspective, the commentarial process involves locking away in a warehouse the Scriptures that contain the true teachings of Mahavira, and in their place installing humanly composed texts. Because

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they are human creations, these texts are inherently flawed and willful. In the end they lead their readers to all sorts of false and idolatrous conduct. The extent to which different authors in the Sthanakavasi tradition, as well as those in the Terapanthi tradition, that branched from the Sthanakavasis in the eighteenth century, have accepted and rejected various aspects of the commentarial tradition is in fact quite complex. Attitudes range from the editions of Puppha Bhikkhu that entail a total rejection, to the editions of Amar Muni and the Terapanthis that appear to accept the commentaries as essential to understanding the root texts, while not according to the commentaries the same degree of authority as scripture that the Murtipujakas do.79 But Murtipujaka authors have tended to gloss over these differences, and instead portray the Sthanakavasis as rejecting the commentarial traditions in toto.80 According to the Murtipujakas, the Sthanakavasis have long maintained that a true Jain should reject the commentarial tradition, and study only the Scriptures.81 As I said above, rejecting the commentaries and retaining only the Scriptures does not provide a fully adequate Sthanakavasi critique of icons, for there are ample references to icons in the Scriptures themselves. It is necessary, therefore, to see how Sthanakavasi authors have dealt with these scriptural passages. In part this issue arises in any discussion of Jain scripture; but it has been a particular problem Sthanakavasi authors have had to address in the past century in the context of providing translations of the Scriptures into Gujarati, Hindi, and most recently English. There have been a notable number of such translation projects in recent decades, and these allow us to see a range of responses to the problematic icon-filled passages. While references to, and descriptions of, Jina icons, and their worship by Jains, arise in a number of contexts within the Scriptures, here I will look at just the passage in the Blessed Scripture (Scripture of Exposition of the Teachings) that describe the eternal temples and icons on Nandishvara Dvipa. We saw above that the Blessed Scripture includes a passage in which Mahavira says that mendicants with two types of magical power have the ability to fly to Nandishvara Dvipa. When they reach this distant continent they construct a preaching assembly (samavasarana). They also perform the rite of veneration (vandana) to the chaityas on Nandishvara. It is this last term, understood by centuries of Murtipujaka commentators to mean “icon,” that has been the primary point of contention. We can identify a continuum of strategies used by Sthanakavasi authors in their vernacular translations and investigations (vivechan) of these texts. At one end is the strategy of deleting the offending passages in the edition of the text. Close to this is the strategy of significantly altering the meaning of the passages in the translation. At the other is the strategy of translating the passages

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without further comment. In between we find a strategy of translating the passages that refer to icons, and then explaining in the translator’s extended vernacular investigation why the references are not to icons of Jinas. Instead, they argue, the term chaitya refers either to other objects (physical or spiritual), or to icons of other deities. The earliest Sthanakavasi edition and translation of the Shvetambara canon, in its thirty-two text Sthanakavasi version, was done by Amolak Rishi.82 He was born of Rajasthani parents in the central Indian city of Bhopal in 1877, and took mendicant initiation in the Malva Rishi Sampradaya at the age of ten. He was elevated to the post of acharya in 1932, and died in 1936. According to Royce Wiles (1997: 8–9), twenty-seven volumes of Amolak Rishi’s translation were issued individually between 1915 and 1919 from Secundarabad in south India, and then rereleased as a single set in 1920 from nearby Hyderabad. Wiles quotes Walther Schubring’s evaluation that the quality of both the editions and the translations was poor. The Murtipujaka scholar Jnansundar (1936b), who devoted two lengthy chapters to a detailed critique of Amolak Rishi’s work, was even more scathing. Jnansundar was originally a Sthanakavasi mendicant, who converted to the Murtipujaka position, and devoted much of his subsequent research and writing to an attack on the Sthanakavasi position, so his analysis of Amolak Rishi’s work was highly partisan. Jnansundar wrote of Amolak Rishi that he based his Hindi translation on the earlier Gujarati glosses of Parshvachandrasuri, and the Sthanakavasi Dharmsimh’s seventeenth-century version of Parshvachandrasuri’s glosses in which he omitted references to icons.83 Jnansundar said that at the time Amolak Rishi began his monumental task, many Sthanakavasis publicly urged him to avail himself of a scholar who could read the medieval Sanskrit commentaries on the texts.84 “But the Rishi didn’t pay attention, and proceeded to publish his translations, based upon the earlier glosses and making changes as he wished. . . . No respectable person can read that translation without feeling great sorrow” (Jnansundar 1936b: 32). In particular, according to Jnansundar, Amolak Rishi changed the readings of the texts to eliminate references to icons. Jnansundar was not one to mince words, as can be seen in his evaluation of Amolak’s work: “Wherever he saw either a reading or a reference to icon worship he changed it on the basis of his own opinion. But the topic of icon worship is so extensive and pervasive that he could not hide it, any more than an owl can hide the light of the sun by closing its eyes” (1936b: 39–40).85 In particular, asserted Jnansundar, Amolak Rishi tended to change references to Jina icons so that the text referred to icons of other deities. Jnansundar did note, however, that even many Sthanakavasis did not accept this translation as reliable.

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Amolak Rishi did not omit the references to the icons (chaitya) on Nandishvara Dvipa in the Blessed Scripture. Instead he translated the relevant term as “knowledge” ( jnan). This was a well-established tradition among Sthanakavasis, and we will see other translators adopting this translation as well. Amolak Rishi is explicit that his translation aims at bringing across into Hindi the essential spiritual meaning (bhav arth) of the text and is not a literal word-by-word gloss (shabd arth). In his translation of the actions of the Spell Travel mendicants, he translated that when they came to Nandishvara Dvipa they constructed a universal preaching assembly (samavasarana). After resting a while, they performed veneration (vandana) to the chaitya. Here Amolak Rishi expanded upon his translation, writing, “that is, they inspected everything in accordance with what the Jina had said, and so they venerated the knowledge of the Jina.”86 The term he used here to gloss veneration (vandana) is literally “translation of the virtues” (gunanuvad). This refers to the ritual action of contemplating the virtues of another, and then through that contemplation causing those same virtues to arise—that is, translating them—in one’s own being.87 A more recent complete edition of the thirty-two-text Sthanakavasi canon was edited and published in 1953/54 by the monk Phulchand, who published his edition under the Prakritized name Puppha Bhikkhu.88 In his introduction he explained the rationale behind his edition. He said that the version published by Amolak Rishi contained many incorrect readings, had been printed on poor paper, and employed imprecise Hindi. As a result, “the Sthanakavasi community could not receive the benefit from them that it needed.”89 Subsequent to Amolak Rishi, the Sthanakavasi mendicants Atmaram and Hastimal had each translated several scriptures, and Ghasilal was also proceeding with such work. There had been two Murtipujaka editions, but neither of them was free of mistakes.90 Further, he noted the edition of several scriptures together with English translations, but said they also were not very useful.91 Puppha Bhikkhu, therefore, decided to reedit the thirty-two texts, wherever possible restoring the texts to their original linguistic forms. He said that he used manuscripts with good readings as the basis for his work, but provided no further information concerning the specifics of the manuscripts. Puppha Bhikkhu’s strategy in dealing with references to icons was simply to omit them whenever possible.92 This was his approach to the passage in the Blessed Scripture describing the ability of mendicants with magical powers of travel to travel to Nandishvara Dvipa and venerate the eternal icons. The Murtipujaka critical edition of Pandit Bechardas Doshi reads, “[W]ith a second bound they [go to] Nandishvara Dvipa, construct a universal preaching assembly (samavasarana), and venerate the icons (chaitya), and then they return.”93

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Puppha Bhikkhu simply omitted the words that describe the mendicants venerating the icons, and so his edition reads, “[W]ith a second bound they [go to] Nandishvara Dvipa, construct a universal preaching assembly, and then they return.”94 Other Sthanakavasi translators and commentators have been unwilling to take the drastic approaches of either Amolak Rishi or Puppha Bhikkhu. They honor the text, and then in their vernacular discussions of the passage argue that chaitya in this case does not mean “icon,” but rather has another meaning. Between 1936 and 1973 the Sthanakavasi mendicant Ghasilal edited the thirty-two texts of the Sthanakavasi canon in a long series of volumes. Most of them he accompanied by his own Sanskrit commentary. He was assisted in this mammoth undertaking by his disciple Kanhaiyalal, who organized each volume and provided it with Hindi and Gujarati translations of Ghasilal’s commentary. Ghasilal was born in 1884 in a Vaishnava family in the Mewar region of Rajasthan. He was orphaned at age twelve, and at age seventeen took initiation into the Sadhumargi Sampradaya. He was elevated to the post of acharya in 1933. At the instructions of his guru Acharya Javaharlal, he published his new edition of the thirty-two volume Sthanakavasi canon from 1936 until his death in Ahmedabad in 1973.95 The edition and translation of the Blessed Scripture by Ghasilal and Kanhaiyalal appeared in seventeen volumes between 1961 and 1972. In his Sanskrit commentary Ghasilal explained that the phrase “and they venerated the chaityas” meant “they venerated the scriptural and other forms of knowledge expounded by the Lord.”96 Kanhaiyalal expanded upon this in his vernacular translations: “Here where the word ‘chaitya’ comes one should not take it to mean an icon (murti) of God. The building of a temple, and the worship within it of a formally established icon, is a censurable reading that all of the scriptures refute. Therefore the word ‘chaitya’ means the knowledge that the Lord spoke. Because this type of knowledge is praiseworthy, and they had full faith in it, the veneration of knowledge is meant here.”97 An almost identical strategy was adopted by the mendicant scholars who worked on another edition of the thirty-two texts along with Hindi translation and investigation (vivechan) from 1979 to 1994. The original editor of this series was Acharya Mishrimal, although much of the work was done by two of his disciples, the monk Amar Muni and the layman (and former monk) Shrichand Surana. Mishrimal was born in Tinvari, a village near Jodhpur, in 1913, and took initiation in 1923 from Acharya Joravarmal of the Jaymal Gaccha. He was elevated to the post of acharya of this lineage in 1947, but gave up this post in 1952 when the lineage joined the larger Sthanakavasi ecumenical organization known as the Shraman Sangha. He died in 1983.98 Amar Muni took initiation

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as a monk in 1913 at the age of eleven. He was in many ways less bound by Jain tradition than most modern mendicants, as he rejected the prohibition on mendicants traveling by mechanized vehicles, and some of his successors have traveled abroad. One of them, Acharya Chandana, is the first nun in Jain history to have been elevated to the post of acharya. Wiley (2004: 32) also notes, “He is known for his progressive interpretation of Jain scriptures.” He died in 1992. Their edition of the Blessed Scripture was published in four volumes in 1982–86. In their Hindi translation, Amar Muni and Surana parenthetically glossed samavasarana as “place” (sthiti) and chaityas as “knowledgable ones” ( jnanis). They then devoted a paragraph to each of these glosses in their explanation. First they explained why samavasarana here does not mean a universal preaching assembly, or any other religious assembly (dharm sabha). A universal preaching assembly is only constructed for a Tirthankara by the gods, not by monks with magical powers such as the Spell Travel and Thigh Travel. Further, a universal preaching assembly would be inappropriate since no preaching occurred. Therefore in this case when the text says “samavasarana,” it refers simply to a place where these monks halted on their travels. The translators then addressed the problematic phrase “venerate the icons.” They wrote: It would not be appropriate to take the meaning of chaitya here as “temple” (mandir) or “icon” (murti). Since the root form chiti means “intellect” (sanjna), it is established that the meaning of the word chaitya is “someone with special right knowledge” (vishisht samyagjnani). The meaning of “to venerate” is to perform a hymn of praise (stuti). . . . Therefore the meaning of this phrase is that they venerated those with special right knowledge. . . . The purport here is that they had come to know the description of the arrangement of Nandishvara Dvipa from people with special knowledge or from the scriptures, and so when they saw that arrangement in person those mendicants with the magical powers performed a hymn of praise of those with special knowledge.99 It appears that Amar Muni and Shrichand Surana adopted their language from a slightly earlier edition and Hindi translation of the Blessed Scripture by a Sthanakavasi lay intellectual, Pandit Ghevarchand Banthiya. His pen name was Virputra (“Son of Mahavira”), and he used this as his formal name after he took initiation as a mendicant. His seven-volume edition and translation was published between 1964 and 1972. In his translation Virputra glossed universal preaching

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assembly as a “place” (sthiti) where the flying monks halted. In his explanation he did not elaborate on this change, but he did address the problematic word chaitya. He wrote that when the mendicants arrived at Nandishvara Dvipa, they performed veneration of the chaityas, i.e., they performed a hymn of praise of the knowledgeable ones (jnani). The purport here is that the mendicants who had magical powers had heard the description of the arrangement of Nandishvara Dvipa from knowledgeable ones, or had come to know it from the scriptures, and so when they saw that arrangement in person those mendicants with the magical powers performed a hymn of praise of those knowledgeable ones. The word given here in the root text, “chaitya,” means “knowledgeable one,” and “to venerate” means “to perform a hymn of praise.” . . . It is not appropriate to take the meaning of chaitya as “temple” (mandir). . . . In conclusion, to take the meaning of chaitya as “temple” or “icon” (murti) is inappropriate, for the appropriate meaning is “knowledgeable one.”100 The Sthanakavasi editions, translations, and explanations of the other two canonical texts that are central to our understanding of Nandishvara Dvipa, the Scripture of Categories, and the Scripture on Classification of the Animate and Inanimate exhibit similar patterns. Puppha Bhikkhu wherever possible omitted all mention of temples and icons from the Prakrit text. The other authors respected the root text and so provided the same readings as do the Murtipujaka authors, but then in their translations and investigations argued that the Murtipujaka reading of these passages as referring to temples and icons, and therefore authorizing the contemporary practice of icon worship, is incorrect. The iconoclastic Sthanakavasis share with the icon-worshipping Murtipujakas an understanding of the cosmos as vast. Where they differ is that for the Sthanakavasis this is a cosmos devoid of temples and icons, and therefore contemporary Jain ritual culture should be equally devoid of them. What we see in a contemporary Jain temple is not an icon with an eternal prototype. It is an idol, a humanly constructed object of false worship.

A Cosmos Filled with Icons Our exploration of Jain cosmography shows that according to the iconworshipping Shvetambaras and Digambaras, icons are eternally present throughout the cosmos. Jain ritual cultures especially focus on those that are present at the center of the cosmos atop the five Merus, and on the continent

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of Nandishvara Dvipa. Mount Meru is the place at the very center of the cosmos where each of the twenty-four Jinas of each time cycle is taken for his birth lustration by the Indras. Nandishvara and Meru are perfect places, apart from the vagaries of time and decay experienced by humans in this part of the cosmos. Indras eternally rejoice there in the regular celebration of the Jinas, celebrations marked by the worship of icons of the Jinas. Jain cosmology is famous for its understanding of the cosmos as being beginningless and endless. Whereas some religious traditions emphasize stories of the creation of the world out of nothing by a supreme creator deity, the Jains see the material world as uncreated and unending. Cosmology—the narratives of beginnings—therefore involves not the creation of the physical world, but instead the repeated beginning of the spiritual world, as embodied in the lives of the twenty-four Jinas of each time cycle. They are also known as Tirthankaras because each one of them recreates the tirtha. This word is understood more generally to be religion itself as the means to “cross over” (tirtha comes from the verb Ötr¯, “to cross over”; see Eck [1981]) from suffering and mortality to the eternal end of suffering. In the Jain case it more specifically indicates the four branches (tirtha) of the necessary complete community—monks, nuns, laymen, laywomen—created by each Tirthankara. This fourfold community provides the social foundation necessary for the practice of religion and therefore the attainment of liberation. The birth of each Jina is the creation not of the material world, which is in the end unimportant because it is matter, not soul, but of the religious world. The lustration of each Jina at his birth by the Indras atop Mount Meru celebrates that periodic recreation of meaning in the cosmos. For the Jains, cosmology is not so much a matter of telling what happened at the beginning, a creation located in time, as it is of telling what happened at the center, a creation located in space. Since that creation is celebrated by the Indras through their lustration of the infant Jina, the contemporary Jain by lustrating an icon of the Jina is able to recreate and participate in that creation. John S. Strong has analyzed the similarly important role cosmology plays in the Buddhist religious world. Buddhists, like Jains, deny the creation of the universe out of nothing by a creator deity at the beginning of time. Strong says (1983: 104): Perhaps because of the absence in Buddhism of belief in any creator God, the Buddhists have turned to cosmological knowledge for a sense of order in the world. Indeed an understanding of the world as it exists, that is, as it is said to exist, is a fundamental part of the whole process of enlightenment.

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In the Buddhist ritual culture, this then leads to the centrality of the stupa, the tumulus which contains a relic of the Buddha or other great person. It is a geometric and symmetrical structure symbolic of wholeness and totality that instantiates the “real presence” of the Buddha (and his dharma, i.e., his teachings) in this world. Strong continues: The stupa is an efficacious mesocosm because not only was it originally the funerary mound of Buddhas and great kings (and hence presently a potent symbol of the person of the Buddha), but also because it is a cosmogram—a model of the world that enables one to relate to and understand the basic structure of reality. In a similar way, the Jains turn to cosmography for an understanding of “the basic structure of reality.” The cosmos is a structure pervaded by the enlightenment and liberation experienced by the Jinas and other liberated beings (Siddhas), and made present in this world through the existence of eternal icons of the Jinas. By worshipping icons of the Jinas in imitation of the similar worship by the Indras and Indranis, the individual Jain and the Jain community as a whole participate ritually in that underlying structure of enlightenment and liberation.

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3 The Spread of Icons in Our World

The cosmographic “histories” of Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru clearly narrate that the universe always has been and always will be full of Jina icons and temples, and that icon worship is therefore a natural and laudable aspect of human religiosity. These are all uncreated, eternal icons, however, that are worshipped by gods on distant continents. While a few humans with supernormal powers can fly to Nandishvara Dvipa, it and Mount Meru are unreachable by normal human beings. How did it pass, then, that the world in which we live—in the historical Jain case, India—is also full of Jina icons? Here we need to look at three further Jain narratives. Each in its own way accounts for the “origin” of Jina icons—not an origin out of nothing, but an origin within the framework of the human history of this part of the cosmos in this era of time. Each explains why the landscape of the world (India) as Jains know it is covered with Jina temples. The first narrative tells of the establishment of the first temple in this era atop Mount Ashtapada by the universal emperor (chakravartin) Bharata. This narrative is still located in the distant reaches of mytho-history, in the Jain universal history.1 The Jain universal history is a vision of history that is not structured according to what Lawrence Babb (2008) has termed “metrical antiquity,” measureable by countable years. Instead, it is history in a framework of the beginningless and unending cycles of time in the cosmos as a whole. Time for the

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Jains consists of an ever-repeating set of ascending and descending halfcycles. In each set of half-cycles there are six distinct periods. Only in the middle two periods is the nature of time such that humans experience a mixture of good and bad adequate for the development of moral judgment, and therefore the development of religion (dharma) as a cultural institution based on human choice for the “good” of liberation rather than the “bad” of biological and material pleasure. But religion does not just happen. Its presence in the world requires teachers. These are the enlightened Jinas, who on their own accord (and based on prior good karma) realize the truths of the eternality of the countless souls, the suffering of those souls due to karmic bondage, and the possibility of liberation from that bondage. The Jinas then teach these truths (i.e., Jainism) to humans. They also establish the fourfold congregation (tirtha) of monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen, and hence are known as Congregation Establishers (tirthankara). The first of the twenty-four Jinas of the descending half-cycle of time in which we live was Adinatha. He was the first soul in this era to realize enlightenment, and then teach and establish religion in this part of the world. Simultaneous with this was the establishment and worship of icons of the twenty-four Jinas of this era by his son Bharata on Mount Ashtapada. This narrative explains how there came to be icons here on earth. As we will see, however, it locates those icons in almost as inaccessible a location as do the cosmographical narratives of Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru. The second narrative is located within the identifiable history of India, and within a localized Jain history, in this case the history of the Shvetambara Jain expansion into western India over two millennia ago under the sponsorship of King Samprati. This narrative explains how seemingly every village and town in western India has a Jain temple and icons. The third narrative is also a Shvetambara one, and also is located in western India. This is the story of the consecration of temples and icons upon Mount Shatrunjaya, the holiest of all Shvetambara pilgrimage shrines on the peninsula of Saurashtra in Gujarat. These are not eternal temples and icons, however. They are subject to all the vagaries of history, and so it has been necessary to renovate and restore the shrine many times. Shvetambara sources narrate a concept of sixteen renovations, although the list totals more than this. The narrative of Adinatha, Bharata, and Mount Ashtapada is part of the universal history shared by Shvetambaras and Digambaras, although the Shvetambara version is much more detailed. The narratives of Samprati and Mount Shatrunjaya are distinctly Shvetambara localized histories.

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Adinatha’s Universal Preaching Hall The Jain universal history in this part of the universe begins with the first of the twenty-four Jinas of this cycle of time, Rishabha. His foundational role is reflected in the name by which he is more commonly known, Adinatha (also Adishvara and Adeshvara), literally “Primal Lord.” He was the first person to attain bodily enlightenment and become a Jina in this part of the universe in this era. After his enlightenment he spent many years traveling, preaching, and engaging in continued asceticism. During the course of his travels he came to Mount Ashtapada. While there are many fabulous aspects of the description of the mountain that take it from the realm of the geographic to the realm of the cosmographic, Jains have understood it to be the same as Mount Kailasa, a mountain also sacred to Hindus and Buddhists in the western Himalayas. There the gods created a universal preaching hall (samavasarana) for Rishabha to preach. The samavasarana is especially associated with the first sermon of any Jina, although it serves as the setting for all of the Jinas’ sermons. Upon attaining enlightenment, the gods create a samavasarana in which the gods, humans, and animals assemble to hear him preach. The shape of the samavasarana can be square or circular, but in either case is rigorously symmetrical. The description of the samavasarana indicates that we are once again dealing with a wonderous vision of a perfect place that is simultaneously a cosmic mandala.2 The samavasarana is so emblematic of the auspicious event (kalyanaka) of the Jina’s enlightenment that it stands for that event iconographically in illustrated lives of a Jina. Every illustrated manuscript of the biography of a Jina (or sets of the biographies of all the Jinas) therefore includes one or more paintings of the Jina seated in the center of a samavasarana, preaching to the assembled humans, deities, and animals, although in some more schematic paintings the details of the audience are left out (Figure 3.1). The most commonly illustrated of all Murtipujaka texts is the Kalpa Sutra, which narrates the lives of all twenty-four Jinas. The illustrations are structured around the five auspicious events in the life of each Jina: conception, birth, renunciation, enlightenment, and liberation. At least once, and sometimes more often, one finds in each manuscript illustrations of each of these five events. This text is recited annually during the autumnal festival of Paryushan. To cue the audience to where the reciter is in the Prakrit text of the Jinas’ lives (a text unintelligible to the listeners), a member of the congregation holds aloft the illustrations (Cort 1992: 175–79). Almost every Jain can therefore recognize

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FIGURE 3.1. Shvetambara samavasarana, from a Kalpa Sutra manuscript, 1411 CE. Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC: Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Page, S1985.2.59b.

the samavasarana, and understand its metonymic connection with the enlightenment and preaching of the Jina.3 Hemachandra in his Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons described the samavasarana created at Ayodhya in north India, where Adinatha attained enlightenment. The moment of his enlightenment was so profoundly powerful that the thrones of the Indras shook, an event that also happens at the moment of conception of a future Jina. The chief Indra, the lord of the heaven Saudharma (Good Religion), mounted his mighty elephant Airavana and in an instant traveled to where Adinatha was seated in enlightened meditation. He was joined by the Indras of all the other heavens, as well as a host of other gods. The Vayukumara wind gods swept the surface of the earth, the Meghakumara rain gods washed it, and the Vyantara gods covered it “with shining mosaics of gold and jewels” (vol. 1, p. 190). They covered the earth with flowers, and built jeweled archways in the four directions. The gods built three ramparts: the topmost of jewels, the middle of gold, and the bottom of silver. In the middle of the assembly hall they erected a giant chaitya tree.4 In the shade of the tree they erected a jeweled platform, on top of which they made a jeweled dais, and on

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top of this they installed a jeweled lion throne. Above the throne they erected three white canopies, symbols of lordship. Adinatha entered the samavasarana, circumambulated the chaitya tree, and sat on the throne. The gods created three identical icons of the Jina on thrones facing the other cardinal directions, as a symbol of the universality of the Jina’s teachings. (This also underscores the ritual equivalence of the embodied Jina and his icons.) Gods, humans, and animals all assembled to hear the Jina’s first sermon, which was delivered in a way that it was intelligible in all languages.5 The south Indian Sanskrit and Tamil Digambara texts used by T. N. Ramachandran in his analysis of the Universal Preaching Hall add a significant detail. In the center of the samavasarana, and surrounding the throne on which the Jina will sit, the gods erected a structure (Ramachandran terms it a “bower,” but I think that the comparative material from Buddhist sources indicates that it was a built structure) called a gandhakuti.6 John Strong has discussed the more widespread Buddhist use of this term to describe both the room in which the Buddha himself sat and the chambers in which later Buddha icons were installed.7 In Strong’s words, echoing those of Henry Clark Warren’s translation of the fifthcentury Buddhaghosa’s Sumangalavilasini (1896: 93), in this perfumed chamber the Buddha would “sit on the Buddha seat, where he would remain for most of the night receiving the visits of monks and deities and mindfully contemplating the cosmos” (Strong 1977: 390). We see here a strong parallel between the Jain samavasarana with a gandhakuti in the center, in which the Jina sits and receives all the deities, humans, and animals in the cosmos to deliver his universal sermon, and the Buddhist gandhakuti, in which the Buddha sits and receives deities and humans, presumably to teach them, and contemplates the cosmos. The samavasarana is yet another geometrical and symmetrical location in Jain cosmography. Unlike Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru, it is not a single place located elsewhere in the cosmos, but is a built structure located at a distinct place in the human realm of India. With only one important exception which we will discuss shortly, none of the samavasaranas that were constructed for the sermons of the twenty-four Jinas is still extant. The samavasarana vanishes when the Jina finishes his sermon and moves on to another place (Amar 1974–75: 529). The samavasarana is therefore as impossible to visit for a contemporary person as are Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru. But because it is a built structure, it can be replicated. This is exactly what Jains do in every single temple. In some temples there are silver replicas of the samavasarana.8 In many temples there are paintings of it, or else carved stone plaques of it, located either on the walls or ceilings.9 At the medieval temples of Vimala Shah in Abu, and Mahavira and Shantinatha in Kumbhariya there are also several large sculptures of the samavasarana that stand as independent icons

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for worship.10 Dhaky and Moorthy write of these that such three-dimensional icons “apparently came in vogue in the 13th century” (2001: 91n1). As U. P. Shah (1955c: 94) has noted, “loose stone or metal sculptures and reliefs are numerous and scattered in Jaina shrines all over India.” D. R. Bhandarkar went even further, and wrote, “Not a single Jaina temple of eminence exists without a sculpture of Samavasarana in it” (1911: 160). There is a late Digambara tradition in north India, one that seems to be associated with the Digambara Tera Pantha, of building a towering samavasarana that serves as the altar for the principal icon of the temple. The central shrine of the Divan Badhichandji temple in Jaipur, which was founded in the mid-eighteenth century, is a large, high-ceilinged circular room. In the center of it is a towering three-storey metal samavasarana, and seated on the top level is an icon of Adinatha11 (Figure 3.2). D. R. Bhandarkar (1909, 1911: 160–61)

3.2. Digambara samavasarana, altar of Digambara Divan Badhichandji temple, Jaipur, mid-eighteenth century. Photo: John E. Cort (2000).

FIGURE

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reported a now ruined temple from 1460 in Kumalgadh, near Udaipur, that was constructed around a similar central altar of a samavasarana with Adinatha seated atop it. The temple had four doors, allowing for access from any of the cardinal directions, as was appropriate for the symmetrical universality of the samavsarana.12 The nearly ubiquitous presence of painted and sculpted samavasaranas in Jain temples indicates that the samavasarana metonymically stands for the temple. According to medieval Jain texts the samavasarana provides the model for the temple itself. The Digambara Pandita Ashadhara in his manual for lay practice, the Nectar of Religion for the Householder (Sagara Dharmamrita), which he finished in 1240, wrote that the layperson should enter the temple thinking, “This is the samavasarana, this is the Jina, and this is the seated assembly.”13 Fourand-a-half centuries later in 1681 the Shvetambara Mahopadhyaya Yashovijaya expressed a similar intention in another manual for lay practice, his commentary on the Collection on Religion (Dharma Sangraha) of Mahopadhyaya Manavijaya. He wrote that the layperson should enter the temple, bow to the main icon, and then circumambulate the icon, thinking, “This is the fourfold body of the Jina located in the samavasarana.”14 In the words of Padmanabh S. Jaini (1979: 196): The Jaina temple is perhaps most accurately viewed as a replica of the samavasarana. . . . The layman comes near as though he were actually approaching the spot where a living Jina sits immobile, bathed in omniscient glory, “preaching” by means of the miraculous sound emanating from his body. The Jina-image itself is used as a tangible aid to visualization of such a sacred being: thereby one can hope to awaken his soul’s potential for samyak-dars´ana [correct faith], as so often supposedly happened to those fortunate enough to have encountered a real Jina in ancient times. The individual worshipper in the presence of the icon of the Jina imagines himself or herself present at the preaching assembly of the Jina himself, and imagines that the other worshippers in the temple comprise the multitude that has assembled to listen to the preaching of the Jina himself. Further, the worshipper imagines that the humanly built temple in which he or she is performing this ritual is actually the samavasarana built by the gods. While the medieval texts simply say that the samavasarana was created by the gods, the presence of the Indras means that they were among the gods involved. We see here another instance of how the Indras (and by extension, their queens, the Indranis) serve as the paradigmatic worshippers in the Jain tradition. The Jina’s enlightenment is a foundational event in Jainism, for the Jain sangha is

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the community of those who orient their lives around the enlightened teachings of the Jinas. But without an assembly hall with a throne for the Jina to sit on and a place for those who would listen to the Jina to gather, there would be no formally instituted Jain community. To build a temple and to worship the icons of the Jina is to replicate the founding acts of the Indras who built the samavasarana and worshipfully listened to the Jina seated therein. A modern samavasarana temple was consecrated at Palitana, at the base of Mount Shatrunjaya, the holiest of all Shvetambara Murtipujaka pilgrimage shrines, in 1985 (Figure 3.3). This temple fits into a larger pattern of modern Jain temples that are each unique, so that the personality of the temple is identified with both the monk who was the inspiration for the temple, and the patron (or patrons) who funded it. The modern idiosyncratic temples also allow the contemporary pilgrims to combine the traditional motive of pilgrimage to earn merit with the modern motive of tourism to see new and interesting sites. The inspiration for the Palitana temple came from Acharya Vijay Kastursuri (1901–76), who for many years was head of the Nemisuri Samuday, one of

FIGURE 3.3. Shvetambara samavasarana temple (under construction), Palitana. Photo: John E. Cort (1986).

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the larger branches of the Tapa Gaccha, the dominant lineage in the Gujarati Murtipujaka community. The more specific planning for the temple was under the supervision of two of his principal disciples, Acharya Vijay Chandrodaysuri (b. 1928) and Acharya Vijay Ashokchandrasuri (b. 1924). The temple is 108 feet tall and 108 feet in circumference, so the horizontal symmetry of the samavasarana is here matched by a vertical equivalence. In Jainism, Buddhism, and Hinduism 108 is a sacred number. It is the lowest common multiple of twelve (the number of months) and twenty-seven (the number of asterisms), and therefore symbolizes temporal wholeness. The temple is a towering three-tier structure, with four life-size icons of Mahavira seated on the top level looking out over the surrounding countryside. This is a notable change from the earlier pattern of Adinatha being the icon enthroned on a samavasarana altar. It reflects the ways that contemporary Jainism has placed greater focus on the teachings and life of Mahavira as the most recent “founder” of Jainism, with a focus on the preaching (vani) of Mahavira as providing the Jain “scripture.” This expresses a more monotheistic framing of Jainism in contrast to the earlier more polytheistic framing which found more icons of Adinatha and Parshvanatha than of Mahavira. Above the four icons is carved a large chaitya tree, making the temple the most noticeable among the many new temples at the base of Shatrunjaya.15 To underscore further the universal symbolism of the samavasarana, as well as the combination in this temple of “religious” pilgrimage and “secular” tourism,16 the ground level of the Palitana temple contains a modern museum. The walls of this large circular space are covered with large color photographs of 108 of the holiest Shvetambara shrines (tirtha). Many of these are among the bestknown Jain pilgrimage shrines from medieval times. But as a sign of the modern social location of Jains as a transnational community, and even further in accordance with the catholicity symbolized by the samavasarana, included among the 108 shrines are two recent temples in Mombasa, Kenya, and Kobe, Japan.17

Bharata and the Icons on Mount Ashtapada When Adinatha came to Mount Ashtapada, the gods created a similar assembly hall, where he again delivered a sermon to the gods, humans, and animals. He then continued his travels for many years. We here pick up Hemachandra’s narration of events.18 After performing asceticism for millions of years, Adinatha knew that it was time for his final liberation (moksha, nirvana), and so he

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returned to Ashtapada. He commenced a total fast. His eldest son Bharata, who was also the emperor of the world (chakravartin), was informed of this, and with his retinue set out on foot for Ashtapada. He ascended the mountain, and saw the Lord of the Three Worlds seated in the lotus position (which is also the position of seated Jina icons). Gradually the Lord passed through the stages of pure meditation. All pain abandoned, possessing infinite knowledge and perception, his karma destroyed, his object accomplished, endowed with infinite power and bliss, because of the absence of earthly bondage the Lord went to moksha. The 10,000 monks who had accompanied Adinatha and were engaged in fasting all attained enlightenment. After entirely suppressing activity of mind, speech, and body, they reached the final abode instantly like the Master. The chief Indra instructed the other gods to bring the materials for the cremation of the Master’s body. They brought sandalwood as fuel. They made a round funeral pyre in the east for the Master’s body. They made a triangular pyre in the south for the bodies of those monks who were Adinatha’s sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons. They made a rectangular pyre in the west for the other monks.19 One god bathed Adinatha’s body with water from the Milky Ocean, and then anointed it with sandalwood paste. Another god dressed Adinatha’s body with a garment of fine cloth with a goose pattern.20 The chief Indra adorned the Supreme Lord’s body with divine jeweled ornaments. The chief Indra bowed at the Lord’s feet, and placed the body on a jeweled litter which he carried to the funeral pyre. At Indra’s command the Agnikumara fire gods created fire in the pyre, and the Vayukumara wind gods created winds to make the fire burn quickly. At Indra’s command other gods put camphor, clarified butter, honey, and other offerings on the fire. The fire for Adinatha’s body burned until everything except the bones had been consumed, whereupon the Meghakumara rain gods extinguished it. Purandara, the chief Indra, took the Lord’s right upper molar tooth to his palace to worship like an icon. Ishana Indra took the left upper molar tooth, Chamarendra the lower right, and Balindra the lower left. The other Indras took the rest of the teeth, and the other gods the bones.

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Some laymen took the fire from the three pits; they became Brahmanas, fire priests. Other laymen took ashes which they worshipped, and became ash-smeared Hindu ascetics. The gods erected three jeweled stupas on the sites of the three pyres. The gods celebrated a festival for the eternal icons on Nandishvara, and returned to their own heavens. The Indras put the teeth in round diamond boxes on top of pillars.21 They worshipped the teeth constantly, and by the power of the teeth the Indras always had victory and happiness. Near the Master’s pyre Bharata erected a temple of jeweled slabs, one yojana square and six miles high, like a footprint of the house of nirvana. It had four doors made of crystal, as beautiful as the doors on the Lord’s samavasarana. On both sides of each door were sixteen jeweled sandalwood pots. At each door were sixteen jeweled arches, and sixteen groups of the eight auspicious symbols.22 At each door was an extensive entrance pavilion, and in front of these theatre pavilions. In front of each theatre pavilion was a jeweled platform with a jeweled chaitya stupa atop it. On all four directions of the chaitya stupas were platforms on which were icons of the eternal Jinas—Rishabha, Vardhamana, Chandranana, and Varishena—like those on Nandishvara Dvipa. Each icon was 500 bows tall and made of jewels. The icons faced the chaitya stupas. In front of each pavilion was a chaitya tree. In front of each chaitya tree was a jeweled platform. Atop each platform was an Indra pole (indradhvaja), and in the four directions were victory pillars. In front of each Indra pole was a lotus pond. In the central part of the temple was a large jeweled platform. Atop the platform, just as in a samavasarana, was a jeweled dais, and over it a canopy of cloth of various colors. Garlands hung down from the sides of the canopy. On the dais were shining jeweled icons of the twenty-four Jinas. Each icon was the appropriate size and color, and so looked like the Jinas engaged in meditation.23 Sixteen were gold, two lapis lazuli, two crystal, two cat’s-eye, and two ruby. The nails of the icons were made of white jewels, inset with red jewels. The navel, scalp, tongue, palate, shrivatsa (chest mark), nipples, soles, and palms were gold. The eyelashes, pupils, facial hair, eyebrows, body hairs, and head hair were made of dark jewels, and the lips of coral. The teeth were crystal, the skulls diamond, the noses gold with red jewels inset at the ends. The eyes were white jewels with insets of red jewels at the corners.

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Bharata had icons of his ninety-nine brothers (who had already attained liberation) made of precious stone. In order that no one damage the temple, he had mechanical iron guardsmen made, so the temple is now inaccessible to humans. A god cut off the sides of the mountain and made them straight, so it is as impossible for humans to climb as a pillar. Bharata made eight (ashta) steps (pada) around it in the form of terraces, and hence it is known as Eight-Step Mountain (Ashtapada). These are also impossible for humans to climb. Bharata donned pure white clothes (Shvetambara Jain men wear white unstitched clothes to worship Jina icons) and entered the temple. He circumambulated the icons, and then anointed them with fragrant water. After drying them, he dabbed sandalwood paste on them. He adorned them with jeweled ornaments, large divine wreaths, and garments of fine cloth. He rang the bell, burned incense, and waved a camphor lamp. He bowed to the icon of Adinatha and sang a hymn. After the hymn he exited the temple and returned to his capital of Ayodhya.

Several points emerge from this narrative that bear further analysis. The first is that we see in this narrative another instance of the use of the imagery of the mandala to conceive of sacred space in Jain ritual culture. While in this case there is just a single temple, its layout indicates that in a single structure it replicates the geometry of the mandalaic conceptions of Nandishvara Dvipa, Mount Meru, and the Universal Preaching Hall. The temple itself is square, with a door facing each of the cardinal directions. Moving outward from each door is a set of arches, an entrance pavilion, a theatre pavilion, a chaitya stupa atop a jeweled platform and surrounded by icons of the four eternal Jinas, a chaitya tree, and another jeweled platform supporting an Indra pole. In its complex yet symmetrical layering, the Ashtapada temple bears many similarities to the other mandalaic structures. These connections are underscored by Hemachandra, who likens the four doors and the central jeweled platform in the temple itself to the Universal Preaching Hall, and the icons of the four eternal Jinas surrounding the chaitya stupa to the icons on Nandishvara Dvipa. The design of the temple and its altar also reflect a mandalaic imagery. The altar is in the center of the square space. While Hemachandra does not say so explicitly, it is most likely that the twenty-four icons are arranged with six on each side of the altar, pointing outward in a multiplication of the universal imagery of the four outward facing icons of the Universal Preaching Assembly.

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The icons in this temple illustrate a temporal universality in addition to this spatial universality. The icons Bharata installs are of the twenty-four Jinas of this era of time in this part of the universe. Since this event is at the conclusion of the lifetime of the first of these Jinas, we can interpret Bharata’s act as establishing the Jain dharma, as physically instantiated in icons of the Jinas who preach that dharma, for the duration of this cycle of time. The eternal icons maintain the presence of the dharma in other parts of the universe that are not subject to the mutability of time. Prior to the enlightenment of Adinatha, the dharma in its fullness had been absent from this part of the universe, where time does effect change. Adinatha preached and therefore instituted the dharma here, but the nature of time is that the dharma fades somewhat between the lives of the different Jinas, and so needs to be reestablished by each Jina. The Jina icons on Mount Ashtapada, however, do not fade, and so even if humans are not fully aware of the dharma, it is still physically present in this part of the world. This presence of the dharma, and its cosmic eternality, is further emphasized by the fact that the icons are of the twenty-four Jinas of this era. Phyllis Granoff (1992: 190) has termed Bharata’s act as “somewhat of an anacronism,” for twenty-three of the icons are of Jinas who have not yet existed as Jinas. Their souls are eternal, but at the time of Bharata’s consecration their final lives as enlightened and liberated Jinas are still in the distant future. How can one commemorate in an icon an event that has not yet happened? The biographies of the Jinas include many previous lifetimes, and the stories of those previous lives sometimes intersect with the careers of prior Jinas. More significantly, in one of these earlier lives each Jina-to-be performs a special deed that establishes a rare and wondrous karma. This karma comes to fruition in the life when the soul becomes a Jina.24 The nature of karma is such that by the time a soul that will become a Jina is born, its karmic “destiny” is already sufficiently predetermined that there is no doubt of its eventual success. This is why the moments of the conception, birth, and renunciation of a Jina-to-be are also understood to be kalyanakas, auspicious moments, that are celebrated by all Jains as part of the holy biography of the Jina, and as an inevitable working out of the story of spiritual victory. This sense of inevitability in the career of a Jina, and of the concomitant eternality of the dharma, is expressed clearly in Bharata’s installation of the twenty-four Jinas. Bharata knew who the next twenty-three Jinas were going to be, just as surely as Jain cosmographers have provided the names of the twenty-four Jinas in the next cycle of time.25 The story of Bharata consecrating these icons also provides another historical charter for the contemporary worship of Jina icons. If the first temple was built and the first icons consecrated and worshipped by the first universal

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emperor of this cycle of time, who was also the eldest son of the first Jina of this cycle, then clearly it is appropriate for people in India now to build temples and to consecrate and worship icons. The other three icon-filled mandalaic cosmograms—Nandishvara Dvipa, Mount Meru, and the Universal Preaching Assembly—were all closely connected to the Indras and Indranis, the kings and queens of the gods who are the archetypical Jain worshippers. This pattern is also replicated in part at Ashtapada. While the construction of the temple and its icons was the work of Bharata, the temple was located at the site of the cremation of Adinatha. The chief Indra presided over both the cremation of Adinatha and the subsequent distribution of Adinatha’s relics to the other Indras for worship. Since this distribution of the relics preceded the construction of the temple and the consecration of the icons, we can see that the installation and worship of icons is in imitation of the distribution and worship of the relics.

Icons and Relics Hemachandra’s description of the distribution and worship of the relics of Adinatha may seem discordant with what many scholars understand of Jainism. Whereas relics of the Buddha and other important teachers, and their enshrinement in stupas, is a dominant feature in Buddhism, it is much less visible in Jainism, so much so that most scholarship overlooks Jain relic worship altogether.26 The story told by Hemachandra of the distribution of Adinatha’s relics among the different Indras bears marked similarities to the story of the distribution of the relics of the Buddha Siddhartha Gautama after his cremation. In the Buddhist case they were distributed among the human kings of the countries in northern India (Strong 2004: 116–21), whereas in the Jain case the relics were distributed among the Indras, the kings of gods. In the Buddhist context, the stupas in which the relics are enshrined were the origin of what became a pan-Asian Buddhist ritual culture centered on relics and stupas. In the Jain context, this did not happen; and even though the actions of the Indras in other situations is paradigmatic for human worshippers, their worship of the relics of Adinatha did not become paradigmatic. Instead, the story shifts to Bharata’s construction of the temple and consecration of the icons. We can read Bharata’s actions as a matter of substitution; because the relics were no longer available, he instead made icons to stand in for the relics. These icons, and the temples in which they were enshrined, then became the center of the Jain ritual culture.27

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The narrative connection between relics and icons has great significance for our understanding of Jain icon worship. As Phyllis Granoff (1992) and Lawrence A. Babb (1996: 102–03) have perceptively argued, the Jain worship of icons is in large part a funerary or mortuary cult. The icons of the Jinas are icons of deceased teachers. The Jina is no longer bodily present in this world, and so one worships his icon in remembrance of the now deceased Jina. Once one is attuned to the relationship between icons and the deified dead, one does find other evidence of Jain relic worship, even if the practice is not as ubiquitous and self-conscious as in Buddhism and medieval Christianity. Phyllis Granoff has noted the discussion of the god Chamara (one of the Indras) in the Blessed Scripture (Bhagavati Sutra), who paid little attention to his 40,000 wives “since they are so busy worshipping the relics of the Jinas” (1992: 189n24).28 Jozef Deleu in his summary of this passage explains that the relics were “the many bones of Jinas . . . that are kept in globular diamond reliquaries . . . in a stupa . . . in Camara’s residence” (1970: 171). Deleu further notes the parallel between this description of relics and one found in the canonical Scripture of the Questions of the King (Prasenajit) (Rajaprashniya Sutra), in which a temple with icons of the four eternal Jinas facing a central stupa also has a large hall in which Jina relics are contained in spherical boxes hanging from the ceiling (see also Schubring [1962: 49–50]). U. P. Shah (1955c: 58–60, 1987: 15) has called attention to a passage in the canonical Exposition on Black Plum Continent (Jambudvipa Prajnapti) which describes the cremation of a Jina. The Indras then collected the relics and erected a chaitya stupa on the site.29 In the eighth century, Haribhadra in his Commentary (Tika) on Bhadrabahu’s Explanation on the Obligations (Avashyaka Niryukti) mentions a stupa of the Jina Munisuvrata located in the center of the city of Vishala, so there may have been a wider incipient cult of Jain stupas in north India in the early centuries of the tradition.30 These many passages would seem to indicate that the worship of relics was part of early Jain ritual, and that in this Jainism paralleled but didn’t equal Buddhism. While the practice had ceased long before Hemachandra wrote, there was still a strong memory of the tradition, and he did not excise it from his narrative as in any way un-Jain. These early references to the collection of relics and enshrining them, at times in stupas, may also shed light on the “Jain stupa” of Mathura.31 This archaeological remain is an inadequately understood puzzle in the scholarly understanding of early Jain ritual culture. It may well be that the Jain stupa at Mathura is the sole remaining archaeological evidence of a wider practice of Jain relic worship that subsequently disappeared, for reasons that are equally unclear. The later Shvetambara tradition remembered Mathura as the site of many Jain stupas. Acharya Vijayasenasuri, the head of the Tapa

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Gaccha from 1596 to 1600, mentions in the Questions of Sena (Senaprashna), a text of questions and answers compiled by his disciple Shubhavijayagani in 1614, that there were 527 stupas of illustrious early Jain monks in Mathura.32 In a 1987 article, Sagarmal Jain has compiled extensive evidence for Jain construction and worship of stupas found in both archaeological and textual sources. He gives the references to stupas (and the closely related chaityas) in the root text of five Shvetambara scriptures, dating from the second century BCE through the middle of the first millennium CE.33 He also discusses the relevant references to stupas and chaityas in some early commentaries.34 He argues that there was a Jain stupa cult from about the second century BCE until about the fifth century CE. He attributes it to Buddhist influence, although at one place (1987: 137) he also says that both Buddhism and Jainism evidently adopted the tradition of memorial and reliquary tumuli from the contemporary folk traditions. With the decline of Buddhism after about the fifth century CE, the Jain cult of stupas also went into decline, and the two disappeared at about the same time.35 He posits that the stupa at Mathura was in its origin not a Jain tumulus. That Jain sources know it as constructed by the gods (deva nirmita) he takes as evidence that even in early times Jains did not know who actually constructed it, and so they most likely took over its control and worship from local Buddhists (1987: 139).36 Jain’s focus on the question of the origin of the Jain stupa cult outside of Jainism, with the implication that if it did not originate in Jainism, it is not authentically Jain, does not help us in understanding its place in early Jain ritual culture. His location of this cult in Mathura, however, does indicate that it may well have been a regionally specific Jain ritual tradition; Kendall Folkert (1993: 111) has suggested that interpretation of the Jain stupa at Mathura must start with the sacredness and importance of Mathura itself, an importance that transcended any of the religious traditions found there, and that shaped all of them in profound ways.37 Relic worship and stupas did not remain a common feature of Jain ritual culture. Neither were they totally absent. In both the Digambara and Shvetambara traditions the practice of memorializing deceased mendicants developed early on. If the mendicant were sufficiently important, the place where he was cremated was sometimes commemorated by the installation of an icon of his feet (paduka; Laughlin [2005]). The shrine containing such an icon was called a stupa (Gujarati thup) by the Shvetambaras, and a nisidhi or nasiyan (or other variants) by the Digambaras.38 The latter term is also what Hemachandra used for the temple of Adinatha constructed by Bharata (Granoff 1992: 189–90). The cult of the footprint icon developed in both the Kharatara and Tapa Gacchas of the Shvetambara Murtipujakas into cults of fully anthropomorphic icons of important deceased monks (Babb 1996:

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102–36; Laughlin 2003). These no longer were set up only where the monk was cremated, but could be found in any temple, including the new temples built by Jains in Europe and North America. Acharya Vijayasenasuri’s discussion of stupas mentioned above led directly into a discussion of the rite for venerating the footprint icon (pagala) of a deceased mendicant (p. 75), indicating the basic equivalence of a stupa and a footprint icon. These two questions, raised by a monk named Pandita Ravisagaragani, were not the only ones addressed to the acharya concerning the worship of deceased monks. The compiler of the text, Pandita Shubhavijayagani, asked how properly to consecrate and establish icons of monks (pp. 134–35). In response Senasuri gave the mantras for establishing the icons of acharyas, upadhyayas, and sadhus or sadhvis.39 On yet another occasion he was asked by members of the Jain congregation of Udaipur about the appropriateness of using the term “vihara” to designate a shrine to Hiravijayasuri, in which there was an icon of the deceased monk, since in Jain settings this term is normally restricted to Jina temples (p. 380). Equating Hiravijayasuri with one of the twenty-four Jinas would be a serious category mistake according to orthodox Jain theology. Senasuri replied that since the term vihara is found in other contexts, such as Buddhist texts, it has a more general meaning. The persistence with which questions about stupas and the proper worship of deceased monks were raised (see Dundas [2007: 54] for further related questions address to Senasuri) indicates that in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries there was some uncertainty concerning the orthodoxy of the practice of worshipping deceased monks. Senasuri addressed this directly when he said, “Many contemporary monks have seen the stupas of Somasundarasuri [head of the Tapa Gaccha 1401–43], Sumatisadhusuri [head of the Tapa Gaccha ca. 1489–95] and others. Therefore there is no reason for doubt [concerning the legitimacy of the practice]” (p. 75).

Ashtapada in Jain Ritual Culture While the narrative of Ashtapada did not become a charter for the Jain installation and worship of relics, it was one among several charters for the building of temples and the installation and worship of icons. Ashtapada has therefore maintained a strong presence in Jain ritual cultures. There have been temples either dedicated to Ashtapada, or with significant representations of it, since at least the latter half of the first millennium CE. A Digambara temple from this period is the Sat Deuliya temple in what is now West Bengal. It contains a large stone stele that has been interpreted as a representation of Ashtapada. At the top of the stele is a seated icon of Adinatha, and

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on seven rows beneath him are standing icons of 148 naked figures, probably some of the other liberated souls (siddha) who attained liberation and were cremated along with Adinatha (Banerjee 1974–75: 154 and plate 82A). A much later Shvetambara temple from Patan in north Gujarat is known as Ashtapada, even though the main icon is of the Jina Candraprabha, due to the presence a carved stone stele of Ashtapada (in addition to one of Mount Meru) in a front pavilion. It has had this combination of moniker and main icon since at least 1520 (Kadiya 2000b: 38–46). A. N. Upadhye (introduction to Kuvalayamala, vol. 2, p. 103) reported that a contemporary temple in Jalor, in southern Rajasthan, was known as the Ashtapada Avatara temple, that is, a replica (literally “incarnation”) of Ashtapada. While the main image is now of Shantinatha, Upadhye reported that parts of the temple dated perhaps as early as the thirteenth century. The Shvetambara monk Uddyotanasuri completed his Garland of Prince Kuvalaya (Kuvalayamala) in Jalor 779 CE. Uddyotanasuri mentioned a temple of Adinatha in the city, and compared the city with its overlooking hill to Ashtapada (vol. 1, p. 282, line 21). The contemporary Shantinatha temple may retain a memory of an earlier temple of Adinatha called after Ashtapada.40 Perhaps the most famous Ashtapada temple is the one built atop Mount Girnar in 1233 by Vastupala, the powerful minister of state in the Vaghela kingdom. In 1232 he built a temple to the nineteenth Jina, Mallinatha, on the hill, and the following year constructed two grand pavilions in front of it, one each for the merit of his two wives. One pavilion contains a large, four-tiered, circular model of Sammeta Shikhara, and the other a large, four-tiered, square model of Ashtapada (Dhaky 1997b: 36–38).41 These models include Jina icons, but also serve as icons themselves, as both the Jina icons and the mountain icons can be the subject of rituals of veneration and devotion and thereby have a positive affect on the person’s karmic status (Cort 2002a). Vastupala is credited with constructing another Ashtapada temple at the nearby port city of Prabhasa Pattana that no longer exists (Shah 1974–75c: 305). The tradition of temples dedicated to Ashtapada continues to the present. In the early 2000s a new pilgrimage complex, Ashtapada Jain Tirth, was developed in the town of Rani in Pali district in south-central Rajasthan, under the guidance of the Tapa Gaccha monk Acharya Vijay Sushilsuri. The main temple here is dedicated not to Ashtapada per se, but to Mahavira, indicating that Ashtapada is connected with both Adinatha, who died and was cremated there, and with Mahavira, whose disciple Gautama Svami traveled there (see later).42 Another modern Shvetambara Ashtapada temple is located in Hastinapur. This site has long been associated with Adinatha, since it is here that he received his first food after his renunciation (Cort 2001b: 137–38, 182).43

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FIGURE 3.4. Shvetambara icon of Ashtapada, Shantinatha temple, Kumbhariya, 1210 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

Several medieval Shvetambara pilgrimage temples contain separate shrines with smaller but equally impressive icons of Ashtapada. In the southeast corner of the compound of shrines surrounding the Shantinatha temple at Kumbhariya is a separate shrine with an icon of Ashtapada (Dhaky and Moorthy 2001: 69, 90, 147–48, fig. 8, plates 127–28). Atop a diamond-shaped altar is a depiction of the mountain, with seated icons of the twenty-four Jinas on two levels facing out in the four cardinal directions. At the top of the mountain is a lofty samavasarana of Adinatha, with the four-seated icons again facing out in the four cardinal directions (Figure 3.4). An inscription on the icon says that it was consecrated in 1210 by one Dharmaghoshasuri (2001: 115). Dhaky and Moorthy (2001: 147–48) further write that literary references indicate that icons of Ashtapada began to be made in the Shvetambara tradition in the twelfth century, and the earliest extant icons, of which this is one, are from the early thirteenth century.44

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The tradition of carved steles, mentioned above in the context of the Sat Deuliya Digambara temple in Bengal, has continued. For example, a temple to the tenth Jina Shitalnath in Patan in north Gujarat contains a carved wooden plaque that Chandrakant Kadiya (2000b: 145, fig. 23) estimates to be about 450 years old. The top portion of the plaque depicts Sammeta Shikhara, the mountain in eastern India where twenty of the Jinas of the current era attained liberation, and the bottom portion depicts Ashtapada. Ashtapada has played a part in Shvetambara devotional and ritual culture. Acharya Jnanvimalsuri (1638–1726) of the Tapa Gaccha, an energetic promoter of icons and author of Gujarati texts, composed an eight-verse Gujarati hymn to Ashtapada, in which he provided a basic description of the mountain and its icons.45 In 1836 the Tapa Gaccha monk Dipvijay spent the four-month rainy season retreat in the port city of Rander, near Surat. During the retreat the local congregation sponsored a special celebration of Ashtapada. Dipvijay composed a liturgy for the occasion, his Ashtapadjini Puja (Worship of Blessed Ashtapada). While Dipvijay was the poet, he specified that his composition was supervised by another monk, Rajendravijay, who had studied the descriptions of Ashtapada in the scriptures. Ashtapada is also vectored into Shvetambara ritual and devotional culture through the medieval geographical concept of the five principal pilgrimage shrines (pancha tirtha). In addition to Ashtapada, these include Sammeta Shikhara in northern India, where twenty Jinas of this era attained liberation. We have already seen that Ashtapada and Sammeta Shikhara, as places where Jinas attained liberation, are often paired in visual representations, as at Girnar and the Shitalanatha temple in Patan. Girnar in Saurashtra is also one of the five, as it is the site of the liberation of the twenty-second Jina, Neminatha. The other two shrines are not associated with the liberation of any Jina, but have for many centuries been among the most popular pilgrimage shrines in western India. These are Mount Abu, in a largely Gujarati cultural area of what is today southernmost Rajasthan, and Mount Shatrunjaya, also in Saurashtra, to which we will turn our attention shortly. The set of five pilgrimage shrines probably developed out of several devotional sets of five in Jain ritual culture. There is the set of the five most popular Jinas: Adinatha (#1), Shantinatha (#16), Neminatha (#22), Parshvanatha (#23), and Mahavira (#24). In 1834, for example, the Tapa Gaccha monk Uttamvijay composed a Pancha Tirthi Puja (Worship of the Five Shrines) dedicated not to the five shrines, but to these five Jinas. This formulation dates back at least to around 1500, when the monk-poet Lavanyasamay, also of the Tapa Gaccha, composed his Pancha Tirth Stavan (Hymn to the Five Shrines) addressed to the same five Jinas (Desai 1986–97:I: 485).46 In the conclusion of his poem

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Lavanyasamay compares the five Jinas to the five Merus, indicating another set of five sacred objects that may have influenced the development of the concept of the five pilgrimage shrines. There is the set of the five supreme lords (parameshthin) of the Jain pantheon: arhat or Jina, siddha, acharya, upadhyaya, and sadhu (Cort 2001b: 23–24; Shah 1987: 41–46). There are only five places where Jinas of this era attained final liberation: Ashtapada, Pavapuri, Champa, Girnar (one each), and Sammet Shikhar (twenty). Yet another important set of five in Jain cosmology is that of the five beneficial moments (kalyanaka) in the life of each Jina, events that are celebrated on a number of ritual occasions. It is not clear when the concept of the set of these five pilgrimage shrines arose. It has to have been after the rise to prominence of the most recent of the five, Mount Abu, in the eleventh, and then more centrally in the thirteenth, centuries (Dhaky 1997a). Jinaprabhasuri does not use the concept in his Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Shrines, so it was not in use in the first third of the fourteenth century when he was writing. N. C. Mehta (1932) and Moti Chandra (1949: 48–51) have discussed a large (30- or 38-feet long by 1-foot wide) painted scroll of several Shvetambara pilgrimage shrines.47 An inscription on the painting indicates that it was painted in 1433 for several lay Jain patrons who lived in Champaner, then an important town to the northeast of present-day Baroda.48 Chandra calls it a “five-shrine (pancha-tirthi)” scroll. This would appear, however, to be a back formation, as Chandra applied the later concept of the five-shrine scroll to this early-fifteenthcentury example. (This back formation has been repeated by Shridhar Andhare [1994: 84, 2000: 73] in the most recent surveys of Jain painted scrolls.) There are, in fact, seven shrines depicted: a generalized shrine of Parshvanatha, an unfinished illustration of a temple, Adinatha at Shatrunjaya, a generalized shrine of Shantinatha, Neminatha at Girnar, Parshvanatha at Sammet Shikhar, and Mahavira at Pavagarh, then an important fort near Champaner. We see in this list a combination of geographically specific shrines, three of which are on the later list of five and a fourth that was presumably important to the patrons, with two generalized temples of popular Jinas. It is not clear to me that this scroll in fact serves as an example of a five-shrine scroll. A scroll from close in time to the Champaner scroll indicates how the very form of a multi-shrine painting could have contributed to the development of the concept of the five shrines. This scroll, formerly in the collection of A. K. Coomaraswamy, and now in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (Coomaraswamy 1924: 70; 2003: 48 and plate XXXV), depicts Parshvanatha enthroned in a temple in the center. In the upper left corner is Parshvanatha’s samavasarana; in the upper right are five siddhas or liberated souls; in the lower left is Sudharma Svami, the first pontiff after Mahavira; and in the lower right is Gautama Svami,

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another important disciple of Mahavira. While the content of this scroll is very different from the later five-shrine ones, its layout clearly prefigures that of the later ones. Coomaraswamy conservatively dated it simply as “probably fifteenth century” (1924: 70), but Moti Chandra more confidently said that it should be dated “not later than 1450 A.D.” (Chandra 1949: 47).49 A scroll now in the Chhatrapati Shivaji Museum (formerly the Prince of Wales Museum) in Bombay is closer in conception to the later formulation of five shrines (Andhare 1971). In the center is a depiction of the samavasarana of Mahavira. In the four corners are, starting from the top left and moving clockwise, Shatrunjaya, Girnar, Ashtapada, and Sammet Shikhar. The inscription on the scroll dates it to VS 1421 (1365 CE), but Shridhar Andhare has argued on stylistic grounds that it should be dated closer to 1475 CE. Another scroll, which Chandra dates to the early-sixteenth century, again shows a layout close to the eventual five-shrine one.50 The center again depicts Parshvanatha, in this case with a thousand-headed serpent over his head. In the four corners, clockwise from the top left, are Shatrunjaya, Girnar, Sammet Shikhar, and Ashtapada. It is not until the early seventeenth-century that we find a scroll that precisely matches the conception of the five shrines. This scroll from Rajasthan, and now in the collection of the L. D. Museum in Ahmedabad, depicts Ashtapada in the center, and then in the four corners, starting clockwise from the upper left, it depicts Abu, Shatrunjaya, Girnar, and Sammet Shikhar. All except the central illustration are also labeled. While Ashtapada is important in the Digambara historical self-understanding as the site of Adinatha’s liberation, it has not played as significant a role in Digambara ritual, material, or visual cultures. On the whole, Digambaras prefer to call the mountain by the name shared with Hindus, Kailasa. There do not appear to have been temples, shrines, or icons specifically of Ashtapada in the Digambara tradition, although this may be changing. The foundation stone for a modern temple of Ashtapada on the Delhi–Jaipur highway was laid in December 2005. This temple is part of a larger pattern of what we can call “New Age Jain” temples, such as the Samavasarana Temple at Palitana I discussed above. These temples often combine traditional Jain cosmography and devotion with a modernist social agenda. In this case the organization behind the temple, Manav Shanti Pratisthan (“Human Peace Foundation”), coupled it with a school to educate local children, and a home for the aged.51 Ashtapada appears in many Digambara hymns due to its association with Adinatha. Among the best known of these is the Prakrit Devotion to [the Sites of the Jinas’] Liberation (Nirvana Bhakti), also known as the Chapter on Liberation (Nirvana Kanda). While tradition assigns this hymn to Kundakunda, it is likely

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that it was compiled from various early hymns by a later redactor (Upadhye 1935: XXVI–XXIX). The hymn begins by simply listing where each of the twenty-four Jinas attained liberation, starting with Adinatha/Rishabhanatha: “Rishabha on Ashtapada.”52 Closely related to this text is the Sanskrit Devotion to [the Sites of the Jinas’] Liberation (Nirvana Bhakti) attributed to the seventhcentury Pujyapada. In this hymn we see the Digambara preference to refer to the mountain as Kailasa, as the text reads, “The great soul Rishabha became the lord of virtues, and attained liberation on the peak of Mount Kailasa.”53 Hymns devoted solely to Ashtapada are few if any. Digambara texts retain the reference to the temple built by Bharata, but do not include the lengthy discussion of Adinatha’s relics. The relatively lesser role of Ashtapada in Digambara ritual culture is seen in that two modern scholarly discussions of it from a Digambara perspective quickly turn to Jinaprabhasuri’s Shvetambara depiction of the site (Johrapurkar 1965: 133–35, B. Jain 1974–88: I: 85–91). There is now an elaborate representation of Ashtapada in the United States as well, as part of the temple of the Jain Center of America in New York City. The mountain is carved from several tons of quartz crystal, and the Jina icons from a range of precious gems such as aquamarine, agate, amethyst, emerald, ruby, and tourmaline. The icons were carved in Jaipur. Before being brought to the United States, where they were first exhibited at the July 2007 JAINA convention in Edison, New Jersey, the icons were displayed in Mumbai, Surat, Palitana, Ahmedabad, Jaipur, Delhi, Kolkata, and Antwerp. Planning this display was the work of several members of the New York temple who formed an Ashtapad Research International Foundation, and in 2006 traveled to the Himalayas to try to find the lost site. They concluded that the temples and icons are buried under the deep ice of the western Himalayas, and that the actual site of the mountain is not Kailasa, but another mountain to its southeast.54

Another Inaccessible Shrine The temple and icons on Ashtapada lie in this continent, and were consecrated in this era of time. In this respect they would appear to be potentially more accessible to humans than the temples on Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru to which only gods and a small number of humans with superhuman, god-like magical powers of travel. If one makes the pilgrimage into the high western Himalayas, one can see Ashtapada. In the early 1990s, a Jain layman published photographs which, he claimed, showed the remains of the temple built by Bharata.55 For all practical purposes, however, Ashtapada and its temple and icons are as inaccessible as Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru, since Bharata

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and a god made it impossible for humans to climb the mountain. In part this depiction may represent a very real geographical knowledge of the difficulties of travel to, much less scaling, this high (6,638 meters) mountain in the remote Himalayas. Since it is forbidden for Buddhists and Hindus to climb the mountain, this Jain theme may be a reflection of a larger pilgrimage pattern. It may also reflect that by medieval times any tradition of Jain pilgrimage to Ashtapada Kailasa had long since ceased—although it has resumed to a limited extent in recent years, as part of the revival of pilgrimage among Indians more generally in the new form of religiously motivated tourism. Nonetheless, it remained an idealized goal for pilgrims due to its great spiritual power. According to Jinaprabhasuri, Mahavira himself said, “The man who climbs this mountain by his own power and venerates the chaityas [which would normally refer to icons, but in this case also refers to the stupas] will attain liberation in this lifetime.”56 Mahavira’s chief disciple Gautama Svami heard this, and resolved to travel to Ashtapada in order to secure his own liberation. Since Gautama had perfected the magical power (labdhi) of flight, he was not hindered by the physical barriers erected to prevent a normal human from ascending the mountain. While there he preached to the assembled gods on the virtues of fasting. He then descended from the mountain and initiated 1,500 non-Jain ascetics into the Jain monastic order (Cort 1995a: 89) (Figure 3.5). We see in this an echo of the fact that while normal humans cannot go to Nandishvara Dvipa to worship the eternal icons there, monks possessed of special powers can. The distinction between humans and gods in Jainism is not an absolute one, for at root they are all identical souls. It is simply a reflection of the capabilities of different embodiments. A human through rigorous meditation and asceticism can attain powers that approximate to those of the gods. It is preferable to be born as a human, however, for only from a human body can one attain liberation. Being a human with divine powers, and therefore able to worship the eternal icons, is even better. Despite the story of Gautama, and the evidence therefore that as recently as 2,500 years ago someone was able to make the pilgrimage to the icons of Ashtapada, it remains practically inaccessible for humans today, and has been for two millennia. The history of Ashtapada may provide another charter for the building of temples and worship of icons in this world, but it does not account for how the Jain temples and icons that dot the landscape of India (and now elsewhere) came to be. The practice of humans installing and worshipping Jina icons presumably dates from the time of Bharata, in imitation of the first temple and icons he established. Jain texts are silent as to how the practice of icon worship subsequently spread throughout the world. But Shvetambara texts do narrate how there came to be icons in many of the villages and towns

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FIGURE 3.5. Shvetambara painting of Ashtapada, western India, nineteenth century. Collection Navin Kumar, New York.

of western India. This story brings us out of Jain mythic time and into what we would recognize as historical or metrical time, out of the Jain universal history and into a Shvetambara localized history. It involves a king, Samprati, who is known to external historical sources, and can be dated on a historical, metrical calendar.

King Samprati and the 125,000 Temples The rise and spread in the third century BCE of the Mauryan Empire, with all of its associated grandeur and order, was clearly a major event in the selfunderstanding of ancient Indians. For centuries thereafter, Indians reflected upon the accomplishments of the empire, and attributed to it a foundational role in creating the ongoing institutions of Indian civilization and culture. The place in Buddhist self-understanding of the Mauryan emperor Ashoka, who

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ruled from ca. 269 to 232 BCE, is well known to scholars. Ashoka is credited with greatly expanding the empire, and then instituting a moral basis, founded upon Buddhist virtues, for that empire. He created a model for ethical kingship that persists today in the religious and political imaginaire of Buddhist Southeast Asia.57 Buddhists view Ashoka as being almost single-handedly responsible for the spread of Buddhism outside of its north Indian homeland. This spread was twofold: on the one hand Ashoka sent monks as missionaries to spread the Buddha’s teachings, his “doctrinal body” (dharma-kaya); on the other he established 84,000 stupas with relics of the Buddha throughout the Buddhist world to fill the world with the presence of the Buddha in his “physical body” (rupa-kaya).58 Sinhalese sources credit him with the spread of Buddhism to Sri Lanka, as they say that his son Mahinda led a Buddhist mission to the island to convert the king Devanampiya Tissa.59 Later, the queen of Sri Lanka wanted to become a nun, but couldn’t due to the absence of any ordination lineage. Ashoka’s daughter Sanghamitta, who was already a nun, traveled to Sri Lanka so that the queen could be ordained.60 The Sinhalese sources also credit him with sending missions to spread Buddhism to all parts of the then known world, from Kashmir and Gandhara to Maharashtra and Southeast Asia.61 Jain sources also know of Ashoka, but he does not figure as centrally in Jain accounts as he does in Buddhist ones. Jain histories focus more on Ashoka’s grandfather Chandragupta, who they say became a Jain. The Digambara historians credit him with leading a migration south to avoid a great famine, and eventually dying in meditation at the holy shrine of Shravana Belgola (Sangave 1981: 29–36). For Shvetambaras the central person in the Mauryan dynasty was Ashoka’s grandson and successor Samprati.62 While in one source he is described as being nominally a Jain from birth (Sthaviravali 9.53), most accounts emphasize his conversion at the hands of the monk Suhastin, the eighth leader of the congregation established by Mahavira. After his conversion he was credited with actively spreading Jainism to many parts of India and beyond, both by making it possible for monks to travel to barbarian lands, and by building and renovating thousands of temples and establishing millions of icons. The story of Samprati first emerges in Shvetambara writings—the story does not appear to have been a Digambara one at all—in the context of the rules of monastic practice. The Scripture of Rules (Kalpa Sutra) is one of the Cheda Sutras or texts of monastic discipline in the Shvetambara canon. It is not to be confused with the oft-translated Kalpa Sutra that is recited as part of the autumnal festival of Paryushan (Cort 2001b: 147–62), and which is technically only the eighth part of the larger Scripture of Ten Chapters (Dashashrutaskandha).

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To distinguish it from the better known text, our text is usually called the Greater Scripture of Rules (Brihat Kalpa Sutra). The last portion of the first chapter of the text deals with the lands in which mendicants can travel. Given the need for special food and other amenities to maintain their mendicant vows, Jain mendicants must travel in places where there are adequately knowledgeable laity. The rule laid down by Mahavira was as follows: “[M]onks or nuns may wander eastward as far as Anga-Magadha, southward as far as Kosambi, westward as far as Thuna, and northward as far as Kunala. They may wander thus far, for thus there are Aryan countries, but not beyond unless the Dharma flourishes.”63 The practice of dietary asceticism by Jain mendicants creates several distinctive problems. The mendicant rules of nonpossession mean that they can neither procure food to prepare on their own, nor possess the tools to prepare that food. The mendicants are totally dependent upon the laity for their food. At the same time, the number and types of food that mendicants can consume are extremely limited by the rules of Jain mendicant discipline. Further, they cannot instruct laity as to what foods they will and won’t accept, since that would involve them intimately in the violence inherent in the preparation of food, and so find them in violation of their vows of total non-harm. In practice, Jain mendicants depend upon laity asking of their own accord to ascertain what foods any given mendicant (or group of them) will or will not eat, and then supposedly adopting the same dietary restrictions for the duration of the time the mendicants are present. This maintains a fiction that the laity prepare nothing expressly on behalf of the mendicants, but merely give to the mendicants some of the food that they had prepared for their own consumption. This complicated ritual transaction is well known to Jain laity. But it is not known to non-Jains, and so Jain mendicants face potential problems when their travels take them to places where there are no Jain households. This dilemma is seen most clearly in the biography of Adinatha. Since he was the first Jina of this era, he was therefore also the first Jain. Until he attained enlightenment and started to preach, there were no other Jains. No one knew the proper ritual etiquette for providing him with food, and as a result he went without eating anything for thirteen-and-a-half months after his renunciation. In the course of his travels he came to Hastinapur. Prince Shreyansa of Hastinapura, through a karmic memory of a former life, when he had lived during the time of a previous Jina, knew the rules for giving food to a mendicant, and so Adinatha was able to break his involuntary fast.64 In contemporary Shvetambara Murtipujaka practice, when mendicants are traveling through areas where there are no Jain households, they will choose to engage in a total fast if the required time is short enough. Otherwise, they will accept food from households of a restricted

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number of higher castes, from which they can at least receive vegetarian food. But many mendicants simply choose not to travel in such areas. To facilitate the travel of mendicants, in the contemporary Tapa Gaccha, there are printed books giving detailed directions of routes throughout western India, complete with distances between suitable towns and villages, that enable the mendicants to remain within a Jain dietary social sphere.65 The rule in the Greater Scripture of Rules restricting where Jain mendicants could travel was aimed at addressing precisely this problem. But the geographical limits were ignored from soon after the time of Mahavira, if they were ever actually enforced. Later commentators had to account for the obvious spread of Jainism beyond this fairly restricted range in what is today northeast India around the state of Bihar. There is inscriptional evidence for the presence of Jain monks in south India by the second or first centuries BCE (Dundas 2002: 116), and archaeological evidence of Jain monks in Saurashtra in Gujarat by the second century CE (Cort 2001c: 35). Starting with Bhadrabahu’s ca. first century CE Explanation (Niryukti), the earliest commentary upon the Greater Scripture of Rules (Brihat Kalpa Sutra), and then continuing with Sanghadasagani Kshamashramana’s ca. sixth century CE Exposition (Bhashya) and subsequent commentaries, the story of Samprati’s conversion to, and patronage of, Jainism was told to account for the spread of Jainism. This story was of such importance to Shvetambara self-understanding concerning both the spread of Jainism through India, and, as we will see, the spread of the cult of temples and icons, that it was repeated in many subsequent texts. Sanghadasagani’s verses are found largely verbatim in the Exposition (Bhashya) on another canonical text of monastic discipline, the Scripture of Interdictions (Nishitha Sutra).66 Around 1100 CE Devachandrasuri of the Purnatalla Gaccha told the story of Samprati in his commentary on the Textbook on Fundamental Purity (Mulashuddhi Prakarana), in a chapter on the virtues of building temples.67 A century later, Amradevasuri of the Brihad Gaccha included the story of Samprati in his commentary to the Treasury of Stories (Akhyana Manikosha).68 In 1204, Malayaprabhasuri, a disciple of Manatungasuri of the Purnima Gaccha, wrote an extensive Prakrit commentary on his teacher’s Deeds of Jayanti (Jayanti Carita), in which he included the story of Samprati as an example of the virtue of compassion (Caudhari 1973: 201–2). There are also some anonymous and undated medieval texts devoted solely to the story of Samprati, such as the 461-verse Sanskrit Deeds of King Samprati (Samprati Nripa Charitra). Around the same time as Amradevasuri, Hemachandra related the story in his twelfth-century Succession of Elders (Sthaviravali; 11.23–127). According to Hemachandra, Samprati visited the city of Ujjain in western India—this may well have been his capital—to see a procession of the Living Lord icon

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of Mahavira ( jivantasvami; I discuss this icon in chapter 4). Also in the city was Suhastin, the leader of the congregation of Jain monks. The king accepted Suhastin as his guru, and adopted the ritual conduct of a Jain layman, including the daily practice of icon worship. He instructed his vassals to provide what the Jain monks needed. In order to increase the number of countries in which the Jain mendicants could travel, he sent messengers disguised as Jain monks into the barbarian lands. These messengers instructed the people how to serve mendicants properly, thus making it possible for mendicants to travel to these new lands. In words that clearly echo the texts from nearly half a millennium earlier, Hemachandra said that at Samprati’s insistence Suhastin “sent some monks to live in Andhra, Dramila [the Tamil country], and the other barbarian countries.”69 According to the Jain tradition, Samprati made it possible for Jain mendicants to travel in twenty-five-and-a-half countries, from Andhra in the southeast, to Tamil Nadu in the south, to Coorg in the southwest, and Maharashtra in the west.70 The modern authors Triputi Maharaj give a grander vision of Samprati’s accomplishment, saying that due to his missions, “Jain teachings reached China, Burma, Afghanistan, Nepal, Bhutan and other distant places, and Jainism was firmly established in regions such as Andhra, Tamil, Karnataka, Maharashtra, Saurashtra, Gujarat, Malva, and Rajputana” (1952: 174). Even more enthusiastic was the reading of the Samprati tradition by Mangaldas Trikamdas Jhaveri in a 1940 book aimed, in the words of the English title page, at establishing “The Truthfulness of Ancient Jain History.” Facing page 330 he provides a fold-out map showing the area under Samprati’s rule. In addition to all of India, it includes Burma, Thailand, Tibet, Afghanistan, Iran, much of Central Asia, the Arabian peninsula, the Middle East, and eastern Turkey. Jhaveri (1940: 334) wrote of Samprati: “He spread the Jain religion by sending teachers to Arabia, Afghanistan, Turksthan (Central Asia), Iran, Tibet, China, Burma, Assam, Sri Lanka, Africa and America. In many of these countries he also had Jain temples built.”71 The Jain accounts of the far-flung countries to which Samprati spread Jain teachings bear a striking similarity to the Buddhist accounts of his grandfather’s activities to spread Buddhism, and it may well be that the Jain history is a direct borrowing and recasting of the earlier Buddhist narratives. Further, just as Ashoka not only spread the Buddhist teachings but also instituted the Buddhist ritual culture of stupas throughout these lands, so Samprati did more than send missionaries. He also built temples and installed icons. Hemachandra simply said, “[H]e adorned the three parts of Bharata as far as Mount Vaitadhya with Jain temples” (Sthaviravali 11.65).72 This simple account was elaborated over time. If Ashoka according to the Buddhists established 84,000 stupas,73 Samprati according to the Jains did much more. By the

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time of an anonymous lineage text of the Tapa Gaccha composed sometime in the latter part of the seventeenth century, but clearly reflecting older traditions, Samprati was credited with building 125,000 new temples, renovating 36,000 old temples, consecrating 12,500,000 stone and 95,000 metal icons, and establishing 700 charitable centers for aiding the poor.74 To this day, Jains in western India will credit Samprati with the building of “old” temples for which there is no firm inscriptional or textual evidence of its construction, and installing “old” icons (usually stone) on which there is no donor inscription. Thus, the twentieth-century monk Ratnaprabhavijaya wrote: “A large majority of Jinabimba idols of Tirthankaras now-adays met with in Jaina temples have been prepared and consecrated during the time of Samprati” (1948: 239).75 Samprati and his temples and icons thereby came to occupy a place in the Jain history of western India closely analogous to that occupied by Ashoka in the Buddhist history of India; as John Strong has noted: “For centuries pilgrims visiting the holy sites of India habitually ascribed almost every stupa they came across to the reign of Ashoka” (1983: 109). This connection between Ashoka and the spread of the material basis for Buddhism accompanied Buddhism into China. In two essays, Koichi Shinohara has recently discussed several seventh-century Chinese texts that describe the miraculous discovery of icons (2003, 2004). The stories of the discovery of these icons indicate that the icons, originally commissioned by Ashoka, later traveled to China on their own, thus legitimating both the presence of Buddhist teachings in China, and the centrality within Chinese Buddhism of icons of the Buddha, so much so that Chinese Buddhism later came to be known as the “teaching of icons” (xiang jiao) (Kieschnick 2003: 53). The story of Samprati provides yet another narrative of origins that accounts for the presence of Jain temples and icons throughout western India. Further, the story legitimates that presence. It was not just any king who for reasons that may or may not have been credible decided to institute a cult of temples and icons. It was a righteous Jain king, a member of the justly famous Mauryan dynasty that has remained a golden age in Indian historical memory. Samprati did not act out of political self-interest. He was a devotee of the monk Suhastin, then leader of the Jain mendicant order, the eighth leader in direct succession from Sudharma Svami, the disciple of Mahavira who was the first leader of the congregation established by the Jina. Samprati acted out of concern to spread the greatness of the Jain dharma, the true path both to salvation from the sufferings of the world and to well-being within the world. It was Samprati who enabled monks to travel to the lands of the unenlightened barbarians, and it was Samprati who then spread the ritual culture of temples and icons to those same lands and thereby enabled those people to become fully Jain themselves.

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The Sixteen Renovations of the Temples on Mount Shatrunjay Jinaprabhasuri devoted the first chapter of his Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Shrines to a lengthy description of Mount Shatrunjaya76 (Figure 3.6). By his time (he wrote this chapter in 1319), it was the most important of all Shvetambara pilgrimage shrines, a status it has maintained up to the present day. He related that every Jina of this era with the exception of the twenty-second, Neminatha, came and preached on the mountain. As a result, it was a site sanctified by twenty-three Preaching Assemblies (samavasarana). The Jinas of the future, beginning with Padmanabha, will also preach there. While no Jina attained enlightenment or liberation at Shatrunjaya, millions of Jain mendicants did. The most important of these was Pundarika, the pontiff of Adinatha’s congregation of monks, who attained liberation on Shatrunjaya along with 50 million other monks. So important was Pundarika to the subsequent history of the mountain that is also known as Mount Pundarika. Contemporary Jains say that every pebble on the mountain has witnessed the liberation of at least one mendicant. Muni Jnansundar (1936b: 206) wrote about such Jain pilgrimage places—called tirthas or “crossings” because so many people have crossed over from suffering to liberation at those places (see Eck [1981])—that they are pure (pavitra), and that the sight and touching of them is beneficial to the soul.

FIGURE

3.6. Temples of Shatrunjaya. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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Further, “because countless monks have attained liberation here, it was here that through their final effort [their souls] were liberated from the atoms [of their bodies]. The great powers of these [atoms] purify the hearts of pilgrims.” Jinaprabhasuri went on to discuss how Bharata built a grand temple on Shatrunjaya, with an icon of his father Adinatha made out of moonstone. While the temple Bharata built at Ashtapada was to commemorate Adinatha’s liberation, the one at Shatrunjaya was to commemorate his enlightenment, even though that event had occurred hundreds of miles away in Ayodhya. The connection between Adinatha and Shatrunjaya has been so strong that many sources have identified this mountain as the real location of Ashtapada. In recent centuries the central icon of Adinatha, known affectionately as Dada (“Grandfather”), has become one of the most revered Murtipujaka icons, and is renowned for its miracle-working powers. Since twenty-two other Jinas would come to Shatrunjaya to preach, Bharata also built twenty-two small temples with icons of those Jinas. Bharata’s half-brother Bahubali also built a temple there, for Adinatha’s mother (and therefore the grandmother of both Bharata and Bahubali), Marudevi, who, according to Shvetambaras, was the very first person to attain liberation in this cycle of time.77 People continued to come and attain enlightenment. These included Bharata’s eldest son Adityayashas, and his two brothers Dravida and Valikhilya. The five Pandava brothers and their collective wife Kunti came to Shatrunjaya, consecrated an icon of Adinatha, and attained liberation along with 200 million other monks. Jinaprabhasuri mentioned that throughout history other people have built countless temples and consecrated countless icons on the mountain. He then wrote, “Samprati, Vikramaditya, Satavahana, Vagbhata, Padalipta, Ama, and Datta are remembered as those who restored its temples” (Cort 1990b: 247). Samprati, as we have seen, was an emperor of the Mauryan dynasty, and a central figure in the spread of Jainism to western India. Vikramaditya, who gave his name to what is still the most important calendar in much of northern and western India, ruled in Avanti or Ujjain in the first century CE. Satavahana (also known as Shalivahana and Hala) was the king of Pratisthana in first century CE in the northwest Deccan. Jain authors claimed that both of them were Jains. Vagbhata was a Jain prime minister to the Chaulukya emperor Jayasimha Siddharaja in the first half of the twelfth century. Padalipta was a powerful Jain monk who, according to Jain accounts, lived at the same time as Vikramaditya; his Verses on Liberation (Nirvana Kalika) is considered by Shvetambaras to be a foundational text on icons.78 Ama was an eighth-century king who reigned in Kanauj in north India. Finally, Datta takes us from the historical past to the prophesized future. He will be the son of an evil king named Kalki. Datta will

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be instructed in Jainism by Indra, and then rebuild many ruined temples and in other ways restore the tradition.79 This is an impressive roster of people, including five great Jain kings, both past and future, a powerful Jain minister of state, and a great Jain monk. The restoration of the temples on Shatrunjaya was something done only by the most influential of people, and therefore was an event of great significance. Jinaprabhasuri extolled the merit to be gained from building temples and consecrating icons on Shatrunjaya. He wrote, “There is one hundred times as much merit in installing an icon as in worshipping one, one thousand times as much in building a temple, and countless times as much in maintaining a temple. A person who builds an icon or temple on this mountain will enjoy the wealth of all India, and then go to heaven.”80 He asserted that rituals connected with icons and fasting earn much more merit when performed on Shatrunjaya than the same rituals performed elsewhere. Jinaprabhasuri then related at length the story of one of the restorations of the icons atop Shatrunjaya. This is the story of the merchant Javadi (also spelled Javada and Jabadi), and occured, according to Jinaprabhasuri, in 52 CE.81 The monk Vajrasvami told Javadi about the glories of Shatrunjaya. When Javada heard that the main icon on the mountain was made of plaster, he decided to replace it with one carved from stone, so that he could worship it by ablution. After many trials, Javada was able to accomplish this, with the assistance of the local protector deity Kaparddi,82 and he then spent the profit from eighteen ships that had returned from trading in foreign lands to pay for the grand consecration festival.83 Earlier in this chapter I discussed how the deeds of Bharata and Samprati provided rather different foundations for subsequent Jain practices of temple building and icon consecration. At the beginning of this cycle of time, Bharata established that temples and icons are central to Jain ritual culture. But it was Samprati who made that ritual culture practically possible for people living in present-day India. Their stories functioned as charter myths in different ways. In Jinaprabhasuri’s text we see how the deeds of these two great kings intersected, in the shared task of building and renovating temples on the most important Shvetambara pilgrimage mountain, Shatrunjaya. Uddyotanasuri in his Garland of Prince Kuvayala, composed in 779, referred to the veneration of icons of the footprints (charan) of the siddhas in a temple (ayatana) on Shatrunjaya (Dhaky 2002: I: 91). There were temples to three Jinas on the hill at the time of Uddyotanasuri: Mahavira, Adinatha, and Shantinatha.84 The temples obviously were built sometime before Uddyotanasuri; M. A. Dhaky (2002: I: 90, 117) estimates the earliest to date from the seventh century, since there are no references to Shatrunjaya before the time of the Maitraka

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dynasty. But the rather casual reference to the mountain in Uddyotanasuri’s text would seem to indicate that it had not yet attained the significance it came to have later. By the time of the mid-thirteenth century, when Ratnaprabhasuri wrote the Story of the Garland of Kuvala (Kuvalayamala Katha), his much shorter Sanskrit translation of Uddyotanasuri’s text, he devoted eleven verses to a fuller description of the mountain and its temples.85 In 1304 Merutunga narrated in his Wishing Stone of Narratives (Prabandha Cintamani), which he wrote in Wadhwan in Saurashtra, that Vagbhata, a minister in the court of King Kumarapala, replaced the wooden temple atop Mount Shatrunjaya with one made of stone, to honor a vow originally made by his father Udayana. The consecration festival for this new temple was held in 1155 (pp. 134–36; see also Dhaky [1975a: 9–12]). The oldest inscription from the mountain comes from 1006 (A. P. Shah 1968: 163–64). It is on an icon of Pundarika. It records that a monk named Sangamasiddha fasted to death on the mountain, and that to commemorate this event a layman named Ammeyaka erected a memorial shrine (chaitya) in which he installed the icon. This indicates that Shatrunjaya functioned in part as a place where Shvetambara mendicants went to fast to death in order to attain a better rebirth, and eventually a more speedy liberation. In this the early function of Shatrunjaya bears striking similarity to that of Shravana Belegola in southern India for Digambara mendicants (Settar 1989). The temples atop this high hill were originally simple ones made of wood. These were replaced by stone ones built by leading members of the Chaulukya court starting in the twelfth century. To build a stone temple atop this mountain required a significant mobilization of resources. The rise of Shatrunjaya to prominence as an important Shvetambara pilgrimage shrine was due to the patronage of the Jains who played a major role, and earned great wealth, in the kingdoms of the Chaulukyas and their successors the Vaghelas. Paul Dundas (2002: 223) has argued that while it was important for elite Jain patrons, there were still relatively few temples on the summit for the next several centuries. Its next rise in importance came in the late-sixteenth century, due to the activities of Acharya Hiravijayasuri, the charismatic leader of the Tapa Gaccha from 1554 to 1596. He was influential in the court of the Mughal emperor Akbar, and in 1592 received from the emperor a royal decree granting Shatrunjaya and several other important pilgrimage shrines to the Shvetambara community.86 Eventually Hiravijayasuri was apotheosized by his followers in the Tapa Gaccha (Dundas 2007: 53–72; Laughlin 2003: 177–86). Toward the end of his life he led a large pilgrimage to Shatrunjaya, and there in 1593 consecrated a temple to Adinatha built by the wealthy merchant Tejapala Soni (Dundas 2002: 223). The early decades of the next century saw the building

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of many temples. Some of them, such as the 1618 Chaumukhji (“Four-faced,” named for its four central icons facing the four cardinal directions), which is the tallest temple on the hill, were quite large as well, indicating the increased popularity of pilgrimage to, and patronage of, Shatrunjaya. The final stage of its rise occurred only in the nineteenth century. The early decades of British suzerainty in western India brought increased political stability, and therefore also increased opportunities for amassing wealth on the part of Jain merchants. They responded with a massive building program atop the mountain (Kim 2007). Many of the rituals associated with the mountain developed during that century, and it is now the single most important Shvetambara pilgrimage shrine in all of India87 (Figure 3.6). Shatrunjaya plays almost no part in the ritual culture of the Digambaras. The sole Digambara temple on the hill, to Shantinatha, was built in 1629 by a Digambara merchant from Ahmedabad. As James Burgess (1977: 25) said of it in the 1860s, “it is rare to find it open or get access to the interior.” Shatrunjaya has not received the same degree of Digambara attention as the nearby pilgrimage shrine of Mount Girnar, site of the liberation of Neminatha; nor, as a result, has it been the focus of intra-Jain contestation for control (Premi 1956: 468–77). According to historians the centrality of Shatrunjaya dates from medieval times. In the Shvetambara understanding, however, the mountain’s importance dates back to the time of Adinatha. Even though none of the auspicious events (kalyanaka) in Adinatha’s life occurred here, Shatrunjaya has replaced Ashtapada as the principal pilgrimage shrine for Adinatha. The text that was to a large extent responsible for codifying the history of Shatrunjaya was the Glory of Shatrunjaya (Shatrunjaya Mahatmya) of the monk Dhaneshvarasuri. As we will see in chapter 5, the iconoclastic Sthanakavasis singled out this text as a fiction composed to justify the deluded worship of idols.88 Dhaneshvarasuri said that he composed the text in Valabhi, the nearby royal capital of the Maitraka king Shiladitya, in 421. Even a cursory perusal of the text, however, shows this to be improbable, as he referred to the Chaulukya emperor Kumarapala, who reigned from 1143 to 1174, and to other events from as late as 1329. M. A. Dhaky (2002: I: 116, 120n13) has therefore concluded that the text dates from sometime between 1329 and 1455. Dhaneshvarasuri was obviously engaged in a strategy of intentional archaizing to give Shatrunjaya a luster of greater antiquity than it actually had.89 Much of Jinaprabhasuri’s narration of the glories of Shatrunjaya revolved around the great people of past and present who have and will come to the mountain to renovate the temples. This was also a central theme in Dhaneshvarasuri’s text. He mentioned a number of these (in addition to the renovation still to

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come). Based in large part on Dhaneshvarasuri’s list there developed a standardized list of sixteen renovations.90 The first of these was less a renovation and more of an initial installation, for it was the one done by Bharata to commemorate his father Adinatha’s enlightenment. After attaining enlightenment, Adinatha had come here, and preached in a Preaching Assembly. The chaitya tree in the center of that Preaching Assembly was known as the Rajadana tree, or in Gujarati as the Rayana tree. A tree next to the main temple of Adinatha is still worshipped today as the Rayana tree, and the performance of the rite of icon veneration (chaitya vandana) is believed to be especially efficacious when performed here. The second renovation was by a descendent of Bharata, King Dandavirya. The next four renovations return us to the theme of the archetypal actions of Indras, for they were by four of the Indras: Ishana Indra, Mahendra, Brahmendra, and Chamarendra. The seventh was by the second of the twelve universal emperors (chakravartin) of this cycle of time, Sagara, a figure also well known in Hindu mythology.91 He attained liberation on Shatrunjaya. Sagara had also been responsible for building a moat around Ashtapada. The eighth renovation was by another Indra, Vyantarendra, the ninth during the time of the eighth Jina Chandraprabha by King Chandrayashas, and the tenth during the time of the sixteenth Jina Shantinatha by King Chakradhara. The next two were at the hands of figures who are shared by Jain and Hindu universal history, Rama and the five Pandavas.92 Dhaneshvarasuri’s account entered Shvetambara localized historical time with the thirteenth renovation was by Javada Shah, who was also discussed by Jinaprabhasuri.93 The fourteenth was undertaken by Bahada (Vagbhatta) in 1157. He was the son of one Udayana, and both of them were Jain ministers of state for the Chaulukya emperor Kumarapala.94 The fifteenth was by Samara Shaha, a wealthy merchant from Patan.95 In 1315 he received permission from Alap Khan, the new Muslim governor of Gujarat, to restore the temples that had been damaged two years earlier when the Delhi Sultanate conquered Gujarat. He led a large pilgrimage to Shatrunjaya under the guidance of Acharya Siddhasuri of the Upakesha Gaccha, and renovated the temples in a grand ceremony. Siddhasuri was able to find the icon from the much earlier sixth renovation, which had been hidden in a cave at the time of the seventh renovation. Samara reconsecrated this icon (Hoernle 1890: 241n45). Siddhasuri’s disciple and successor Kakkasuri narrated the story of this renovation, along with those of the previous renovations, as well as the history of his mendicant lineage, in his Narrative of the Renovation of the [Temple of ] the Jina Who is the Joy of Nabhi (Nabhinandana Jinoddhara Prabandha).96 The sixteenth renovation in what is now the standard list, and the one that occured after Dhaneshvarasuri’s text, occurred in 1531. Karama Shaha, a wealthy

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merchant in Chittor in Rajasthan, received permission from the Muslim rulers to renovate the main temple of Adinatha and install a new icon. Karama Shaha had a new icon carved from a stone that had been left on the mountain for this purpose by Vastupala in the thirteenth century. It was consecrated by his guru, Acharya Vidyamandanasuri.97 This is the main icon in worship today (Kanchansagarsuri 1982: 21). In addition to Jinaprabhasuri’s Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Shrines, and probably local oral tradition, Dhaneshvarasuri also borrowed from at least one other text that listed renovations of Shatrunjaya. In the Epic Poem on the Arising of Religion (Dharmabhyudaya Mahakavya)—composed on the occasion of Vastupala’s pilgrimage to Shatrunjaya in 1221, and so probably composed in that year, but in any case before 1234 (Sandesara 1953: 71)—Udayaprabhasuri described the temple built by Bharata and then renovated several subsequent times (6.67–83; Sandesara 1953: 102). These included renovations by Sagara, Rama, Javada, Shiladitya, Ashuka, and Bahada. Dhaneshvarasuri included the first three and the last of these. There were several Maitraka kings of Valabhi in the seventh and eighth centuries named Shiladitya (Sankalia 1941: 29). Since this is around the time that M. A. Dhaky (2002: I: 90, 117) estimates that the first Jain temples were built atop Shatrunjaya, this may be a memory of the king who oversaw that initial construction. The other new person in Udayaprabhasuri’s list, Ashuka, was a minister of Jayasimha Siddharaja, Kumarapala’s predecessor as emperor of Gujarat in the twelfth century (Sandesara 1953: 102). The list of sixteen that is often repeated in contemporary Shvetambara sources dates from the time of the sixteenth renovation by Karama Shaha. The consecration of new icons, and reconsecration of existing icons, was performed by Acharya Vidyamandanasuri, who was the head of the Ratnakara wing of the Bhrigukacchiya branch of the Tapa Gaccha. Vidyamandanasuri was assisted by another monk, Pandita Vivekadhiragani, who memorialized the event in his Narrative of the Renovation of the Shrine of Shatrunjaya (Shatrunjaya Tirthoddhara Prabandha). He composed this in 1531, and it was most likely first read aloud on the occasion of the consecration of the icons. The standard list of sixteen renovations derives from Vivekadhiragani’s text. The number of renovations has been fixed at sixteen ever since,98 although it does not encompass all of the renovations discussed in Shvetambara sources. As we saw earlier, Jinaprabhasuri recorded several renovations not on the list. Acharya Kanchansagarsuri (1982: 17–21) adds a seventeenth to the list, the future renovation mentioned by Dhaneshvarasuri. This will be done by King Vimalavahana at the instruction of Acharya Duppasahasuri. Another modern author, Acharya Sadgunsuri (1984: 19–66) gives the standard list of sixteen, but then adds a second sixteenth renovation. This was the renovation in 1594

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by Tejapala Soni, a goldsmith from Broach, whose preceptor was Hiravijayasuri (see also Burgess [1976: 26–27]). Sadgunsuri adds three other restorations, which he obviously felt were too important to omit, but which do not find a place in the standard enumeration. One is the renovation by Pethada Shaha, a wealthy merchant of Mandu, who renovated the temples in 1274 assisted by Acharya Dharmaghoshasuri, the third head of the Tapa Gaccha. The second is that done by the brothers Vastupala and Tejahpala, who were wealthy merchants and ministers of state who largely ruled Gujarat under the Vaghela king Viradhavala between about 1220 and 1250 (Sandesara 1953). We have already encountered Vastupala, who constructed the temple on Girnar with the Ashtapada pavilion in 1233. In 1221, the brothers made one of a number of pilgrimages to Shatrunjaya, at the head of a grand congregation. They built several new temples atop the mountain, on which they spent many millions.99 The brothers are not credited with actually effecting any repairs of the existing temples, either the principal one to Adinatha, or any of the many others. This shows how “renovation” (uddhara) covers a wide array of activities, from rebuilding a structure from the foundation up to making minor repairs, to adorning an existing temple with new icons, or an existing shrine with new temples. The third renovation mentioned by Sadgunsuri was that of King Ama, already mentioned earlier by Jinaprabhasuri, who led a grand pilgrimage to Shatrunjaya at the instruction of his guru Acharya Bappabhattisuri. There are other narratives of the renovation of Shatrunjaya besides these. Merutunga in his Wishing Stone of Narratives (Prabandha Cintamani), related how King Shiladitya was converted to Jainism by a Jain monk, who told him about the “infinite greatness of the very holy place Shatrunjaya,” as a result of which he “restored the dilapidated shrines on it” (p. 171). Dhaneshvarasuri claimed to have written his Glory of Shatrunjaya in the court of Shiladitya in the fifth century, and Udayaprabhasuri some eighty years before Merutunga also said that Shiladitya renovated the temples atop Shatrunjaya. Merutunga adds an intriguing element to his story: During Shiladitya’s reign the Buddhists temporarily vanguished the Shvetambaras in debate, and so the latter were banished from the kingdom for several months before they regrouped and in turn defeated the Buddhists. During this period the Buddhists worshipped the icon of Adinatha atop Shatrunjaya as the Buddha. This story is perhaps a memory of a time half a millennium before Merutunga when Jains and Buddhists competed for patronage in the Maitraka court of Valabhi, and for control over Shatrunjaya. The stories of the repeated renovations of the temples atop Mount Shatrunjay are well known to Shvetambara Murtipujaka Jains throughout western India.100 In part they are incorporated into a larger narrative of the widespread destruction

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of Jain temples at the hands of Muslim iconoclasts, a narrative to which we will return in chapter 6.101 But most of the renovations do not occur within such a communally loaded and explosive framework. They more simply recognize that temples are transient, humanly constructed objects. Over time they wear out, and even fall down. To maintain a temple for hundreds of years—much less the millions of years in the full Shatrunjaya vision—requires frequent maintenance, restoration, and even occasional reconstruction. This is what any good Jain should do. The model of the initial construction of a temple followed by periodic restorations is found in the histories of almost all Jain temples in western India. The histories of these temples are precisely the histories of the wealthy Jain merchants and their wise monastic teachers who have come to these otherwise neglected and run-down temples and lavished their wealth upon their reconstruction. Without this mercantile (and occasional royal) largesse, it would not be possible for Jains today to worship the hallowed icons that dot the landscape of India. The merit a Jain can earn today from worshipping one of these ancient icons is directly related to the acts of these wealthy patrons, and that merit is in fact shared among worshipper and renovator. The history of icon worship is also a history of temple renovation.

Icons, Myth, and History Myths narrate origins. Since origins are by definition something we cannot know—we cannot know what happened before we existed—they are inevitably speculative and poetic. Myths, therefore, are rarely content with a single telling, a single explanation. Even that most famous of myths in the Hebrew Bible, the narration in the book of Genesis of how God created the heavens and the earth, has no sooner finished with the description of God’s creative act than it starts all over again with a variant narration of the origin of things and the resulting relationship between humanity and nonhuman creation. The two narrations do not fit together into a single seamless version, but this has not seemed to trouble many Jews or Christians over the centuries. In a similar way, the Jain tradition contains multiple narratives that explain how the Jina icon, that most central of institutions in Jain icon-worshipping ritual culture, came to be. There is the story of the repeated divine construction of the Universal Preaching Assembly, in which each Jina delivers his sermon concerning the path to liberation. Each of these Assemblies disappears when the Jina stands up and leaves it. But they also exist as the historical prototype for the individual worshipper’s experience of the Jina icon in the temple. Each Jina icon is a material embodiment of the Jina and his enlightenment

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experience, and by extension each Jina temple is an embodiment of the Jina and his preaching. There is the story of the construction atop Mount Ashtapada of the first temple in this part of the world in this cycle of time by Bharata, at once the first world emperor and son of the first Jina. In this temple he established icons of all twenty-four Jinas of this cycle, an indication that this temple is not so much located in a particular time but exists outside of time, much like the eternal and uncreated icons of Nandishvara Dvipa and Mount Meru. The very eternality of this temple that takes it out of human time also in effect takes it out of human space, and so it is as humanly inaccessible as the eternal icons. There is the story of the great King Samprati. Before him Jainism was limited to a narrow range of territory in northeastern India. He had the wisdom to find a way for Jainism to move outside those bounds, so that now Jains are found throughout India and the world. He made it possible for monks to travel and spread the message of the Jinas. He also established icons throughout the world, and thereby made it possible for people to worship the Jinas and their teachings in both mobile, human form and immobile, iconic form. Finally, there is the story of the repeated renovation of Mount Shatrunjaya. This takes into account what every human being knows: Nothing in our experience lasts forever. There may be eternal icons and temples in other, perfect places in the universe. But this earth is neither eternal nor perfect. Temples and icons decline, decay, or are damaged and destroyed by their foes. To maintain the material culture of Jain temples and icons requires constant effort. It is the rare Shvetambara Jain temple that one visits today where one does not hear the steady “chink chink chink” of stone carvers, working at the seeming never-ending task of restoring temples. Michael Meister once remarked to me: “A temple not being restored is a temple that is not loved.” Jains express their love for their icons and temples by restoring them, and maintaining them in ever new condition. They do this out of love and devotion for the icons and the temples that house them. They also do this because of the laudable examples of such work provided by Jain history, most notably the history of the sixteen renovations of Shatrunjaya. These four narratives operate partly in different frameworks. Those of the Universal Preaching Assembly and Mount Ashtapada exist within Jain universal history, and so are shared by Shvetambaras and Digambaras. The narratives of Samprati and Shatrunjaya operate more narrowly, within Shvetambara Murtipujaka localized history. Digambaras (and Sthanakavasis) relate other narratives. But there are also significant continuities among the narratives. Indras, those divine models for human worshippers, are intimately involved with the construction of the Universal Preaching Assembly and Mount Ashtapada, and

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the renovations of Shatrunjaya. Bharata is similarly involved in all three events. Samprati lived after the first two, but was involved, like Bharata, in the work at Shatrunjaya. Together these four narratives provide a dense, interrelated web of meaning for Jains, a web that explains how it came to be that the world we live in is full of Jain temples and Jina icons, and therefore that we have the material culture necessary for a fully religious life.

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4 The Lifetime “Living Lord” Icon of Mahavira: Anxiety about the Authenticity of Icons

In the early centuries of the Common Era, somewhere between 700 and 1,000 years after the time of Mahavira,1 within Shvetambara circles there developed simultaneously a narrative tradition and an iconography of a sandalwood icon (or icons) of Mahavira that had been carved during his lifetime, known as the Jivantasvami or “Living Lord.” This Jain tradition overlaps extensively with Buddhist narrative and iconic traditions of a sandalwood icon (or icons) of the Buddha carved in his lifetime, and therefore an exact likeness of him. Looking further afield, we also find a number of strikingly similar stories about the “origin” of icons in Christian traditions, which clearly advance a defense of icons. We also find stories of icons as “self-born” or otherwise not humanly manufactured in the Hindu, Greek, and Semitic religious traditions. The Jain narratives and icons themselves do not explicitly advance a defense of icons. But framing the Jain traditions within the comparative material reveals an implicit anxiety in Jain circles about whether or not there should be Jain icons. Analysis of the narratives and iconography of the Living Lord icons of Mahavira takes us in two directions. On the one hand it leads us into the complex interactions between Jain and Hindu iconographies and theologies, as the visual cultures of the Jains and Hindus (especially Vaishnavas) influenced and shaped each other in medieval India. On the other hand it leads us into the related Buddhist materials about sandalwood icons of the Buddha made in his lifetime. This latter direction

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also leads us to investigate the similar narratives of lifetime and uncreated icons in the Christian, Hindu, and Muslim traditions that express a defense of icons.

The “Living Lord” Icon of Mahavira The Jain story of the sandalwood icon of Mahavira carved in his lifetime emerged in three Shvetambara texts composed in western India within a century of each other. Two of these were narrative commentaries on Shvetambara scriptures, the Dispersion on the Obligations (Avashyaka Churni) and the Dispersion on the Interdictions (Nishitha Churni). According to later Shvetambara tradition they were composed by Jinadasagani in the last quarter of the seventh century.2 Little is known about this prolific author of prose commentaries on the scriptures; he is estimated to have lived between 600 and 700 CE (Maheta 1967: 291). The third text, which borrowed heavily from Jinadasagani’s two tellings, was Haribhadra’s Gloss on the Explanation of the Obligations (Avashyaka Niryukti Vritti), which he composed one hundred years later in the late eighth or early ninth century CE. Haribhadra was the first great systematizer of the Shvetambara intellectual and ritual traditions, and his writings remain foundational in the Shvetambara community to this day (Wiley 2004: 93–94). This story was subsequently expanded by later authors, including Nemichandrasuri in his Commentary on the Scripture of Mahavira’s Final Teachings (Uttaradhyayana Sutra Tika), also known as the Easy to Understand (Sukhabodha), and Hemachandra in his Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons (Trishashti Shalaka Purusha Charitra). Nemichandrasuri finished his composition, which he wrote in the Chaulukya royal capital of Anahillavada Pattana in the house of a layman named Dohadi, in 1073 (Maheta 1967: 448). Hemachandra was the other great medieval systematizer of Shvetambara Jainism, who reshaped Jainism in accordance with his influential role in the Chaulukya court. He composed his encyclopedic text, also in Anahillavada Pattana, between 1160 and 1172 (Bühler 1936). In brief, leaving out many of the twists and turns of the plot, the story as told by Haribhadra is as follows:3 The goldsmith Kumaranandin was reborn as a demigod who was king of Panchashaila. At the instructions of a Jain friend he made an icon of Vardhamana Mahavira out of golden sandalwood in order to generate right faith. He was confident that this act would lead to a better rebirth. He put the icon in a box and brought it to Bharata, the land of

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India. En route he gave the box to some merchants on a ship with the instructions to make an icon of the God of Gods from it. The merchants arrived at the city of Vitabhaya. The king of Vitabhaya was Udayana, and Prabhavati was his queen. The merchants understood the phrase “God of Gods” (devadhideva) to refer to one or another of the various Brahmanical gods, and so unsuccessfully tried to make icons of Indra and other deities. Prabhavati explained that the true God of Gods was Vardhamana, and they should make the icon of him. With this new correct intention they resumed work, and were able to break open the box and find the icon.4 It was installed in a new temple in the queen’s quarters, where she performed the orthodox thrice daily worship of it. One day Prabhavati took her morning bath, a prerequisite for worshipping a Jina icon, and asked her maid to bring pure clothes suitable for her worship. The maid mistakenly brought red clothes. Prabhavati rebuked her for this.5 She struck the maid with her mirror and accidentally killed her. Prabhavati was upset at having broken her Jain vow of non-harm, and decided to undertake the vow of fasting to death to expiate the karma she had accrued from her harmful act. She thereby attained a rebirth as a deity. Udayana eventually also came to an awakening to the truth of the Jain teachings. Udayana entrusted the ritual care of the Living Lord icon to a hunchback female slave named Devadatta. A pious Jain layman named Gandhara stopped at Vitabhaya to worship the sandalwood icon on his way home from a pilgrimage to the Jain icons on Mt. Vaitadhya. He became ill, and Devadatta nursed him back to health. In thanks he gave her two magic wish-granting pills. She took one in order to turn her into a beauty with a golden complexion. She decided that she would like to find a suitable man, and so took the second pill to bring her to the attention of King Pradyota of Ujjain. Pradyota came to meet her, and she agreed to come away with him, but only if she could bring the Jina icon with her. He feared that the missing icon might alert the guards, and so he made a copy of the Jina icon. He put it in the place of the original and took the golden-colored Living Lord icon back with him to Ujjain.6 Udayana demanded that Pradyota return the icon, but the latter refused. Udayana went to war with Pradyota for the icon. He captured Pradyota, but then released him. Udayana asked Pradyota’s forgiveness for imprisoning him during the annual rite of confession during Paryushan.

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The story does not say what happened to the icon. Udayana’s story was oftentimes told in the later Jain tradition, without the inclusion of the Living Lord icon, as a praiseworthy example of the moral virtue of forgiveness. To Jinadasagani, Haribhadra, and Nemichandrasuri this was the central point of the narrative. The many subsequent references in Jain literature to the presence of the Living Lord icon in Ujjain make it evident that Udayana was unsuccessful in recovering the icon. Haribhadra never explained that the icon was an exact likeness of Mahavira, nor that the iconography was of Vardhamana before his renunciation. But it was commonly known that Udayana was a contemporary of Vardhamana, and so any hearer of Haribhadra’s narration would have known that it was a lifetime icon of Mahavira. We have to turn to Hemachandra for the explanation that the demigod who originally fashioned the icon had seen Vardhamana when he was adorned as a prince in his palace before the latter renounced the world. For Hemachandra the story of the icon was more important than the moral example of forgiveness. In his Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons he brought the story of the Living Lord icon down to the twelfth century, and indicated that there was an active cult of the Living Lord in his time. Whereas the earlier authors included the icon in a story largely focused on Udayana, Hemachandra paid more attention to the icon itself, its copy, and the subsequent histories of these icons.7 The earlier authors simply related that Pradyota arranged for a copy of the icon to be made, and left it behind in Vitabhaya to fool Udayana. Hemachandra added that Pradyota made sure that the icon was properly consecrated. In this context he narrated the story of the Jain monk Kapila. Kapila was born a Brahman in Kaushambi. He was orphaned as an infant, and so was very poor. He fell in love with a slave girl, and in order to obtain enough money to persuade her to marry him he tried to rob a house. He was caught, and taken before King Prasenajit. The episode taught Kapila the futility of pursuing worldly wealth, and so he initiated himself as a Jain monk. His travels brought him to Ujjain. Pradyota requested that he consecrate the copy of the Living Lord icon, which he did by sprinkling it with the consecrated sandalwood powder known as vasakshepa.8 Hemacandra also explained how the icon Devadatta and Pradyota stole from Vitabhaya ended up in Vidisha. He said that one day they gave it to a merchant from Vidisha by the name of Bhayala Svami. Since the icon was obviously of sufficiently great importance that Devadatta refused to leave Vitabhaya without it, it is curious that she should give it away in such a casual manner. But Hemachandra never addressed this. One day while halfway through his worship of the icon, Bhayala met two demigods carrying the paraphernalia needed

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to worship a Jina icon. When asked why they had come, they explained they wanted to worship the Living Lord icon. Bhayala asked that the deities allow him to worship the eternal Jina icons in their underworld realm. His devotion resulted in a boon from the powerful deity Dharanendra that his name would be known everywhere. But because Bhayala left the Living Lord icon with his worship incomplete, he was cursed that knowledge of the Living Lord icon would be lost to the Jains, and it would come to be worshipped by non-Jains as an icon of the sun-god Surya. The third feature Hemachandra added to the story brought it into his time, and evidently accounted for a Living Lord icon that was unearthed and established in the royal capital of Anahillavada Pattana by his patron, King Kumarapala. After Udayana defeated and imprisoned Pradyota, he went to Vidisha to retrieve the icon. But the icon would not budge. When he berated the icon for not returning to Vitabhaya with him, it explained that it was refusing because Vitabhaya was doomed to be buried in the sand. Later a deity told Udayana that the duplicate icon in Vitabhaya was suitable for worship because it has been consecrated by Kapila, and in fact was the equal of the original icon. Vitabhaya, as predicted, was buried in a sandstorm. Sixteen-and-a-half centuries later Kumarapala, the Chaulukya king of Anahillavada Pattana who ruled over a wide swath of western India, heard the story of the Living Lord icon from his preceptor Hemachandra, and resolved to recover it. He sent a team of archaeologists to the ruins of Vitabhaya, where they uncovered the icon. They also found copies of the inscription by which Udayana had gifted land for the maintenance of the icon. They brought the icon back to the capital, where Kumarapala had it installed in a crystal temple—a temple that Hemachandra said looked just like Mount Ashtapada—near his palace. Due to this icon Kumarapala flourished in his power, wealth, and knowledge. The story as narrated by Jinadasagani and Haribhadra referred to a single Living Lord icon that Pradyota and Devadatta took away to Ujjain. U.P. Shah (1951: 74) pointed out that neither Jinadasagani nor Haribhadra explicitly said that Pradyota reached Ujjain before he was defeated in battle by Udayana. Only Hemachandra was clear that this icon was worshipped in Ujjain, and then transferred to Vidisha. In Haribhadra’s telling, the copy that Pradyota left behind in Vitabhaya was obviously unworthy of worship, for the flowers that Udayana put on it withered. Only in Hemachandra’s telling do we hear of an afterlife of the copy in Vitabhaya; one suspects that it was in Hemachandra’s interest to elaborate on the Vitabhaya icon in order to lend an aura of antiquity and authenticity to the icon his patron Kumarapala had recently installed in Anahillavada Pattana. There were a number of brief references to other Living Lord icons in texts from the same period as Jinadasagani and Haribhadra, as well as the

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later Shvetambara literary tradition. The earliest literary reference to an icon of the Living Lord comes from The Journeys of Vasudeva (Vasudevahindi) of Sanghadasagani Vachaka. In this text, composed sometime before the seventh century, possibly in the early fifth century,9 Sandhadasagani mentioned that a nun by the name of Aryasuvrata traveled to the city of Ujjain in central India to worship the icon of the Living Lord. We find another reference to the icon in Ujjain in Jinadasagani’s Dispersion on the Interdictions (volume II, p. 362), where he said that King Samprati went to Ujjain to venerate the icon, and it was there that he met the monk Suhastin.10 Other references from around the same time located the icon instead in Vidisha, saying that Suhastin, either alone or with his brother, the monk Mahagiri, went there to worship the icon.11 As we have seen, Hemachandra said that Pradyota and Devadatta gave the image to Bhayala Svami of Vidhisha, who moved the icon there. The references to the Ujjain and Vidhisha images may well be to one and the same icon, as they both were tied to the same narrative cycle—although Samprati, Suhastin, and Mahagiri all lived several centuries after Udayana and Pradyota, who were contemporaries of Mahavira. Other references were not tied to this cycle and so indicate that there was a wider tradition of icons of the Living Lord, a tradition of “replication icons.”12 One of these was in Kosala, a city otherwise better known for its Buddhist associations, as we will see below. Jinadasagani in the Dispersion on Interdictions listed four places in north India to which Jains should go on pilgrimage. In addition to the birth places of the Jinas, the famous god-made stupa (mortuary memorial) at Mathura, and the dharmachakra (wheel of the teachings) at Uttaravaha,13 Jinadasagani mentioned the icon of the Living Lord at Kosala.14 A later reference located an icon of the Living Lord in eastern India in the region of Kalinga.15 While the reference to the Living Lord icon in Kosala possibly conflated a Jain icon with a Buddhist icon, as we will see below, the reference to the Living Lord in Kalinga possibly conflated this icon with another icon otherwise known only from a single inscriptional reference, the Kalinga Jina, which I discussed in chapter 1. It is not possible to establish any chronological priority among these references, nor do we really need to. What is important for our purposes is that a number of Shvetambara texts give evidence of the presence of Living Lord icons throughout the areas inhabited by Shvetambara Jains in the middle of the first millennium CE. Further, the mention of the icons in many places indicates that there was probably a widespread replication cult of Living Lord icons in this period, a cult which declined in subsequent centuries, although it never disappeared altogether.

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Living Lord Icons While there is no sandalwood icon of the Living Lord extant, the tradition was not just a literary one. An important hoard of Jain metal icons was uncovered around 1950 in Akota, a village on the outskirts of Baroda. Among the many icons are two exquisite standing ones which share a distinctive iconography, and which scholars have dated to between the late-fifth and middle-seventh centuries.16 The later icon has a short inscription, identifying it as the Living Lord, and saying that it was donated by a Jain laywoman named Nagishvari.17 On the basis of the inscription, as well as inscriptions on later medieval icons that I discuss later, this iconography has been identified as that of the Living Lord. The rough contemporaneity of these two icons and the textual narratives of the Living Lord icons, and that both are from the same general area of western India, all indicate the rise of a regional cult of Living Lord icons in western India in the middle of the first millennium CE. The two Living Lord icons from Akota are of bronze.18 The older one is 16-inches high, and the later one is 11.9-inches high. Both are in the distinctively Jain standing meditative pose known as kayotsarga. In this posture, which literally means “renunciation of the body,” the figure stands erect, with eyes downcast in meditation, and the arms held slightly away from the body with the palms turned toward the body. The older one wears a lofty crown that is squared off at the top, which Shah says derives from a central Asian style of crown found on a Kushan era (i.e., early-second to mid-third century CE) Vishnu icon from Mathura (1974–75b: 136)19 (Figure 4.1). The front side of the crown bears what Shah terms a chaitya window. This is a circular opening, surrounded on three sides by a floral motif, with what is possibly a gem at the base of the window. The other three sides of the crown bear lotus motifs. Ringlets of hair cascade onto the shoulders, indicative of the status of a householder, not a renouncer who has shorn or torn out his hair. It is ornamented with a broad necklace, and upper and lower armlets, also indicative of royalty. Around its waist and falling to its ankles is a patterned cloth. The later icon wears a triangular three-peaked crown, the central peak with three plain lozenges flanked by two shorter peaks (Figure 4.2). The hair, jewelry, and clothing of this image are slightly simpler, but still indicative of a royal status. There are no other Jina iconographies that are carved or sculpted with both royal garb and crowns, and it is this iconography that defines the Living Lord icons in art historical terms. As we will see shortly, later Shvetambara Jains expanded the term to apply to seated Jina icons devoid of the royal garb.

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4.1. Older of two Akota Jivantasvami icons, ca. fifth or sixth century CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. FIGURE

The Later Life of the Living Lord Iconography: A Western Indian Replication Cult The two icons from Akota are both fairly small bronze images, just 16 inches and 11.9 inches tall. In addition to being worshipped in a temple, they were suitable for taking out in procession. The procession of the Living Lord icon in Ujjain is mentioned in several texts, and would seem to have been either a wellknown literary trope or a well-known regional festival. There is only one other old extant Living Lord icon in bronze, a 16-inch tall image from Jodhpur that Shah dates to the late ninth century (Shah 1955a; Tiwari 1994: 587). The iconography of the Living Lord icons remained stable over the centuries, which is not surprising considering that it was precisely the replication of the iconography that distinguished the type, and constituted what we can call, following Donald McCallum (1998), a “replication cult.” The royal

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FIGURE 4.2. Younger of two Akota Jivantasvami icons, ca. sixth or seventh century CE. Photo: Courtesy of the Department of Museums, Museum and Picture Gallery, Vadodara.

imagery remained prominent, as well as the similarities with the imagery of contemporaneous icons of Vishnu. We can safely assume that in the case of the replication cult of the Living Lord icon, as with other replication cults, such as the Hodegetria icon of Constantinople that I will discuss later, “the logic was that the powers inherent in the original could pass into later versions” (Cormack 2007: 17). There are three large free-standing sandstone icons of the Living Lord from Osian, an important medieval site north of Jodhpur on the edge of the Thar

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Desert (Figure 4.3). Each of these is 68 inches tall. Two of them are identical. One of the two has an inscription that dates it to 1044 CE, and further indicates that it is an icon not of Mahavira as the Living Lord but of Rishabha, the first Jina of the era, as Living Lord (Handa 1982, 1984: 27–28; Tiwari 1994: 590). It is not possible to tell if these icons were consecrated and worshipped in a temple, or if they were unconsecrated ornamental icons placed in niches on the outside of one or more of the Jain temples. The other ten icons from Osian clearly were of an external, ornamental nature. Two of these are fairly small (17.4 inches tall) icons on subsidiary shrines. Eight are in two groups of four, facing the four cardinal directions, on an elaborately carved stone gateway (torana) that according to its inscription was erected in 978 CE (Handa 1982: 12) (Figure 4.4).

FIGURE 4.3. Two Jivantasvami icons in storehouse of Mahavira temple, Osian. Photo: John E. Cort (1996).

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4.4. Jivantasvami icon in gateway of Mahavira temple, Osian. Photo: John E. Cort (1998). FIGURE

Two free-standing Living Lord icons that are closely related to the freestanding images from Osian were discovered in the village of Khimvasar (or Khimsar), about eighty kilometers northeast of Jodhpur in Nagaur district (Agrawala 1958; Tiwari 1994: 591). They are now in the Government Museum in Jodhpur (Figure 4.5). They are exactly the same height as the Osian icons— 68 inches—and are iconographically similar as well. Tiwari dates them to the late tenth or early eleventh century (1994: 591). This regional tradition of Living Lord icons continued until at least the sixteenth century. In March 1998, Michael Meister, Lawrence Babb, and I were shown the recently restored temple of Vasupujya in the village of Tinvari (or Tivari), just about twelve kilometers south of Osian. The outside of this temple was ornamented by several Living Lord icons (Figure 4.6). While the trustee who showed us the temple averred that it was “very ancient,” having been established by King Samprati, the architectural historian Meister estimated that it was no older than the mid-sixteenth century.

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4.5. Jivantasvami icon from Khimsar, now in Government Museum, Jodhpur, eleventh century. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies. FIGURE

One other reference to a Living Lord icon connected to Osian is found in the Garland of Pilgrimage Shrines (Tirthamala), composed in 1699 by Acharya Jnanavimalasuri (1638–1726) of the Shvetambara Tapa Gaccha. In this hymn he mentioned that there was a Living Lord icon of Mahavira in the village of Korta or Koranta, about one hundred miles south of Osian.20 This village has had a long connection with Osian, and a local lineage of domesticated Shvetambara monks, the Koranta Gaccha, was a branch of the Upakesha Gaccha which originated in Osian. Further, according to the history of the Upakesha Gaccha, Acharya Ratnaprabhasuri consecrated Mahavira icons in both Osian and Koranta at the same time through an act of magic seventy years after the liberation of Mahavira (Babb 2008: 51; Hoernle 1890: 237). Jnanavimalasuri’s otherwise brief reference may have as much to do with this Upakesha Gaccha narrative of a time close to the lifetime of Mahavira as with any specific icon in Koranta.21 There are two white marble free-standing icons of Living Lord in a Jain temple further east in southeastern Rajasthan in Sirohi (Shah 1955a: 50, figs. 2

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4.6. Jivantasvami icon, Tinvari. Photo: John E. Cort (1998).

and 3; Tiwari 1994: 591–92). Shah dated them to the eleventh century. Finally, there are Living Lord icons dated to 1115 CE in niches on the outside of a temple of Mahavira at Sewadi in southern Pali District, and the mid-eleventh century temple of Mahavira at Ahar near Udaipur (Tiwari 1994: 592, fig. 4). There is little evidence of the replication cult of the Living Lord outside of this area of western India. Tiwari reported an icon of the Jina Munisuvrata from the State Museum in Lucknow that is dated 1006, and has two tiny Living Lord icons in the carved surround (parikara), but we know neither the findspot of this icon nor where it was sculpted. There are a number of stone and metal icons from western India that are called Living Lord icons in their inscriptions, but which do not follow the Living Lord iconography. This indicates that the prestige of the title lived longer than the specific iconography. Many of these inscribed icons are of Jinas other than

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Mahavira, such as Shitalanatha, Chandraprabha, Sumatinatha, and Neminatha (Tiwari 1994: 588). “Living Lord” came to be an honorific separate from the iconographic replication cult. The iconography of the Living Lord did, however, have a wider influence on Shvetambara Jina icons in western India. Many Shvetambara Jina icons in the meditation pose known as kayotsarga wear elaborate girdles and lower wraps (katimekhala) (Figure 4.7). Most standing Shvetambara icons show the Jina wearing a simple lower wrap (dhoti) as would be appropriate for a world-renouncing ascetic. (Standing Digambara icons, of course, clearly indicate the total nudity of the Jina.) The elaborate katimekhala is indicative of royalty, not of an ascetic. Seated Jina icons never wear such elaborate robes, and indeed most standing icons also depict the simpler, more ascetic garb. But those that are more elaborately and royally garbed possibly represent the influence of the Living Lord iconography.

4.7. Shvetambara Parshvanatha icon with katimekhala from Ladol, now in L. D. Museum, Ahmedabad, 1269 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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M. A. Dhaky and U. S. Moorthy (2001: 89) have argued that this elaboration of ornamentation on the icons of standing Jinas was part of a broader “decline” in Shvetambara style that set in after 1030 CE.22 They say that ornamentation began at least in the eleventh century, indicating that it may have begun sometime earlier, although there are no known extant icons exhibiting the royal imagery except for the Living Lord icons.23 The iconography of the Living Lord possibly persists in one other area of Shvetambara Murtipujaka visual culture. One of the most important Murtipujaka scriptures is the Scripture of Rules (Kalpa Sutra). Its recitation, both in its root form and with an extended commentary, is one of the main ritual activities during the most important of all Shvetambara annual festivals, the autumnal observance of Paryushana. Part of this text gives an extended biography of Mahavira, as well as more abbreviated biographies of the other twenty-three Jinas. A tradition developed in medieval times of illustrating manuscripts of the Scripture of Rules, especially the biographical portions. There are hundreds of illustrated manuscripts of this text, found in most every Shvetambara Jain library. These manuscripts provide one of the cornerstones of western Indian painting. On the morning of the last day of Paryushana the person reciting the scripture (a monk if possible, although it can be a knowledgeable layman) rapidly recites the entirety of the root text. Since this is in Ardha-Magadhi Prakrit, it is unintelligible to most if not all of the listeners. Listening to the recitation is a ritual act for accruing merit by transmitting the sacramental content of the text, not a communication act for transmitting its conceptual content. During the several hours of recitation, a young boy holds aloft the illustrations to cue the audience to where the reciter is in the text. The biography of Mahavira in particular is visually indicated by formulaic illustrations of the five beneficial moments (kalyanaka) in his life: conception, birth, renunciation, enlightenment, and liberation. The first is shown by his future mother seeing fourteen auspicious dreams that augur the birth of a Jina. The second is indicated by an illustration of Indra, king of the gods, seated atop Mount Meru, with the infant Jina seated upon his lap for the postpartum lustration of the Jina by the gods. The third is shown by Indra receiving Mahavira’s hair, which he has torn out in five fistfuls. Here Mahavira, who is still a prince, is portrayed in royal garb. The fourth is indicated by the samavasarana, the Universal Preaching Assembly. The illustration of the fifth event shows the Jina seated in meditative perfection at the top of the universe. The manuscripts also contain illustrations of key intervening events in Mahavira’s life. One of these is his practice of extensive austerities between renunciation and enlightenment. He is portrayed in the standing form of

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meditative renunciation known as kayotsarga. Even though according to the Shvetambara biographies of Mahavira he wore only the single cloth of a renouncer for the first one year and one month of his mendicant life, and thereafter went totally nude, illustrations of Mahavira standing in kayotsarga almost inevitably show him still adorned as a prince. His single lower wrap is a patterned cloth, not the unpatterned cloth of contemporary mendicants. This cloth is held up by a jeweled belt, and he is further ornamented with armlets, earrings, and multiple necklaces. In the next illustration in the series, of Mahavira seated in the Universal Preaching Assembly, he is usually depicted with a simple cord around his waist (to indicate that this is a Shvetambara version of the story, not a Digambara one) (Figure 3.1). He is depicted with jeweled armlets and necklaces, and oftentimes with a jeweled crown as well. This is repeated almost exactly in the final illustration, of Mahavira seated in enlightenment (Figure 4.8). These multiple depictions of the Jina as wearing the ornaments of a prince, even though by these stages in his career he has renounced royalty for the life of a homeless mendicant, are undoubtedly tied to the ubiquitous Murtipujaka

4.8. Mahavira from a Kalpa Sutra manuscript, 1411 CE. Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC: Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Page, S1985.2.66b.

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practice of elaborately ornamenting Jain icons as part of their worship in temples (Cort 1996b, 1997a, 2007). They may in part also represent a survival of the medieval iconography of the Living Lord icons. They certainly hint that the ritual ornamentation of icons may be tied in part to the theology and iconography of the Living Lord. There was a replication cult of icons of Adinatha in eastern India that bears some slight similarity to the Jivantasvami replication cult. Well into medieval times it was common throughout India for icons of Adinatha to show him with long flowing locks that came down to his shoulders, an iconographic feature strikingly similar to the flowing locks of Jivantasvami icons (Figures 4.9 and 4.10). In eastern India a stylistic convention developed to show the locks piled high up on top of his head in a “crown of hair” ( jata mukuta), a style that Sadashiv Goraskhakar (at Pal 1995: 153) noted is usually found on icons of Shiva. The elaborate braids are arranged in finely articulated rows that are

FIGURE 4.9. Digambara Adinatha icon, Chausa, ca. fourth century CE (front). Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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4.10. Digambara Adinatha icon, Chausa, ca. fourth century CE (back). Patna Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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divided symmetrically by a cord coming down the length of the crown-like pile of hair and ending in either an ornament or several cords of hair at the hairline in the center of the forehead. Even though the icons in theory only show Adinatha’s hair, the depiction is clearly modeled on a royal crown. With only a few exceptions these icons depict Adinatha standing in kayotsarga, and so the similarity to the standing Jivantasvami icons is even more striking. This replication cult was an exclusively Digambara one, and the clearly marked nudity of the icons is in stark contrast to the ornamented lower wraps of the Jivantasvami icons. These Adinatha icons, from Orissa, Bihar, Jharkhand, and Bengal, are found in both stone and metal. They date from the tenth to twelfth centuries, and so the possibility of their being influenced by the eastern Indian Pala tradition of crowned Buddhas is a distinct possibility. Their similarity to both the western Indian Jivantasvami icons and the eastern Indian crowned Buddhas is sufficient, however, that one recent author (Krishan 1996: 137, plate 49)

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mistakenly identified an icon of Adinatha from Khandagiri as a “crowned and ornamented Buddha figure.”24

Jina, Buddha, Vishnu, and Surya: Patterns of Theological and Iconographic Interaction U. P. Shah mentioned the similarity of the crown on the oldest extant icon of Jivantasvami from Akota to one on an icon of Vishnu from Mathura. This brings out one of the obvious iconographic features of these images: they portray kings, and thus share iconographic features with icons of Vishnu portrayed as king of the universe. While the Living Lord icons are in standing meditation, with the two arms hanging parallel to the body and the hands turned inward parallel to the thighs, in contrast to the more interactive hand gestures and holding of auspicious objects found on Vishnu icons, both share an erect, stiff frontal pose, indicating a transcendence of worldly activity in a cosmically royal overlordship. As Robin Cormack (2007: 50) has observed about Christian and especially Byzantine icons, “Frontality helps to elevate the status of the figure and encourage the viewer to awesome submission.” A. Ghosh called attention to the similarities between the crowned Jain Living Lord icons and later crowned Buddha icons from Pala-period eastern India. He attributed both to a dissatisfaction with the “austere conception” of the Jinas and Buddhas that “would not allow much embellishments to be introduced in their sculptural representation.” He said that what he called a “desire for embellishment” was satisfied by the development of the crowned iconographies (Ghosh 1974–75: 4). Developments in the Buddhist tradition that might shed some light on the development of the Living Lord iconography can be found much closer to Akota and western India in both time and place than Pala eastern India. The iconography of seated Buddha icons bears much in common with that of seated Jina icons, so much so that it is easy for the uninitiated to confuse the two. Buddha icons do exhibit a range of iconographies not found in seated Jina icons: hands folded on the lap in meditation, touching the ground with the fingers of the right hand in a gesture of calling on the earth to witness the appropriateness of his spiritual quest, the right hand held up with the palm facing outward in a gesture of reassurance, or both hands held in front of the body in various teaching gestures. In all cases, though, the basic demeanor of the body is indicative of a world renouncer, who is focused meditatively on inner spiritual truths. In the late centuries BCE and early centuries CE a significant change occurred in Buddhist theology and iconography with the development of the

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concept (and icons) of the Bodhisattva. The term “Bodhisattva” was used in the early Buddhist tradition for the previous lives of the person who would upon becoming enlightened become known as the Buddha. The concept was expanded in the later Mahayana tradition to describe enlightened saviors other than the Buddha who are very active in the world. The difference between the two was conveyed through their iconographies. While some Bodhisattva icons are seated in meditation similar to Buddha icons, many are standing. Whereas the body of a Buddha icon exhibits a strong symmetry, indicative of a perfection that has transcended the world of motion and change, the body of a Bodhisattva icon oftentimes is slightly bent at the waist and neck, one leg perhaps slightly bent, and the hands in more active gestures, all to indicate that the Bodhisattva has not transcended the world into a state of perfected stasis, but instead is active in the world (Figure 4.11). While most Buddha icons depict him as a world renouncer, clad only in the simple robes of a monk, most Bodhisattva icons

4.11. Bodhisattva icon, Mathura, ca. fourth century CE. Mathura Museum. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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employ highly ornamented royal imagery to indicate further the Bodhisattva’s engagement with the world of material form. The iconography of the Living Lord icons bears much in common with the later Mahayana conception of the Bodhisattvas, as they also are replete with royal imagery. Standing Bodhisattva icons tend to exhibit motion through their hand gestures and slightly bent legs, as befits their practice of active compassion in the world, in contrast to the transcendent immobility of the Living Lord icons, but the visual similarities between the two iconographies are nonetheless striking. Especially noteworthy is the feature in the crown of the older of the Akota images, the enclosure Shah terms a chaitya window. It is empty in the case of the Living Lord image, but similar enclosures found on Bodhisattva icons contain seated Buddha icons. While the iconographies of the Jain Living Lord icons and the Buddhist Bodhisattva icons bear certain general structural similarities, it is unlikely that there was any significant direct influence of the one upon the other. There was an extensive Buddhist presence in early western India, especially at the capital of the Maitraka dynasty at Valabhi.25 In the fourth and fifth centuries the Maitrakas were vassals of the Guptas, and then from the late fifth century until the fall of Valabhi in the eighth century they ruled as an independent dynasty. Valabhi was an important intellectual center for both Buddhists and Jains, and so there must have been extensive theological, cultural, and ritual interaction between the two communities. The fame of the sixth-century Buddhist authors Sthiramati and Gunamati, who lived in Valabhi, was such that they were invited to come to China to teach (Majmudar 1960: 171). Earlier, during Gupta rule, the leaders of the Shvetambara monastic community convened councils at Valabhi in the early fourth century and then again in the midfifth century to codify its scriptural tradition (Dundas 2002: 49; Majmudar 1960: 83). Icons from both traditions (as well as the Shaiva tradition) have been found from Valabhi. According to the Chinese Buddhist Xuanzang (Hsüantsang), who visited Valabhi about 640, the Buddhists of Valabhi were almost exclusively Hinayana, not Mahayana (Beal 1957–58: 457–58). It is unlikely that Valabhi was the site of much if any iconographic interaction between the nascent Living Lord and Bodhisattva traditions. Other Buddhist monasteries in the area of what is now coastal Gujarat and Saurashtra were Mahayana (Beal 1957/58: 452–60). The scant material remains from western India do not allow us to posit any clear Buddhist influence on, or interaction with, the Living Lord iconography. The earliest Buddhist icons from western India are almost all of Buddhas, not Bodhisattvas. The fragmentary terracotta Bodhisattva icon from Gohilvad Timbo, near Amreli in Saurashtra, which has been dated to around the beginning of the Common Era (Majmudar 1960: 95 and plate XIX), does not show any clear connection with the earliest known Jain sculptural traditions

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from western India, which are of metal images. What would appear to be the earliest extant complete Bodhisattva image from the wider Gujarat area, the bronze icon of a seated Maitreya from the Sopara Stupa, was actually brought to Gujarat from eastern India, possibly around Nalanda, and is dated to about 800 CE (Majmudar 1960: 214–15 and plate LVIa). More important as a source of possible cross-fertilization of the Living Lord iconography is the developing iconography in western India of Vishnu as king, as already indicated by Shah’s comments cited above. U.P. Shah (1960: 25–26) and Lalit Kumar (2004) have shown conclusively that a number of icons from western India from the middle of the first millennium CE show distinct stylistic continuities, especially in terms of the shape of their crowns. Joanna Williams (1982: 144) and Sara Schastok (1985: 37–38, 91–92) have also discussed the stylistic continuities among icons in the region that is now Gujarat, southern Rajasthan, and western Madhya Pradesh. In addition to the Living Lord icons, and the aforementioned Vishnu icon from Mathura, which Shah posited as a source of the “high cap,” Shah pointed to an image of Vishnu from Bhinmal and an image of Narayana Vishnu in his Vishvarupa form emanating the cosmos, from Shamlaji, both now in the Baroda Museum. M. R. Majmudar (1960: 208) also observed the close similarity between the Bhinmal Vishnu and earlier Kushana sculptures from Mathura.26 To the icons discussed by Shah we should add an icon of Vishnu from Tennaji near Surat, now in the M.S. University of Baroda Archaeology Collection; an icon of Vishnu from Prakasa in West Khandesh, Maharashtra, now also in the M. S. University collection; and an icon of Vishnu from Mandasor in southeastern Rajasthan, now in the Mandasor Circuit House.27 These icons date from the sixth century.28 U. P. Shah and M. R. Majmudar have traced connections between these icons from the middle of the first millennium CE in western India and earlier icons from the Kushana site of Mathura from three and four centuries earlier. In particular, we can see stylistic continuities between the crowns on icons of Indra and Vishnu from Mathura from the second through fourth centuries with the crowns of the later icons of Vishnu and the Living Lord in western India.29 While the archaeological evidence of sculpture in early western India remains scant, there seems to have been a prevalence of terracotta sculpture over either metal or stone. It is not surprising, therefore, that what stone and metal sculpture survived should give evidence of the influence of Mathura. Frederick Asher (1980: 10–12) has said that Mathura was the most important center for the production of stone sculpture from the time of Kanishka in the late first century CE through the height of the Gupta empire.30 Susan Huntington (1985: 151–52) added that it was precisely the “strictly frontal position with no bend or flexion to the body at all” that distinguished Mathura sculpture. As we have seen, this

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also is a feature that ties together the diverse Jain and Vaishnava images in western India, and, if we accept Huntington’s argument, indicates their debt to Mathura. Joanna Williams (1982: 59) has also discussed the direct connections between Mathura sculptures and the Buddhist icons from Devni Mori, very near Shamlaji, which she dates to 400–415 (although Marlene Njammasch [2001: 339] has more recently dated Devni Mori to the sixth or seventh century).31 The intersection between the iconography of the Jina as Living Lord and the iconography of Vishnu as the lord of the universe is very evident from a later medieval period in Osian. Looking at the Osian icons further shows that both these iconographies overlapped with that of the sun-god Surya. In addition to being the site of the oldest extant Jain temple in western India, and a goddess temple of roughly equal antiquity, Osian was also a center for the worship of Vishnu. Devendra Handa has observed that nearly one-third of the extant temples at Osian were originally dedicated to one of the various forms of Vishnu (1984: 79). These temples are missing their main cult icons, although what may have been a cult icon from one of these temples survives in the more recent local Kunj Behari temple (1984: 79; plate 43). This icon bears comparison with the Osian Living Lord icons. It stands frontally, with the two upper hands holding a discus and mace, and two lower hands a conch-shell and rosary. If the two lower hands were rotated inward ninety degrees and shorn of their objects, they would be in the meditative pose of the Living Lord icons. The girdle of the Vishnu icon is more elaborate than those on the Living Lord icons. Nonetheless, there is an obvious iconographic continuity between the two conceptions, as both represent the deity as a frontally and erect standing, noninteractive, transcendent king. The door frame of one of the Vishnu temples within the Sachchiya Mata complex, labeled by Handa as VT-5 (1984: 81–2), has eleven standing Vishnu icons that also exhibit basic iconographical similarities with the Living Lord icons. Handa has dated this temple from the early eleventh century (1984: 69), so these Vishnu icons are slightly later than the earliest Living Lord icons at Osian. The lack of anything even remotely resembling a full repertoire of the icons from Osian prevents any more extensive speculation concerning iconographic borrowing between these two groups of icons, although there are many other standing icons of Vishnu on other temples at Osian (Figure 4.12). Handa has identified the eleven Vishnus as representing eleven of the twenty-four Emanations (vyuha) of Vishnu according to the theology of the Pancharatra liturgical school of Vaishnavism (1984: 81–82). Cynthia Atherton (1997) has said that the few sites in early medieval Rajasthan, the period from the sixth through ninth centuries CE, where there were Vaishnava temples and icons can be attributed to the expansion of the Gurjara–Pratihara dynasty from

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FIGURE 4.12. Vishnu icon, Surya temple 3, Osian, eighth century. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

its original base in southern Rajasthan to the northeast, where it eventually took over the imperial center of Kanauj. In particular, she says, the Gurjara– Pratihara dynasty exhibited a strong allegiance to the Pancharatra Vaishnava theology (and therefore iconography) that was spreading throughout northern India from its home in Kashmir. While the site of Abaneri, well to the east of Osian, is the most fully articulated Pancharatra site in western India from this time period, Atherton has shown that Osian was one of the few early medieval sites in what is now Rajasthan with any significant Vaishnava, and therefore Pancharatra, presence (Atherton 1995; 1997: 64–82). This possible identification of the Vaishnava presence at Osian as Pancharatra allows us to bring into the discussion the roughly contemporaneous and slightly fuller set of icons of the Emanations from the mid-eleventh century stepwell at Patan in North Gujarat, Rani ki Vav (Figure 4.13). The architecture and sculpture of medieval Osian and Patan exhibit great continuities, as they are both part of what M. A. Dhaky (1968) has termed the larger Maru-

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4.13. Two Vishnu icons from Rani ki Vav, Patan, eleventh century. Photo:

John E. Cort (1987).

Gurjara style of architecture (and, I would argue, theology, iconography, material culture, and ritual culture), and so it is fair to locate the Emanation and Living Lord icons within the same broader sculptural tradition. Kirit Mankodi (1991: 89–90) identified fifteen of the twenty-four Emanations among the twenty-five extant icons, but noted that some of the niches that would have contained other Emanation icons are empty, and some of the icons have broken arms that prevent positive identification of any particular Emanation. As Mankodi observes, they “are identical in all respects except for the positions in [their] four hands of the conch, the discus, the mace and the lotus” (1991: 89). These Emanation icons, like the ones at Osian, also share many features with the Living Lord icons. Each stands erect, facing frontally. The head is topped by a high jeweled crown. Each icon wears elaborate jeweled necklaces, armlets, and girdles, with garlands sweeping in front at the mid-thigh and mid-calf levels. One slight difference from the Living Lord icons is that whereas the latter have eyes that are downcast in world-renouncing meditation, the Emanation icons look directly at the viewer, engaging the world in their royal sovereignty.

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Medieval western India was the site of worship of the sun-god Surya, and in this Osian was no exception.32 Since the cult of Surya gradually died out in early medieval times, we lack textual, material, or ethnographic sources for an adequately full history of the social and theological aspects of Surya worship in western India.33 Three extant temples in Osian—two on the plain, and one on the hill with the Sachchiya Mata temple—give evidence of Surya, and there may well have been more. The main cult icons from these temples are missing, and so identifying them as specifically Surya temples is problematic. Michael Meister (1991: 199–204) has argued that the Vaishnava orientation of the doorway images on one of the two Surya temples on the plain indicates it was originally a Vaishnava temple, and so he has renamed it the Surya-Vishnu temple. What is clear is that all three of them still have large standing Surya icons on their exteriors, as does a temple of Harihara (Handa 1984: plates 61–63) (Figure 4.14). These icons stand in a rigid formal pose, facing frontward and

4.14. Surya icon, Surya temple 1, Osian, ca. 750 CE. Photo: American Institute of Indian Studies.

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exhibiting a high degree of bilateral symmetry. They bear lofty crowns, wear extensive jewelry around their waists and necks, and hold thick garlands that come to just below their knees. They have four arms rather than the two of the Living Lord, and their hands, which are missing on the surviving icons, would have indicated various nonsymmetrical active poses and held various identifying objects, in contrast to the inactive, meditative positioning of the hands of the Living Lord icons. In this the two iconographies are noticeably different. But the basic bodily pose and ornamentation of the two is similar. We saw earlier, in Hemachandra’s account, that Bhayala’s Living Lord icon in Vidisha came to be worshipped as an icon of Surya, so this twelfth-century author understood the two iconographies to be sufficiently similar that the identities of Living Lord and Surya icons in a temple setting could be confused. Handa has dated the Surya temples of Osian all to the eighth century (1984: 67–68), whereas the Living Lord icons are from the latter part of the tenth century (1984: 204), so if any borrowing by the sculptors at Osian was done, it would seem to have been from the Surya icons to the Living Lord icons. In sum, we find a broadly common iconographic style among icons from a number of sites in western India from the first millennium CE. While the arms of the Vishnu icons are in various poses, and hold various accouterments, all indicative of his status as lord of the universe, the Living Lord icons are all in a meditative pose. There are distinct continuities among these icons in terms of the stiff, frontal pose, including legs that are straight and held together, and the face held perfectly erect and looking straight ahead. Further, as Shah and others have discussed, the high rectangular crowns of the icons clearly echo each other. Given the prestige of the work of the Mathura workshops, it is not surprising that we find elements of the Mathura style replicated throughout northern and western India. But this was more than a simple matter of either the same workshops producing icons for different religious communities, or of artisans in one workshop who produced icons for a particular religious community “borrowing” motifs from the icons that a workshop next door (or hundreds of miles away) had produced for a different religious community. The iconographic similarities indicate that the various religious traditions were adopting similar tropes for their conceptions of divinity, in particular, the trope that the “God of Gods” is therefore “God as King.” We find it in the Jain iconography of the Living Lord, the Vaishnava iconography of Vishnu, and the Buddhist iconography of the Bodhisattva. We also find it in the iconography of Surya and (to a lesser extent) Shiva, and later in crowned Buddha images. My argument is not that there were explicit theological or even liturgical borrowings among the Jain, Vaishnava, and Surya traditions that led to the development of similar iconographical conceptions of divinity. Rather, I think

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that the similarities can more easily be accounted for more simply by seeing the use in all three traditions of the image of the king as a metaphor for conceptualizing the supreme lord. Just as a human king was almost incomparably superior to ordinary mortals, so Mahavira, Vishnu, and Surya were for their worshippers almost incomparably superior to other, more ordinary deities. This emphasis on the supreme lordship of the deity in question was seen in the story of the Living Lord icon, in which the non-Jains falsely assumed that the “god of gods” (devadhideva) was a deity other than the Jina, and then the Jain queen explained that the Jina is the real god of gods. The visual imagery of a king did not differ in medieval western India from one religious community to another, and so the icons depicting the deities as kings would predictably share many characteristics: similar crowns, clothing, and ornamentation.34 Further, I think that we can assume that in medieval western India, as in the present, the stone carvers who actually produced the icons came from a single community, and carved images for the needs of different religious institutions and communities. If icons of Mahavira, Vishnu, and Surya as supreme lord were carved in the same or neighboring workshops, we can surmise that interaction among the three iconographies was almost inevitable.

Expanding the Jina The majority of extant icons of the Living Lord are of stone, and come from a fairly circumscribed area in the southern and south-central parts of the presentday state of Rajasthan. In particular, as we saw, the iconography of the Living Lord “appears to have enjoyed an especially favoured position at Osian” (Tiwari 1994: 588). In M. N. P. Tiwari’s analysis, the icons in western India, and especially at Osian, indicate a deliberate process of elevating the cult of the Living Lord to equal that of the standard cult of the twenty-four Jinas (1994: 588). The icons from Osian in particular bear many parallels to the standard orthodox iconography of Jina icons. They are accompanied by seven of the eight miraculous manifestations (pratiharya) and the attendant god (yaksha) and goddess (yakshi), all of which appear at the moment of a Jina’s enlightenment.35 The icons also depict other deities and seated Jinas in the carved surrounds. These are standard accouterments of all elaborate Jina icons (1994: 589). The Shvetambara replication cult of the Living Lord is similar in some respects to the Digambara cult of Gommateshvara Bahubali, the son of the Adinatha, the first Jina of this era, and the first person to have achieved liberation in this cycle of time.36 While icons of Bahubali are best-known from south India, especially the large free-standing icons such as the colossal fifty-seven-foot

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tall icon at Shravana Belagola, there are also stone and metal icons of him from central and northern India (Figure 4.15). As with the Living Lord icons, icons of Bahubali are in the distinctive Jain standing position of kayotsarga. As Tiwari has observed, “during the early mediaeval period and onwards there was a tendency in the Digambara Jainas to raise Bahubali’s status to be equal to that of the Jinas” (1973: 353, 1983: 103, cf. 1985: 57).37 The cult of Bahubali also exhibits some important differences from that of the Living Lord icon. The latter is a true replication cult, in that it is the icon itself that lies at the origin and continuation of the cult. In the case of Bahubali, while most icons are visually distinctive from those of Jinas, as most Bahubali icons depict the vines growing around his legs, it is more a cult of devotion to the person of Bahubali than one focused on his icon. There is a sense that all Living Lord icons descend from the original sandalwood one. This is lacking in the cult of Bahubali. Tiwari’s argument allows us to see that both iconographies represented an expansion of the standard pantheon of the twenty-four Jinas, in the Shvetambara case by adding a new iconography for an existing Jina, and in the Digambara case by adding an additional enlightened being. A crucial iconographic difference

FIGURE 4.15. Bahubali Gommateshvara icon, Shravana Belgola, 981 CE. Photo: Cynthia Cunningham Cort (2008).

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was that icons of Bahubali, being found mostly in Digambara contexts, were depicted as naked, whereas the Shvetambara icons of the Living Lord, depicting Mahavira in his pre-enlightened status as a prince, were not only clothed but also highly ornamented. In both cases the iconography depicts the subject before he attained enlightenment. Mahavira was still a prince, although the Living Lord iconography depicts him in the act of meditation. Bahubali was also a prince, but he renounced his kingdom in order to seek liberation. His iconography depicts him in deep asceticism and meditation, but not yet freed from the bonds of karma. The subjects of these iconographies are now liberated and so cannot respond to the prayers and petitions of the Jain faithful. Their depiction as notyet-liberated, however, allows the worshipper to engage in an act of devotional imagination, in which he or she imagines that the subject could, at the time depicted by the icon, have responded. The expansion of the iconography and pantheon of the twenty-four Jinas to encompass deities who can respond to Jain worship in ways that the Jinas cannot has not been restricted to the Living Lord and Bahubali. The fact that according to Jain cosmology there have been sets of twenty-four Jinas in prior cycles of time, there will be sets of twenty-four Jinas in future cycles of time, and there are other parts of the universe where Jinas are preaching even now, has provided possibilities of the establishment of icons of Jinas other than the twentyfour of this period of time and this part of the universe.38 This has not, however, been a popular avenue for the expansion of Jain devotion. I know of only one temple to a future Jina. A temple in Udaipur enshrines as its main image a large seated icon, nearly five-feet tall, of Padmanabha, the first Jina of the coming cycle of time.39 As Paul Dundas (1996: 83) points out, a major obstacle to the development of a tradition of devotion to Padmanabha is the fact that while in his previous life he was Shrenika, a highly laudable king who lived during the time of Mahavira, due to the negative karma he accrued by ending that life by suicide, his soul currently resides in one of the many hells. More common—although still not widespread—are temples to Simandhara Svami, the Jina who is currently preaching on the continent of Mahavideha (Dundas 2002: 305–6). This Jina has played an under-documented but nonetheless significant role in the history of Jainism as the source of “new” revelations to philosophers and reformers. In this role the cult of Simandhara Svami has been central to the modern Akram Vijnan Marg, a small but growing syncretic movement in Gujarat at the intersection of Jainism and Vaishnavism that was founded by Ambalal Patel, better known as Dada Bhagavan (“Lord Grandfather,” 1907–88; see Flügel [2005a, 2005b]; Wiley [2004: 167–68]). Simandhara Svami also plays an important role in the modern Digambara sect founded by Kanji

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Svami (1889–1980), as this ex-Sthanakavasi monk in 1937 declared that in a former life he had lived in Mahavideha and heard Simandhara Svami preach40 (Figure 4.16). There have been temples dedicated to Simandhara Svami since at least the twelfth century. For example, there is a temple to Simandhara Svami in the Lakhiyar Vado neighborhood of Patan in north Gujarat, which according to the icon inscription was consecrated in 1598 (Kadia 2000b: 174–75). The most famous such temple is a modern one right on the national highway in Mehsana in north Gujarat, which contains a gigantic 145-inch-tall seated icon of Simandhara Svami. This temple was consecrated in 1972 by Acharya Kailasasagarasuri, head of an important lineage of the Tapa Gaccha. The inspiration for the temple came from Kailasasagarasuri’s disciple Acharya Kalyanasagarasuri, and monks of this lineage continue to maintain a strong connection with this temple (Desai 1981). The presence of this Jina in a parallel universe, where one can be reborn in his presence and so attain liberation (which is unattainable at present in this part of

FIGURE 4.16. Digambara Simandhara Svami icon, Kanji Svami temple, Paldi, Ahmedabad, twentieth century. Photo: John E. Cort (1995).

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the universe) bears intriguing similarities to the Mahayana Buddhist conception of the Pure Lands of Amitabha and other Buddhas. Despite the examples mentioned in this paragraph, the cult of Simandhara Svami has never been of major importance in Jainism, and in some ways represents a soteriological “road not taken” in Jain theology. Another way that the Jain pantheon of twenty-four Jinas has been expanded has been through the development of cults centered around specific icons of Jinas, usually although not always identified by the location of the main icon. As the fame of a particular icon grew, temples built in other locations replicated the original through the use of the geographical moniker. These replication cults are usually, but not exclusively, addressed to icons of Parshvanatha. In part this is because Dharanendra and Padmavati, the serpent god and goddess who attend upon Parshvanatha, are understood to be particularly powerful intercessors on the part of Jains who are devoted to Parshvanatha. For example, the most popular Jain pilgrimage shrine in northern Gujarat is that of Shankheshvara Parshvanatha, located in the village of Shankheshvara between Radhanpur and Viramgam (Cort 1988). Tens of thousands of Gujarati Jains make regular pilgrimages to this shrine, and recite daily the special mantra dedicated to Shankheshvara Parshvanatha, “om hrim shrim praise to Blessed Shankheshvara Parshvanatha who is worshiped by Dharanendra and Padmavati.”41 There are dozens of replication temples and icons of Shankheshvara Parshvanatha wherever Gujarati Murtipujaka Jains have settled. Other such place-specific icons, that then become the center of replication cults, include Jiravala Parshvanatha in Jiravala, southern Rajasthan; Stambhana (“Immobilizing”) Parshvanatha in Cambay; Godi Parshvanatha, formerly in a small village in Sindh but now in Bombay; Antariksha (“Between Heaven and Earth”) Parshvanatha in central Maharashtra; and Kesariya (“Saffron”) Adinatha in southern Rajasthan.42 None of the replication icons has replaced an original in terms of prestige, charisma, or the ability to work miracles; but the worship of a local replication icon in some unspecified way allows the worshipper to access directly the power inherent in the original icon.43 Where these replication cults of place-specific Jinas differ from those of the Living Lord and Bahubali is that the icons are identical to other Jina icons, whereas the latter two cults involve distinctive and immediately recognizable iconographies. The Jain pantheon also expanded beyond liberated deities to include unliberated ones, who could more readily respond to the petitions and prayers of Jains for assistance in this world. Early in Jain history both the Digambaras and Shvetambaras developed elaborate cults and iconographies of such unliberated deities. In particular these focused on the twenty-four yakshas (gods) and yakshis (goddesses), one pair of which attends upon the teachings of each Jina

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(Cort 1987; Shah 1987: 205–23). They also included other deities not systematized into the lists of twenty-four, such as the goddess Sachchhiya (Babb 1996: 137–73, Meister 2008), the gods Ghantakarna Mahavira (Cort 1997b, 2000c), and Nakora Bhairava among Shvetambaras of western India, and the god Kshetrapala among Digambaras of both northern and southern India. These deities are unliberated and so can respond to worship and prayer; at the same time, because they are not Jinas-to-be, they do not possess right faith in the same degree as do Jinas and Siddhas, and so are worshipped in a lesser capacity. Another parallel to Bahubali in Shvetambara ritual culture is that of Gautama Svami, the wonder-working pontiff (ganadhara) of Mahavira, who from medieval times became the focus of increased devotion (Cort 1995a: 88–94). Icons of Gautama depict him only in seated form, holding a book and sometimes a broom (a defining item of mendicant paraphernalia for Shvetambara monks) to differentiate him from a Jina (Figure 4.17). He is

4.17. Shvetambara icon of Gautama Svami, Osian, 1863. Photo: John E. Cort (1996).

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worshipped in the same manner as a Jina, in part because he also attained liberation and so is now a Siddha. The worship of icons of monks in medieval Shvetambara circles became especially prominent in the Kharatara Gaccha cult of the four wonder-working leaders of the lineage who were systematized as the four Grandfather Teachers (dadaguru; see Babb [1996: 102–36]; Laidlaw [1985, 1995]). Originally they were worshipped in the simple form of footprint icons, but in the nineteenth century a custom of fully anthropomorphic icons developed (Figures 4.18 and 4.19). While it was not as prominent as the Kharatara Gaccha cult, the medieval Shvetambara Tapa Gaccha also developed a tradition of worship of icons of important departed monks (Laughlin 2003). This cult of anthropomorphic icons also developed out of the earlier practice of enshrining footprint icons, and in some cases the two continue to exist side by side (Figures 4.20 and 4.21). The Digambaras never developed a ritual practice of worshipping icons of monks. Such icons have been installed in a few temples in northern India

4.18. Shvetambara icon of Dadaguru Jinadattasuri, Osian, 1797. Photo: John E. Cort (1996).

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FIGURE 4.19. Shvetambara icon of Dadaguru Jinakushalasuri, Siddhachalam, New Jersey, twentieth century. Photo: John E. Cort (1995).

only in recent years. This is part of the modern rise of devotion to the revived tradition of naked munis among north Indian Digambaras. It is still not a very widespread practice. In some modern temples one can also find footprint icons (paduka) of important monks of the past. For example, at Chulagiri, a modern shrine on the outskirts of Jaipur that was established in 1953 at the urging of Acharya Deshbhushan, there are footprint icons of the eleven pontiffs (ganadhara) of Mahavira, and of the great medieval monk Kundakunda, who serves as a culture founder for Digambara intellectual culture (Nyayatirth 1990: 82–4). One is more likely in the Digambara tradition to find footprint icons in the contexts of deceased monks (both naked munis and clothed bhattarakas), especially at the sites of the last rites of the deceased. They are worshipped in the same manner as Jina icons. These are especially prominent in southern India, where they are often found in conjunction with carved portraits of the deceased (Settar 1989: 187–237) (Figures 4.22 and 4.23).

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FIGURE 4.20. Shvetambara icons of monks Kakkasuri (left, 1452), Devachandrasuri (center) and Yashodevasuri (right, 1387), Panchasara Parshvanatha temple complex, Patan. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

We see in these examples how Jain theology, ritual, and iconography have demonstrated through the centuries a dynamic tension between the centripetal force of restricting the pantheon to just the twenty-four Jinas, and a centrifugal force of expanding the pantheon to include other Jinas, Siddhas, and unliberated deities. All iconic religious traditions exhibit a tendency toward polytheistic expansion. At the same time, religious traditions also exhibit a concern on the part of the leaders and ideologues to restrict the pantheon in order to exert greater control over theology and practice, and thereby also ensure the ecclesiastical hierarchies themselves. Some of these new iconographies, such as that of Bahubali, become thoroughly integrated into Jain orthodoxy and orthopraxy. Others, such as the Living Lord replication cult of medieval western India, are unable to sustain themselves, and remain within the tradition as at best vestigial remainders.

The Lifetime Icon of the Buddha The Jain tradition of King Udayana and his lifetime image of Mahavira intersects with several narrative streams of ancient India, streams that then flowed

FIGURE 4.21. Shvetambara icon and footprint icon of Bhadrankarvijaygani, Patan, 2007. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

4.22. Digambara footprint icon of Bhadrabahu, Shravana Belgola. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

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FIGURE 4.23. Digambara footprint icon of Bhattaraka, Bhattarakji Nasiyan, Jaipur, nineteenth century. Photo: John E. Cort (2008).

out of India to East and Southeast Asia. On the one hand is the extensive body of narratives about King Udayana himself, most of which make no reference to any special icon. Udayana was better known in ancient India for his artistic accomplishments as a musician—a theme that surfaces briefly in the Living Lord story44—and as a romancer of many women. Niti Adaval (1970: 60–67) has detailed Udayana’s love of music, his pride, rashness, and cruelty, and his fondness for women. Concerning religion, she said: “[H]e had a most impartial mind towards all religions which was more an outcome of his indifference towards religion in general, rather than any largeness of heart.” Martha L. Carter summarized the research on the tales of Udayana by Adaval and other scholars: “The tales of King Udayana characterize him as a hot-tempered, fierce brawler and womanizer, vivid and passionate in nature, having little time or interest in religion of any type” (Carter 1990: 4). The Udayana cycle of stories became part of the larger Brihat Katha (Great Story), the third great stream of stories in ancient India in addition to the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. The ur-text of this cycle was the lost Brihat Katha of Gunadhya, who probably lived sometime in the early centuries CE. Much of the material that has survived, in only fragmentary form, is found in Jain texts.45 The conflict between Udayana and Pradyota reemerges in these Jain narratives, but devoid of any reference to the Living Lord image. In these stories Udayana was a king of Kosambi (Kaushambi) in north India who was famous

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as a musician. Pradyota, here again the king of Ujjain, captured Udayana and brought him to Ujjain to teach music to his daughter Vasavadatta. Udayana fell in love with his pupil, and they fled together.46 The story of Pradyota eloping with Udayana’s servant woman Devadatta would appear to be an inversion of the Udayana–Vasavadatta story. Another variant of this nest of tropes—infatuation with women belonging to a rival king, and the power of icons—that involves the same cast of characters is the story of Pradyota and Udayana’s mother Mrigavati. As summarized by Helen M. Johnson from Hemacandra’s telling, Pradyota, the king of Avanti (Ujjain), saw a picture of Mrigavati, the queen of Kaushambi, and became infatuated with her. Her husband Shatanika resisted Pradyota’s demands to give her up, but died in the effort. Mrigavati led the resistance to Pradyota’s attacks, but eventually wearied of the war and took initiation as a nun from Mahavira. Pradyota took responsibility for her son Udayana, and installed him as king of Kaushambi (Johnson 1925: 305–06). The earliest Jain narratives of Udayana and his Living Lord icon are, as Phyllis Granoff has observed of Haribhadra’s version, in many respects “tantalizingly terse” (2003: 446). In particular, the story as related by both Jinadasagani and Haribhadra seems to revolve simply around a sandalwood icon of Mahavira that was the royal palladium of Udayana. By stealing the icon from Udayana, Pradyota demonstrated his superior might. This is a widespread theme in South and Southeast Asian history, and, for that matter, in all cultures that place great value upon icons. The fact that this is not just any royal icon, but one carved during the lifetime of Mahavira and thus representing his true likeness, was largely incidental in the tellings. Neither Jinadasagani nor Haribhadra consistently referred to the icon as the Living Lord icon. More often they simply referred to it as a Jina icon, or an icon of Vardhamana Mahavira. Neither asked why it was a lifetime icon of Mahavira, and not just any other image of him. Only Hemachandra appears to have asked this question, which he addressed by explaining that Vidyunmalin, the demigod who carved the icon, had seen Vardhamana in his palace before he renounced the world, and therefore still had the appearance of a prince. Even with Hemachandra’s elaboration this remains an incidental, nonessential element in the Jain stories. Udayana also played an important role in Buddhist narratives which spread far beyond India to China and Japan on the one hand, and to Thailand and Sri Lanka on the other. When we turn to these Buddhist sources, we see why it was a lifetime icon, for this is the central feature in the plot in the Buddhist tellings. In fact, it is so important in Buddhist contexts that the icon was carved in the lifetime of the Buddha, and therefore his true likeness, that the story

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itself replicates in the Buddhist tellings. That the rationale for the icon being one carved during the lifetime of the “founder” of the religious tradition is so clearly articulated in the Buddhist tellings, and at best only obscurely implied in the Jain ones, indicates that the story of the lifetime icon of Mahavira probably was borrowed from the story of the lifetime icon of the Buddha.47 In the Chinese versions the story revolved around King Udayana of Vatsa in north India, whose capital was Kaushambi. The earliest Chinese reference to Udayana and the Buddha icon did not specifically refer to the fuller story of Udayana and his icon. The Scripture on the Production of Buddha Images is a Chinese translation of an otherwise unknown Sanskrit text, for which no other translations into other languages exist. Robert L. Sharf (1996: 262) dates it “toward the end of the eastern Han dynasty (25–220 C.E.) or shortly thereafter.” This short text simply narrated that the Buddha came to Kaushambi, where he met the young King Udayana. The king told the Buddha: “I want to produce an image of the Buddha to venerate and bequeath to later generations,” and asked the Buddha to explain the merit that he would earn from the act (1996: 265). The rest of the text was the Buddha’s detailed response to this question. The fuller story of Udayana and his lifetime Buddha icon is first found in the Sermons in Ascending Numerical Categories, a translation of the Sanskrit Ekottaragama Sutra made around 385 by a Central Asian Buddhist monk named Dharmanandi.48 The Buddha temporarily left earth to ascend to the Heaven of the Thirty-three Gods in order to preach to his birth mother Maya, who had died soon after his birth and been reborn in this heaven. Udayana came to see the Buddha, and was distressed to learn of his absence, so much so that he declared that he would die unless he could see the Buddha. He decided to arrange for the carving of an icon of the Buddha. According to a later Japanese version told by Donald McCallum (1998: 211), Udayana used magical powers to send his craftsmen to the heaven in which the Buddha was temporarily sojourning, and there they carved a sandalwood icon of him as an exact replica. This icon was then brought back to earth where it was worshipped by Udayana. Another Chinese text, the Sutra of the Sea of Mystic Ecstasy, translated from the Sanskrit by Buddhabhadra in the early fifth century,49 added that Udayana arranged for the wonder-working monk Maudgalyayana to take the craftsmen to the Heaven to carve the icon, and that Udayana then established it in Kaushambi. When the Buddha descended from heaven, the icon was taken to meet him. The icon “walked in the air while flowers rained from under its feet and rays of light were emitted” (Soper 1959: 260). The Buddha knelt before his double, and prophesized that the Buddha would “work great feats for Buddhism” (1959: 260). This icon remained an important pilgrimage goal for Buddhists, including several of the Buddhist monk pilgrims who traveled in India in search

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of Buddhist texts, icon, relics, and other “sacred traces of the Buddha” (Falk 1977). The Chinese monk Faxian (Fa-Hsien) was in India in the beginning of the fifth century CE. Among the places he visited was Shravasti, the capital of Kaushambi, which by then was reduced to a village of about 200 families. He related a version of the story of the lifetime icon, saying that when the Buddha was in the Heaven of the Thirty-three, “King Prasenajit desiring to see him again, carved out of sandal-wood . . . an image of the Buddha and placed it on the Buddha’s throne” (Beal 1957–58: 26). As we have already seen, the icon arose to greet the Buddha, who told it to return to its seat. In this telling, rather than prophesize that the icon would do great things for Buddhism, the Buddha simply said that it would be the model for all future icons after his own decease (nirvana), and so “this image, as it was the very first made of all the figures of the Buddha, is the one which all subsequent ages have followed as their model” (Beal 1957–58: 26). Faxian also related the icon’s miraculous survival of a fire that burnt the building to the ground. Faxian did not, however, explicitly say that he saw any icon in Shravasti. He also visited Kaushambi, but merely said that the site of the Buddha’s monastery was in ruins, and about one hundred monks were in residence in the town.50 Two centuries later, in the 630s or early 640s, the Chinese pilgrim monk Xuanzang (Hsüan-tsang) visited Kaushambi. He related the story of the Buddha’s ascent to the Heaven of the Thirty-three, Udayana’s commissioning of the icon, and the exchange between the Buddha and the icon. Xuanzang further reported that there was a large monastery within the old palace in the city, in which “is a figure of Buddha carved out of sandalwood.” This icon, the work of Udayana, “produces a divine light, which from time to time shines forth.” Many kings had tried to capture the icon, but were unsuccessful, and so a replication cult of the icon had developed. The devotees in other places claimed to have the original icon, but Xuanzang asserted that the image in Kaushambi “is the original of all such figures” (Beal [1957/58: 254–55]; see also Watters [1961: 368]). Malcolm David Eckel (1994: 89–90) notes that the fifth-century Theravada commentator Buddhaghosa gave a different account of the nature of the Buddha’s doppelgänger during the miraculous ascent into the Heaven of the Thirty-three. Buddhaghosa in his The Expositor (Atthasalini) said that the Buddha ensured that his teachings continued in his absence by creating a manifestation of himself, “and resolved that it grasp a robe and begging bowl in a certain way, assume a certain quality of voice, and deliver a certain body of teaching.” As Eckel rightly observes, what Buddhaghosa terms a manifestation clearly plays the same role in the narrative as does the sandalwood icon in other narratives. The term for the manifestation, Pali nimmita, is cognate with the Buddhist term

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for the manifestation body (nirmana-kaya) of the Buddha, and indicates that the lifetime sandalwood icon is tied to a much larger Buddhist theological discourse concerning the very nature of the Buddha, as expressed by the Buddhist conceptions of the two and three bodies of the Buddha.51 The story of Udayana became the foundational narrative for an icon still extant in Japan, the Seiryoji Shaka.52 The lifetime sandalwood icon of the Buddha was brought to China by the translator monk Kumarajiva. In the late tenth century this icon—or a replica of it—was seen by the Japanese pilgrim Chonen, who arranged in 985 to have a copy of it made, which he then brought back to Japan. While the copy was being carved, a drop of blood miraculously appeared on it, thus authenticating that the replication icon was indeed the very body of Shakyamuni. For some, however, this was still inadequate evidence of proof of the transmission of Shakyamuni’s embodiment. A Japanese tradition avers that the night before Chonen left for Japan the “original” and the “replica” icons traded places, so that Chonen brought the original to Japan, where he installed it in a temple in the west of Kyoto. Over the centuries this wooden icon, easily recognizable because it is carved in a distinctively medieval Chinese style, became the focus of a Japanese replication cult, with over one hundred copies of it installed in various temples as the main icon (McCallum 1998: 211–14) (Figure 4.24). The earliest Chinese telling of the story of Udayana and his Buddha icon, in the Sermons in Ascending Numerical Categories, described a second icon made at almost the same time. Udayana in his frustrated attempt to visit the Buddha was accompanied by King Prasenajit of Kosala. In a typical instance of royal competition, when Prasenajit heard of Udayana’s sandalwood icon he arranged to have one of his own made, in this case of gold.53 Prasenajit and his Buddha icon disappeared from subsequent Chinese tellings, which came to focus exclusively on Udayana. However, Prasenajit and what came to be known as the Kosala Icon (kosala bimba) became important in Theravada Buddhist circles in Southeast Asia. Xuanzang in the seventh century knew of Prasenajit and his icon, and simply said that Prasenajit commissioned an icon after he heard of Udayana’s icon. Xuanzang recorded that Prasenajit’s icon still existed in Shravasti, located in a solitary brick building “which stands alone in the midst of the ruins of a large monastery” (Beal 1957/58: 261). Among the many items that Xuanzang brought back to China from his travels were two sandalwood icons of the Buddha, one a replica of the Kashambi icon of Udayana, and the other a replica of the Shravasti icon of Prasenajit (1957/58: 8). Xuanzang reported the existence of a second copy of the lifetime sandalwood icon of the Buddha made by Udayana.54 This one was in the Central

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4.24. Seiryoji Shaka icon, Kyoto, ca. 985 CE. Courtesy Seiryoji

Buddhist Temple.

Asian country of Khotan, in the city of Pi-mo. Xuangzang told the local legend of the icon. After the parinirvana of the Buddha, the image of its own accord flew from Kaushambi to the city of Ho-lo-lo-kia, to the north of Pi-mo. The inhabitants there were not Buddhist, and so they ignored the icon. When a Buddhist arhat (enlightened monk) came and venerated the icon, the local king angrily ordered the arhat be buried in the sand. The arhat correctly predicted that in retaliation the city would be buried by a sandstorm. The icon traveled to Pi-mo, and Ho-lo-lo-kia was ruined. The strong similarities between this story and the one Hemachandra narrated of Vitabhaya make it possible that Hemachandra had access to some variant of the tale told 500 years earlier by Xuanzang. Given Hemachandra’s strong interest in literature from Kashmir, perhaps he read the story in some now lost Kashmiri text.55 The Theravada versions excluded Udayana, and focused on Prasenajit—or Pasenadi as he was known in Pali.56 Although the extant versions of the story all date from medieval times, Donald Swearer has argued, “The pervasiveness of the story indicates that early in the history of the development of Buddhism

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it came to represent a normative, widely accepted pan-Buddhist explanation of the nature, origin, and function of the Buddha image that incorporated local variations of time, place, and vested sectarian interests” (2004: 15). Two versions of the story have been translated into English from the Pali, one from Sri Lanka and the other from the area of northern Thailand around Chiang Mai.57 In brief, to follow the Sri Lankan version, Prasenajit came to the Jetavana Monastery in his capital of Shravasti to see the Buddha, and was disappointed at the latter’s temporary absence. After the Buddha returned, Prasenajit told him of his disappointment, and asked permission to arrange for the carving of an icon in the Buddha’s likeness. The Buddha acceded to this request, and Prasenajit arranged for a sandalwood icon to be carved, which he placed on a jeweled altar. When the Buddha came to see the icon, it rose to greet him. (In the Thai version, the Buddha told the icon to remain seated when it started to stand up). The Buddha prophesized that it would maintain the Buddha’s teachings for 5,000 years. Everyone present worshipped the icon, and Prasenajit then requested the Buddha to sit next to it. He remained for seven days, giving sermons on the merit earned from making Buddha icons, among other topics. This story of the Kosala Buddha icon has continued to be a charter for the Buddhist worship of Buddha icons in southeast Asia. A. K. Coomaraswamy reported that as part of the rite of consecration of a Buddhist icon in Sri Lanka, a later Sinhala version of the Kosala icon text is recited.58 The basic theme of the story—that the most authentic icons are those that are true likenesses of the Buddha—underlies the power of other important Theravada icons in southeast Asia, such as the Mahamuni icon in Burma (Schober 1997), and the Emerald and Sinhala icons in Thailand (Reynolds 1978; Tambiah 1984: 214–19, 230–42). As Dorothy Fickle said of Buddha icons in Thailand more generally, “Every image supposedly can be traced back through its many generations of antecedents to the historical Buddha himself ” (1989: 7). Prasenajit’s icon of the Buddha in Shravasti was also a pilgrimage goal for Indian Buddhists for many centuries. Xuanzang recorded that he saw this icon as well, even though the Jetavana Monastery was by then in ruins (1957/58: 257–68). It seems quite likely that it is this icon to which Jinadasagani referred in his Dispersion on the Interdictions. Jinadasagani’s mention of the icon was in a rather cryptic list of pilgrimage places. Since Jinadasagani was writing in western India, possibly the area that is now Gujarat, about the north Indian homeland of Jainism, nearly 1,000 kilometers away, it is likely that he was reporting what was at best rather refracted information. He refers generally to the birthplaces of the Tirthankaras, all but one (Neminatha) of which are in north India in the contemporary states of Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, and Jharkhand. The god-made stupa at Mathura and the dharmachakra at Uttaravaha were

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presumably also well known to him, although only the former is still known to us today. The fourth site mentioned by Jinadasagani is the icon of the Living Lord at Kosala. Since no Jain author other than Jinadasagani mentions such an icon at Kosala, and the site was much more important for Buddhists than for Jains, I suspect that Jinadasagani had heard of the Buddhist lifetime sandalwood icon of the Buddha, and simply mistook this for the lifetime sandalwood icon of Mahavira.

Christian Icons “Not Made by Human Hand” The stories of the Living Lord icon of Mahavira and the lifetime icon of the Buddha clearly indicate anxiety in both traditions concerning the legitimacy of the very existence of icons. This anxiety is muted in the southeast Asian contexts. The narration of the Kosala icon story as part of the consecration icon may have more to do with tying any particular icon to a lineage of icons that stretches back to the first icon, and therefore authenticating the icon as a proper field of merit. The stories of the Seiryoji Buddha icon in Japan appear to have a similar message about merit, as we do not have any evidence of serious iconoclastic arguments among Japanese Buddhists. In neither the Southeast Asian nor Japanese Buddhist setting is there much evidence of a contemporary anxiety concerning the existence of icons, nor does there seem to have been any for many centuries. Similarly in China the role of icons in religious rituals has been accepted since the first millennium CE. When Buddhist icons were first introduced to China there was some hesitation to accept this new cultic form, and Buddhism has long been identified in Chinese culture as the religion of icons par excellence, as indicated by its being known as “the teaching of icons” (xiangjiao; Kieschnick [2003: 53]). The repression of Buddhism during the T’ang dynasty between 842 and 845 was accompanied by extensive iconoclasm (Demiéville 1974), but there is scant evidence of subsequent antiBuddhist iconoclasm in China until the establishment of Communist rule in the mid-twentieth century. At the same time, narratives of lineage are always narratives of legitimacy (Cort 1991: 656, 1995b: 482–83). Looking at the Christian traditions shows us that this anxiety about icons has not been restricted to Buddhism and Jainism. In Christianity we also find narratives that tie the existence of icons to the lifetime of the “founder” of the religion in order to authenticate their existence. Hans Belting (1994: 47–77) has shown that there are two kinds of authentic icons in the Christian tradition. There are those that are literally “not made by hand”—a-cheiro-poie¯ton in the Greek—that is, created by a divine intervention

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and therefore especially divinely authenticated.59 Then there are icons that are created by a human painter, but during the lifetime of the subject and therefore representing an accurate likeness of the subject. This second strategy of legitimating icons originally involved only icons of the Virgin Mary painted by the apostle Luke, but it was later applied to an icon of Christ as well.60 In the Christian context we see two overlapping anxieties at work. On the one hand was the need to distinguish authentic Christian icons from inauthentic pagan idols. By claiming that the Christian icons were either divinely made, or else humanly made but in a special divinely authenticated manner, they were saved from the criticism that icons were merely humanly created fictions. The second anxiety concerned the specifically Christian theology of the incarnation, in which God takes on human form while at the same time maintaining his full divinity. How can a material human fabrication accurately represent the immaterial divine being? In Christian (as well as Jewish and Muslim) theology, God is the creator, and humanity is created. God made humanity in his image. Christian critics of icons have argued that icons reverse this process by portraying God in humanity’s image, and so are blasphemous. Further, the nature of God is that he is pure spirit, in contrast to anything inanimate which is devoid of spirit. Only the person of Jesus Christ transcends the otherwise unbridgeable gap between spirit and matter. Defenders of icons have responded that icons are indeed humanly constructed objects, but are the result of, and response to, a divine intervention into human history. The Russian Orthodox theologian Vladimir Lossky (1982: 72) wrote of the icon of Christ not made by human hands, “Christian iconography—and above all the possibility of representing Christ—has its foundation in the fact of the Incarnation. In consequence, the sacred art of icons cannot be an arbitrary creation of artists.” In a similar vein the scholar Oleg Tarasov (2002: 61–62) wrote: “The Image of Saviour Not Made by Hands was the foundation of Christian icon painting: the face of Christ imprinted miraculously on a cloth became a most important testimony to the Incarnation and the basis of icons produced by the uncreated energies of God, and showed the possibility of miraculous creation.” The stories of divinely created Christian icons began to emerge in the sixth century, and give evidence of a criticism of images within Christian society that would find its fullest expression two centuries later with the Iconoclastic Controversy. The most famous of these icons was the Mandylion, an image from Edessa in Syria that later became the palladium of the emperors in Constantinople, just as the Living Lord image was the palladium in Ujjain, and the lifetime Buddha images were palladia in Kaushambi and Shravasti.

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The story of this icon revolved around King Abgar of Edessa in Syria. While historians have dated this king who converted to Christianity to 179–214, in the story he is portrayed as a contemporary of Christ (Belting 1994: 211). He suffered from a disease—Russian sources say it was leprosy (Tarasov 2002: 85), which in many cultures is taken to be a physical manifestation of an inner sinful condition—and believed that Christ could save him. He sent a messenger to paint a portrait of Christ, but the messenger was unsuccessful. Instead Christ washed his face on a cloth to imprint his features on it. This is the cloth that became the icon known as the Mandylion, which in Byzantine Greek simply means “small cloth” or “towel.” Christ sent the cloth to Abgar, who was cured by it. We see in this story a desire on the part of Abgar similar to that of Udayana: to see the actual person of the savior, be he Buddha or Christ, in the understanding that this visual contact had salvific powers. The story also serves to legitimate icons. Hans Belting has written (1994: 208–9): “Christ’s intention in sending King Agbar an image of himself would prove that he wished to have images made of himself. Thus not only the genuineness of the image but also the appropriateness of venerating it were proved legitimate.” Belting (1994: 211) narrates the subsequent miracles effected by the icon, including causing a rival heathen idol to crash to the ground, replicating itself by leaving an exact imprint upon a tile, and destroying an invading Persian army. The icon was brought to the imperial capital of Constantinople in 944. It was the subject of innumerable replications throughout the Orthodox world of eastern Europe and Russia. The fate of the original Mandylion icon is uncertain. While it was still in Constantinople as of 1204 when the Crusaders conquered the city, it appears to have been donated to the king of France in 1247, and to have remained in the collection of Sainte Chapelle until 1792, and then fallen victim to the iconoclasm of the French Revolution (Belting 1994: 215–18). The Mandylion was not the only divinely made icon. Another important palladium in Constantinople was the Kamuliana, named for the village where it was found.61 A pagan woman named Hypatia living in Cappadocia in Asia Minor in the 550s refused to believe in Christ, because she could not see him. She found a piece of linen in the well in her garden, on which was imprinted the face of Christ. She put the cloth in her headdress to hide it, and took it to her confessor. When she took off her headdress to show the cloth to him, she found that it had imprinted the image on her headdress, thereby duplicating the icon. This icon also exhibited miracles to confirm its authenticity. In 574 the image was taken to Constantinople, where it was effective on several occasions in protecting of the empire (Barber 2002: 25–6; Belting 1994: 53–55; Cormack 2002: 78–79). Its foes also understood the power of this icon, for

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it was evidently destroyed by the iconoclasts in the eighth century (Cormack 2002: 87). While the Mandylion icon probably came to western Europe after the Venetian conquest of Constantinople (although claims continued in eastern Christianity that it was still in the east [Belting 1994: 208]), it was never important in the west. Its claims to be a lifetime portrait of Christ were supplanted by those of two other, much more successful icons, both of which continue to attract attention and devotion today. One of these is the “true icon” (vera icona) of Veronica.62 Hans Belting (1994: 209) has argued that the theology of the icon not made by hand was transferred onto this image (or, perhaps more accurately, relic) in the thirteenth century: The Romans possessed a sudarium or handkerchief, at first devoid of an image, that had been used by Christ on the Mount of Olives or on the Way of the Cross. Later, when it became an image and began to work miracles, it was linked to the legend of the pious woman Veronica, who was said to have offered Christ a cloth, on which his features were imprinted when he wiped his face. The first mention of this handkerchief relic in Rome was in the twelfth century, and not until the thirteen century were there reports of the image on it (1994: 218–20). The story of this icon also involves the healing of a king, in this case the Emperor Tiberius. It also was the subject of an extensive replication cult, as well as the subject of hymns and other forms of devotion. The Veronica blurs the distinction between icons and relics, and shows how, especially in the Christian context, an icon, especially one that is a “true icon,” serves as a relic, something that is “left behind” (Schopen 1998: 256) as a continuing real presence of the original divine being. The Veronica was a powerful example of the Catholic emphasis on the way that icons and relics conveyed a sacred presence into the lives of the faithful. The Catholic theology of icons and relics came to be at the center of the Protestant criticism of Catholicism, as is seen in the subsequent history of the Veronica. According to Belting (1994: 220), when Rome was ransacked in 1527, “the Veronica was put up for sale in the taverns of Rome by Lutheran soldiers of the imperial army.” He goes on to say, “It has not been seen since.” But that was not the end of the story, as in the seventeenth century it was claimed to be rediscovered in a relic chamber in St. Peter’s. It remains a popular destination for pilgrims today. The second popular icon-relic in western Christianity is the Shroud of Turin.63 This is a long (14 feet 3 inches) cloth which, when unfurled, shows two

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faint figures, one frontal and the other dorsal. The orthodox claim for it is that the figures were impressed on the cloth by some mysterious process, and that they are the exact likeness of the crucified but not yet risen Jesus.64 Whereas the Veronica was impressed on cloth by Jesus while alive, the Turin Shroud is his burial cloth. What in another object or another culture might be seen as highly polluting and inauspicious, in the setting of Christianity, in which the death of Jesus is the definitive event, has come to be a highly sacred relic. The extensive discussion of the Shroud, and the use of scientific techniques in recent decades to try to prove its authenticity, indicate that the desire for a lifetime representation of Jesus remains strong today.65 While some enthusiasts claim that it is indeed the Mandylion, this is unlikely (Cameron 1981). The first documentation of its appearance is in France in 1353 (Cameron 1981: 14, Scott 2003: 12–13). For several centuries the Shroud led a peripatetic existence.66 In 1453 it came into the possession of the Duke of Savoy, and it subsequently served as a palladium for the House of Savoy.67 It was transferred to Turin in 1578, where it has remained except for a brief sojourn in southern Italy during the Second World War. The Mandylion, Veronica, and Turin icons address anxiety over the existence of representations of the divine by taking the creation of the image out of human hands, and positing a direct divine intervention and creation. God himself, in the person of Christ, made these icons. The other set of Christian narratives do involve a human creator, but in this case an extraordinary human—the apostle Luke—and even here the stories involve a degree of divine intervention and therefore authenticity. Hans Belting writes that the story of the icons—primarily of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus, but later also of Jesus as an adult—painted by Luke during the lifetimes of the subjects also emerged in the sixth century (1994: 59). Robin Cormack argues that this story emerged in response to the iconoclastic arguments against icons, as it allowed the defenders of icons to portray them as a divine tradition, not as human innovations (2000: 108).68 By the sixth century icons were ubiquitous in Christian ritual culture. At the same time, the iconoclastic criticism of icons, which two centuries later erupted in the Iconoclastic Controversy, was gathering strength. Unlike the icons not made by a human hand, the Lukan icons do have a human painter. As Robin Cormack (2000: 49) remarked, “this was no ordinary painter”: they were painted by St. Luke the Evangelist. His authority as author of one of the four orthodox narratives of the life of Christ transferred to the painting of icons—of Mary at first, but by extension of Christ as well. Both text and icon provided later Christian faithful with “eyewitness” evidence of the facts of the Christ story, and therefore the truth of the Incarnation.

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According to the Lukan story, Mary had sat for the portrait during her lifetime, and so the authenticity of this representation of her was equally as authentic as the uncreated images of Christ.69 Belting has hypothesized that this tradition centered around Luke because he was a doctor before becoming an evangelist, and his description of Jesus’ childhood in his gospel is so vividly realistic. Even Luke was too human as a source for an icon, and so the narrative was soon embellished either by having the Virgin herself complete the icon, or some miracle on the part of the Holy Spirit to authenticate further the portrait as a true icon. Other narratives (and icons) attributed the lifetime portrait of the Virgin not to Luke but to the three Magi, who commissioned a painter to paint a portrait of the mother and child (Belting 1994: 49–53). This version of the story solved the temporal problem of Luke, who was born after Jesus, painting a portrait of the infant Jesus.70 David Morgan (2005: 15–21) has observed that the story of the Lukan icon presents a similar problem of reliability for later Christians as does his Gospel narrative, for Luke lived after Christ and never met or saw him. Luke explained that he composed his biography from the accounts of others. Morgan hypothesizes that part of Luke’s authority stems from his narrative being a synthesized overview that brought the differing accounts into a single magisterial grand narrative. But if Luke never met Jesus, then he didn’t meet Mary either, and most certainly could not have painted a portrait of her with the infant Jesus sitting on her lap. Morgan analyzes a ca. 1520 painting by Jan Gossaert that shows that what Luke saw was not Mary in the flesh in her lifetime, but a later direct vision of her and the Christ child. Medieval icons of Luke painting the portrait of Mary, such as a thirteenth-century icon from Sinai reproduced by Belting (1994: fig. 14), do not evince any such distancing of Luke from the actual events he portrayed, and instead present his act with a more direct, firsthand authenticity. The Lukan icon remained the best-known lifetime icon throughout medieval times. The icon also focused on the infant Christ in the arms of his mother in order to portray “a visual image of God’s becoming human” (Belting 1994: 58). An icon of mother and child in the church of S. Maria Maggiore in Rome, which Belting dates tentatively to the sixth century, has from at least the midtwelfth century been claimed as a portrait painted by Luke (1994: 68). The most famous Lukan icon was the Hodegetria or “Guide” icon in Constantinople. By the twelfth century this icon was the imperial palladium. The Venetian conquerors of Constantinople sought for it in vain in 1204. It was eventually lost in the Turkish conquest of Constantinople in 1453, when Turkish troops “took the icon, stripped it of its precious ornaments and hacked it into four pieces”

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(Cormack 2000: 109). Drawing and quartering was a particularly gruesome form of very public execution, reserved for the most important criminals against public order, and here transferred to an icon. Both the S. Maria Maggiore and the Hodegetria icons became the subjects of extensive replication cults, as did other icons of the Virgin also attributed to Luke. There was the Madonna of S. Sisto in Rome (Belting 1994: 320). Another was in the Alte Kapelle in Regensburg (Freedberg 1989: 101). The tradition of Lukan icons was also found in the Ethiopian Coptic church, and there are more Lukan icons in Ethiopia than in any other country (Cormack 2007: 89–90, Morgan 2005: 18). In the case of the Hodegetria, the powers inherent— one is tempted to say incarnate—in the original passed on to the copies, and so every community in the eastern orthodox world could have its own authentic icon, its own “real presence” (again to use explicitly theological and sacramental language) of the Virgin and Christ (Cormack 2000: 108–9). While most icons attributed to Luke were of the Virgin and Child, the tradition was also extended to icons of the adult Christ alone. Belting discussed the sixth-century Sancta Sanctorum icon of Christ, now largely a ruin, that has long been in the personal chapel of the Pope (1994: 64–5). It, too, served for many centuries as a “Christian palladium” of Rome and so was active in the defense of the city from attackers. While the earliest accounts of this icon describe it as one not made by human hands, medieval accounts credit Luke with painting it, showing how these two Christian narratives of authentication merged into each other. According to this story, the apostles requested Luke to paint a portrait of Christ “so that they would at least retain a likeness of him after his ascension into heaven” (1994: 65). Here again the human painter was insufficient to authenticate fully the image, and so the portrait finished itself. Further, “God stipulated that the image have as its residence the palace of his representative on earth [i.e., the Pope]” (1994: 65), thereby equating the authority and authenticity of this icon with that of the Pope, direct successor to Peter who had been appointed as first Pope by Jesus himself.

Self-Born Icons Once we are sensitized to the way that narratives of the divine or natural origin of icons constitute a strategy to place their origin outside of human initiative, and thereby beyond criticism or reproach, we can see that this strategy is also found in other religious traditions. In Hinduism, for example, there are countless examples of icons that are svayambhu, “self-born,” or else svarupa, “innate forms.” These are most widely found in the Shaiva tradition, as the

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non-anthropomorphic nature of the Shiva linga easily lends itself to identifying any number of natural forms—mostly rocks, but also hills and even ice stalagmites—as self-born lingas. The theology and symbolism of self-born icons is by no means restricted to Shiva lingas in Hinduism. In western India the most famous self-born icon is the innate form (svarupa) of Krishna as Shrinathji, with his left arm raised and holding aloft a mountain (Vaudeville 1996: 92–139). First just the raised arm appeared to local cowherds in Braj near Mathura on Mount Govardhan, in 1409. Decades later, in 1478, the mouth of the icon appeared. In 1492 saint Vallabhacharya came to the site, and instituted the worship of the icon according to the formal Vaishnava scriptures. Eventually this icon was transferred from Braj to its current location in Nathdvara, near Udaipur. At key points in the story of Shrinathji, the icon was spontaneously lustrated by milk discharged from the udder of one or more cows. This is also a theme found in the stories of many self-born icons, whose “discovery” oftentimes occurs when a cowherd is puzzled why his cow returns from grazing every day with an empty udder.71 This then provides a nonhuman paradigm for one of the basic rites in the daily worship of an icon in almost all of the South Asian temple traditions, the lustration of the icon. Lustration is done with water, but it often involves milk (and many other liquids) as well, since the product of a cow is one of the purest things one can offer to a deity in his (or her) icon form. The narratives of icons of other deities involve similar self-creation. The goddess Dadhimati, whose temple is near Nagaur in western Rajasthan, emerged from the ground, and her principle icon in the temple today is still an unshaped rock protuberance (Babb 2008: 45). A popular icon of Hanuman in Rajasthan, that of Salasar Balaji, was unearthed by a farmer in the mideighteenth century as he was plowing a field (Babb 2004: 38–39). Nor is it only Hindu icons that are “discovered” in this way. The icon of Mahavira at Osian, near Jodhpur, was created underground out of sand and milk by a goddess, and dug up by the local Jain congregation (Babb 2008: 50). David Freedberg (1989: 66–72) has recently discussed a number of other examples of self-born icons, or at least icons that have not been shaped by human hands, from other cultures. He frames his discussion in terms of another issue, what he calls the “myth of aniconism” and a concomitant “will to form,” to which we will return in the next chapter. The data he presents allow us to see how these unshaped icons are also indicative of a strategy of defending icons. In ancient Greece many of these were known as baitulia. They were also called argoi lithoi, “unworked stones,” and lithoi empsychoi, “live stones.” Most of them were meteors that had fallen from heaven, and so were usually black. These include thirty square stones worshipped at Pharai in Achaia, a stone of

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Heracles at Hyettos, a stone of Eros at Thespai, three stones in the Temple of the Charities in Orchomenos in Boeotia, and a stone of Aphrodite at Antibes. Freedberg notes that scholars view this Greek tradition as one that came from Semitic cultures via Crete. Semitic examples include a stone erected by Jacob and called Beth-el, “the house of God,” and a widespread pre-Islamic tradition “of beliefs that invest stones with divine and supernatural powers” (1989: 68). The most famous example of a Semitic icon (if we can call it that) not made by human hands, and therefore justified in its cultic usage, is the Black Stone (al-hajar al-aswad) in the Kab’ah at Mecca.72 Freedberg is careful to recognize that this is not understood to be an icon in the normal sense of the word, for neither is it worshipped nor is it understood to embody any divine presence or inherence. Nonetheless, the stone and the narrative of why it still occupies a prominent place in Mecca exhibits a pattern with which we by now are familiar. The Black Stone—now actually in three pieces due to a fire—is described by scholars as most probably a meteorite, but is understood by Muslims originally to have been a white stone (it has turned black because of the sins it has absorbed from the countless pilgrims who have reverently kissed it) brought from heaven by the archangel Gabriel and given to Abraham as a sign of the oneness of God. Another version locates the stone’s coming even earlier, saying that it was originally a white hyacinth that Adam used as a seat when he came to Mecca after his expulsion from Paradise (von Grunebaum 1976: 19). In his discussion of the stone, G. E. von Grunebaum notes that the cultic role of the stone as determined by the Prophet Muhammad after he had destroyed the 360 other stones that encircled the Ka’bah “disquieted some of his followers” (1976: 23). Islam has been one of the most resolutely aniconic and iconoclastic religious traditions throughout its fourteen centuries of existence, yet here at the historical and geographical heart of the tradition is something that might look like an icon, and which people respond to (by kissing) in a way that might look like veneration or worship. Von Grunebaum notes that this disquiet, and at the same time acceptance, is clearly expressed in the words of Muhammad’s close follower, the future Caliph ‘Umar, who said, “Verily I know that thou art but a stone. Thou canst do no harm, neither canst thou confer advantage. And had I not seen God’s Messenger kiss thee, neither would I have kissed thee” (1976: 23).

Anxiety about Icons In this chapter we have seen how following the trail of the narratives and implications of a single icon, the Living Lord icon of Mahavira, leads us in multiple directions. On the one hand an analysis of the visual imagery of the Living Lord

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icon, of the Jina as king, allows us to see how this Jain iconography interacted with contemporaneous Hindu (and to a lesser extent Buddhist) iconography of Vishnu (and Surya) as king. Religious traditions and communities interact in terms of theology, but they also interact in terms of iconography. Visual cultures in medieval India were not sealed off from one another. They intermingled with, and borrowed from, each other in complex patterns that do not allow for a simple positing of origin and unidirectional influence. Following the narratives of the Udayana and the sandalwood Living Lord icon of the Jina leads quickly to the closely related Buddhist narratives of Udayana and the lifetime sandalwood icon of the Buddha. Bringing the Buddhist narratives into our analysis leads to a still broader comparative analysis, that shows how religious traditions that worship and in other ways valorize icons feel a seemingly universal need to account for the existence of those icons in ways that deny a solely human source. If icons represent divine reality, rather than merely human willfulness and ignorance, then their origins must also be divine. Viewing the Living Lord icon as a “true icon,” as an icon “not made by human hands,” allows us to see this Jain tradition as a narrative defense of icons. Framing the Living Lord icon with the narratives of the Udayana Buddha icon and the lifetime icons of Christ, both those not made by human hands, and those painted by the Apostle Luke, also allows us to perceive in the Living Lord narrative a Jain desire to see what Mahavira “really” looked like. The Udayana and Prasenajit lifetime icons of the Buddha clearly exhibit a desire to see what the Buddha looked like, just as the lifetime icons of Jesus exhibit a desire to see what Jesus looked like. We cannot experience such a divine person in the flesh, and our religious experience is therefore marked by an unbridgeable temporal gulf. But by viewing an exact likeness we can to a great degree erase that gulf through an act of spiritual relocation of the past into the present. Jain iconography depicts the Jinas as spiritual ideals. A Jain icon is not a portrait of a person, but a representation of the perfect virtues of enlightenment and liberation. Since all enlightened souls are identical, any icon should look like any other icon. But a portrait of a pristine ideal is not as reassuring as one of a specific figure. The Living Lord icon reveals a desire not to see an abstract ideal as represented by all Jina icons, but instead to see a living ideal as represented by the icon of a specific Jina as he really was, 2,500 years ago.

The Living Lord Icon in Contemporary Jainism In the 1970s the Shvetambara litterateur and scholar Ganesh Lalwani serialized a novel based in part upon the narratives of the Living Lord icon in the

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Bengali Jain magazine Shraman. This was then translated into Hindi and serialized in another magazine, Kathalok, and then finally published in book form from Kolkata and Jaipur as Chandan Murtti (Sandalwood Icon). Lalwani framed his novel of nine chapters around the narrator’s memories of nine past lives. In each of them there was a beloved whom he was unable to woo successfully, a rival who hindered the romance, and the lifetime sandalwood icon of Mahavira. The first life was as Devadatta. He worked in the royal temple of King Udrayana in Vitabhaya, capital of Sindhu-Sauvira, providing flower garlands, sandalwood paste, and other requisites for worship. Also attached to the temple was the royal female slave Devadatta.73 This temple was the site of a unique icon of Mahavira that had been carved in his lifetime. The icon was small enough to be held easily in one hand, and to carry in a shoulder bag on one’s travels. Unlike the Akota icons, it depicted Mahavira seated in the lotus position with its eyes downcast in meditation (Lalwani 1983: 55). Devadatta loved Devadatta, but his love was not returned, as she instead yearned to be a consort of another king, Chanda Pradyota of Ujjain. Through the power of a magic pill Devadatta came to Pradyota’s attention, and he traveled to Vitabhaya to meet her and bring her back to his harem. She insisted on taking the icon with her when she fled Vitabhaya with Pradyota. In an attempt to deceive Udrayana, who worshipped the sandalwood icon daily, Devadatta arranged for a friend to carve an exact copy, which was left in the temple. Udrayana was not fooled, however, and he sent his soldiers to capture the couple. He pardoned them both, but insisted that they take the false icon, leaving the original in his temple. The icon had been carved by a deity named Vidyunmali, who gave it to Udrayana’s wife Prabhavati. She was a devout Jain, and her sister Trishala was Mahavira’s mother. After Prabhavati’s death the icon came into the possession of her husband, and through his faith in the icon he eventually resolved to renounce the world and become a Jain monk. Thinking that kingship is not good for one’s moral character, Udrayana declined to pass on the throne to his son, and instead installed his nephew Keshi as king. Keshi proved Udrayana right. He forbad anyone from assisting the monk Udrayana, who as a result starved to death. Vidyunmali was angered by this heinous act of in essence murdering a monk, and so he destroyed Vitabhaya—and the sandalwood icon—in a conflagration. The remainder of the novel is a typical Jain karma tale, showing how the three souls of Devadatta, Devadatta, and Pradyota—as well as the sandalwood icon—were intertwined in life after life in a web of karma. Devadatta continued to spurn Devadatta, Pradyota continued to intervene to prevent Devadatta

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from loving Devadatta, and the icon appeared as a reminder of the true path of religious renunciation rather than either amorous infatuation or anger. Due to his misguided love for Devadatta, Devadatta had made a false icon, and so was karmically doomed not to attain his romantic goal. At the same time, the merit of making an icon resulted in his memory of past lives, and so allowed him to understand and thus eventually overcome the effects of that karma. Devadatta was reborn as a parrot, a Brahmana dancer from Magadha, a king in Central Asia, a physician in Takshashila who eventually served in the court of King Darius of Persepolis and died during Alexander’s invasion, a merchant in Tamralipta who spent fourteen years trading in southeast Asia, a prince of Kalinga who unsuccessfully tried to become a Digambara monk, and a poet in the court of King Bhoja of Kannauj. In the last chapter the two finally united, but not amorously. Instead, they decided to go together on pilgrimage to Shatrunjaya where they worshipped Adinatha in order to overcome all attachment to their mortal bodies. Outside the village of Nandiya in Sirohi district in southern Rajasthan is a medieval temple of Mahavira that enshrines a little-known icon of Mahavira. According to local oral tradition it is a Living Lord icon.74 Legend claims that the village was founded by Mahavira’s elder brother Nandivardhana. He also established a temple and consecrated an icon of his still-living but now enlightened brother. A local saying goes, “The younger brother is venerated at Nandiya as the Living Lord.”75 Inscriptions on several pillars from 1103 and 1153 confirm the medieval origins of the temple. The current main icon of mottled marble portrays Mahavira in the traditional seated meditative pose, with no crown or other royal ornaments integral to the stone, and clearly dates from medieval times. (It is common for Shvetambara icons to be adorned with removable crowns and other royal insignia [Cort 1996b, 1997a, 2007); this does not, however, signify that the icon is a Living Lord one.) Nonetheless, the icon is still described as a Living Lord icon, because of the claim that it is contemporary with Mahavira. Nyayvijay wrote of the main icon, “in the main sanctuary is enthroned a wondrous (adbhut) icon of Mahavira together with a carved surround (parikar). It depicts the Lord as he appeared in old age (vridhdhavastha).76 In the spring of 1998 I was visiting some Jain friends in Patan in north Gujarat. That spring I was based in Jodhpur, conducting research on several temples in Rajasthan, including those at Osian. I had taken time out from the research to visit friends. I explained to the father of one family my research in Osian, and asked if he had ever visited the site. He said that he had, along with his wife, as part of a package pilgrimage tour by train and bus from Gujarat to the famous Jain temples of Jaisalmer. Osian was one of the places the tour stopped for a night. He remarked on the beauty of the Mahavira icon at Osian.

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One of his grown sons was listening to the conversation, and at this point he asked if the icon at Osian was the one of Mahavira as the Living Lord. No, the father replied, it was not, but it was a wonderful icon that was almost as old. On an earlier occasion I was discussing the Jain temples and icons of Patan with an informant. He said that a particularly scholarly monk had once expressed to him that he thought the main icon in a Mahavira temple in the neighborhood of Soni Vado was a Living Lord icon, but that “more research would be needed to establish this.” Since the icon depicts the standard seated pose of Mahavira, the monk obviously did not mean that it was a standing icon wearing royal regalia, but simply an icon dating from the lifetime of Mahavira.77 The memory of the Living Lord icon of Mahavira persists today in the religious imaginaire of Shvetembara Murtipujaka Jains of western India. There is not the iconographic specificity of this memory that there might have been 1,000 years ago. The Living Lord icon is something Jains are likely to have heard about, but no one has seen it (unless they have been to Nandiya, although this is not a popular pilgrimage destination, and there is nothing distinctive about the iconography of the icon there). Nonetheless, the theme and iconography of the Living Lord icon continues to play an important role in legitimating the cardinal place in Shvetambara Murtipujaka ritual culture of icons and their worship.

Appendix: Twenty-four Jinas, Twenty-four Vishnus, and Twenty-four Buddhas The fact that it is in the iconography of Vishnu’s twenty-four Emanations (vyuha) that we see the strongest similarities to the iconography of Mahavira as Living Lord raises further possibilities of interaction between Jain and Vaishnava theology and iconography that I can only touch on here. It is probably no coincidence that there are twenty-four Emanations of Vishnu and twenty-four Jinas of this cycle of time. Many years ago G. H. Khare (1966: 20n1) made a similar observation, when he asked at the conclusion of his brief study of the evolution of the Vaishnava concept of the twenty-four Emanations, “Have these [twentyfour] varieties to do anything with the 24 Jaina Tirthankaras? This is a question which must engage the attention of scholars working in this field.” We still lack the data on the social history of Pancharatra Vaishnavism to address this question adequately, so my remarks here will remain tentative and even speculative. The twenty-four Emanations of Vishnu are part of the Pancharatra (“Five Nights,” referring to a particular ritual cycle) school of Vaishnava theology. In its origins this was a more-or-less monotheistic religious tradition of devotion

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to Vasudeva (Gonda 1976: 49). Gradually it was absorbed into Vaishnavism, as Vasudeva was reinterpreted as a name for Vishnu. In the early phases of this absorption, in the early centuries BCE, the Pancharatra school developed a concept of four successive Emanations that together constitute the personality of the supreme god Vishnu. This theology had crystallized by 100 CE (Matsubara 1994: 139). The four are Vasudeva, from whom emanated Samkarshana, from whom emanated Pradyumna, from whom emanated Aniruddha.78 This fourfold form of Vishnu then became the basis for the creation and development of the world of form and change. In the analysis of Jan Gonda (1976: 49–50): This Vyuha doctrine may indeed be considered another attempt at maintaining the fundamental monotheistic starting-point whilst incorporating a number of adorable manifestations and doubles of God, and at assigning them positions and functions in a systematic explanation of the universe and its origin, an attempt at conceiving God as the unaffected and unchanging One who nevertheless is the cause of all change—for God and his vyuhas are identical. We see in this process a dynamic we can also see in other religious traditions, whereby an emphasis on icons, on two- and three-dimensional iconic representations of the divine, goes hand in hand with a polytheistic theology. Conversely, there is a close correlation between iconoclastic and aniconic ritual cultures and more monotheistic theologies, as evidenced most clearly by Islam and Protestant theology, but also by the Sikh and Sant traditions of South Asia. Icons inevitably illustrate different visual conceptions of the divine, which leads to a theology of multiple aspects of the singular divine, or else outright polytheism. Even if the different iconic representations are understood as depictions of the same deity, there is a tendency to identify a particular icon in terms of geography or some other feature that distinguishes it from other icons of the same deity. While some may see this as preserving a basic monotheism, it is undeniable that at the same time it is evidence of what we can call the inevitable polytheism (whether partial or full) of icons. The earliest icons of Vishnu appear to have been two-armed (Desai 1973: 7), but by the first or second century CE we find four-armed icons from Mathura. Icons that are clearly identifiable as depicting one or another of the four Emanations date from several centuries later, in the Gupta period (Gonda 1976: 169n336). Over the ensuing centuries the emanation theology expanded from four Emanations to twenty-four. G. H. Khare (1966: 15–20), on the basis of an analysis of Pancharatra and related texts, concluded that while the concept of twenty-four names of Vishnu may have developed before the sixth

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century CE, the iconography of twenty-four distinct icons does not date from before the late ninth century.79 Iconographically it was easy to depict all twentyfour by simply rotating the objects held in the four hands among all the possible combinations, and it is quite possible that the concept of the twenty-four Emanations developed in material iconography before textual theology. This allowed for a very clear plastic articulation of the simultaneous identity and multiplicity of Vishnu as the supreme lord. Images of Vishnu in one or more of his Emanation forms, most of them individual but a few in series, starting from the latter part of the first millennium CE and extending into the early centuries of the second millennium, are found throughout northern India (Desai 1973: 11–13). While a social history of the Pancharatra movement has yet to be written, it is evident that its influence was widespread, especially in terms of the iconography of Vishnu icons. This was certainly the case in western India. For example, Françoise Mallison (1983) observed that the main icons of four important medieval Vaishnava sites in the present-day state of Gujarat— Dvarka, Dakor, Shamlaji, and Tulsishyam—are all in the form of Paravasudeva Vishnu, one of the twenty-four Emanations. The dating of the stages in Pancharatra theology is uncertain at best. Jan Gonda (1976: 167n279) estimated that the Pancharatra texts themselves date from the seventh through tenth centuries CE. During the first millennium CE the doctrine of the Emanations gradually became replaced by the more widespread and eventually dominant theology of the Incarnational Descents (avatara) or Special Becomings (vibhava) of Vishnu. While the best-known list of Descents is of ten, Hindu mythological and liturgical texts also contain lists of twenty-two, twenty-three, sixteen, seven, and thirty-nine (Banerjea 1956: 389–91).80 In terms of iconography the Descents are quite different from the Jinas, a difference that goes to the heart of the differing Jain and devotional Vaishnava conceptions of ultimate divinity. Jina icons in their immobile meditation depict an understanding of divinity as having totally transcended the impermanent, fluid world of time, passions, and ignorance. Descent icons, in contrast, tend to be vibrant and active, depicting the particular Descent of Vishnu into the world of temporal affairs in order to restore righteousness. The Vaishnava Emanation icons, however, have much more in common with the Jina icons. H. Daniel Smith (1969: 160) has written that while the Descents are all “terrestrial beings,” the set of twelve Forms (murti) of Vishnu—an abbreviated set of the twenty-four that has been important in south India—“seem to be certain invisible powers of protection.” The Descents are tangible and active in this world, while the Emanations depict a more abstract and transcendent understanding of divinity. The art historian Jitendra Nath Banerjea (1956: 388) observed that the icons of the Emanations “are very difficult to distinguish

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from one another; they are almost identical, the subtle distinction only lying in the different ways of placing the four emblems of the four-armed god.” The only way to differentiate one Emanation from another is by the sequence of the four emblems that each one holds in its four hands: conch-shell, discus, club, and lotus. Similarly, the only way to differentiate one Jina from another is by the identifying marker carved into the base of the icon below the throne on which the figure sits.81 Both theological traditions use an imagery that is at once indistinguishable in its unity and iconographically distinguishable into twenty-four different lives or emanations. These icons depict in plastic form an understanding of the cosmos, and of divinity, that is at once singular and plural, monotheistic and polytheistic. There are twenty-four Vishnus, and at the same time there is just one Vishnu. In similar fashion, Jains speak simultaneously of the Jinas as multiple and singular, as being twenty-four in number and as the single Jina (Cort 2001b: 23). As I noted above, G. S. Khare dated the textual formulation of the iconography of the twenty-four Emanations to the late-ninth century. The scant archaeological record supports such a date, as icons of one or more of the twenty-four icons from Rajasthan date from the late first millennium CE (Atherton 1997, Handa 1984). Further south in Gujarat, they date from the Chalukya period, from the mid-tenth through late-thirteenth centuries (Mankodi 1991, Rangarajan 1990: 60–80). The Pancharatra school of Vaishnavism was not restricted to northern and western India. It reached southern India by the early centuries CE, and there played a major role in the development of the cultures of temple worship and devotion to Vishnu. T. A. Gopinatha Rao (1968: 227) has written that sets of the twenty-four Emanations are found more frequently in those areas of southern India that were part of the eleventh through thirteenth century Hoysala empire than elsewhere in India. Since Digambara Jains played a significant role in the Hoysala empire, it is possible that the development of the Pancharatra theology of the twenty-four Emanations in the south owed as much to interaction with southern Indian Digambara theology, liturgy, and iconography as it did to interaction with the Shvetambaras of western India.82 The Jain and Vaishnava theologies are not the only ones in South Asia with sets of twenty-four supreme deities (or manifestations of the supreme deity). We also find enumerations of twenty-four Buddhas (in addition to other lists of seven, twenty-seven, thirty-two, thirty-five, forty-five, fifty-three, fiftyeight). Suzuko Ohira (1994b) has discussed the relative priority of the Jain and Buddhist lists of twenty-four deities. The earliest Buddhist list is found in the Pali Apadana (Glorious Acts), a text dated by scholars variously between the first century BCE and the third–fourth centuries CE. According to her analysis,

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the Jain lists of the twenty-four Jinas do not date before the fifth century CE, although the concept of there being multiple Jinas is evidenced from both texts and archaeology much earlier. Ohira surmises that the concept of there being just twenty-four Jinas in any given cycle of time was adopted from the Buddhist conception of twenty-four Buddhas. A significant difference between the Buddhist and Jain lists is that whereas the former remained largely a textual list, the latter was translated into practice in the form of temple icons. As Klaus Bruhn (1969: 3) has noted, the Buddha Gautama Shakyamuni retained a position of preeminence in Buddhist cosmology and ritual, especially in Theravada Buddhism, whereas the same was not the case with Mahavira in the Jain context. Many of the other twentythree Jinas, especially Adinatha (#1), Shantinatha (#16), Neminatha (#22), and Parshvanatha (#23) are important independent deities, and from early in Jain history one finds as many if not more icons of Adinatha, Shantinatha, and Parshvanatha as icons of Mahavira (Cort 2001b: 197). Looking at the relation between concept and cult practice in the different religious settings also points out that none of the twenty-four Emanations of Vishnu attained much significance as an independent deity as evidenced either in narratives or icons. It was several of the ten Descents that became important independent deities. This would perhaps indicate that the Jain list of twenty-four Jinas developed through a theological and ritual process of aggregating some preexisting deities into a larger list of twenty-four (much as the Vaishnava list of Descents resulted from the aggregation of preexisting deities), whereas the Buddhist and Vaishnava lists developed through the intellectual process of creating such lists from scratch, or else expanding from a single deity to a set of twenty-four. While the available material might suggest that the concept of twenty-four deities arose first in Buddhism, then in its fellow shramana tradition Jainism, and finally in Pancharatra Vaishnavism, the evidence does not really allow for us to posit any clear, unidirectional lines of influence or borrowing among these three theologies. At present all that we can say is that all three of these closely related theological and liturgical traditions developed polytheisms that saw divinity as simultaneously singular and plural, one and twenty-four. In none of these traditions does the conception of there being twenty-four manifestations of divinity lead to full-blown personalities of all twenty-four, nor do they develop individualized iconographies. Those divine personalities that do develop in unique and specific ways indicate the differences among these three traditions. At the same time, the iconographies of the twenty-four deities, with their static, frontal postures, one deity distinguishable from another only by means of details of attributes or markers, indicate a shared conception of divinity as complexly multiple.

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5 Idols and a History of Corruption

So far we have looked at Jain narratives that account for the existence of icons in a positive light. It is a central assumption of this book that these narratives arose in response either to explicit criticisms of the ritual culture of temples and icons, or at a minimum from anxiety about their growing significance in Jain religious life. We do not, however, have any direct evidence of early criticisms of the existence of icons, and so do not know who, if anyone, was voicing criticisms. We do know that within the Shvetambara community there were criticisms of certain aspects of the cult of icons from at least the eleventh century. Early in that century the monk Jineshvarasuri, one of the leaders of the movement that grew to become the Kharatara Gaccha, engaged in a lengthy criticism of domesticated monks who encouraged their lay followers to build temples and install icons for dubious, worldly reasons (Dundas 1987–88: 183–84). The Kharatara Gaccha has never condemned temples and icons per se, but clearly, in Dundas’s words (184), “felt considerable disease about their role in the corruption of the sangha [monastic community].” One of Jineshvarasuri’s successors as head of the Kharatara Gaccha, Jinadattasuri (1075–1154), instituted a change in ritual practice for the lay members of the Gaccha. He forbade women from worshipping Jina icons in the temple on the grounds that a menstruating woman would pollute the entire temple by merely entering it, and no woman could tell with absolute certainty when she might start to menstruate (Dundas 1993: 247–48).

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Also in the twelfth century, another Shvetambara lineage, the Purnima Gaccha, arose in part out of the belief that monks should not play a direct role in the consecration and installation of icons. They could encourage and supervise such ritual activities, but should lead their actual performance to the laity (Dundas 2009). This distancing of monks from icons, and the implicit criticism of lineages that did not maintain such a distance, has also been a key element in the Anchala Gaccha, a lineage that branched off from the Purnima Gaccha soon after it was formed in the twelfth century (Cort 2009c). These examples give evidence of a range of anxieties about the extent to which temples and icons had become a dominant institution in Shvetambara ritual culture by the medieval period. Nonetheless, the first two millennia of Jain history did not reveal any Emperor Constantine V, Andreas Karlstadt, or John Calvin, who preached against idols and led movements to cleanse the churches and cathedrals of them.1 This changed dramatically in the late medieval and early premodern period, from the fifteenth through the seventeenth centuries. In western India during this period there arose for the first time, by fits and starts, an explicit and sustained Jain iconoclasm—or, more accurately, an ideological aniconism—associated with the names of Lonka Shah and the Sthanakavasis. This was not like iconoclastic episodes in Christian history, which have seen widespread destruction of icons. Rather, it was a growth of a criticism of icons that advocated simply rejecting them. While there have undoubtedly been incidents of Jain iconoclasts breaking idols (or throwing them into wells or other bodies of water), they have been very few, and have not gained the notoriety (or fame) of Christian acts of iconoclasm. The Sthanakavasi tradition of the Shvetambara Jains arose in a two-part process between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries.2 The first phase revolved around the Shvetambara layman Lonka Shah, who lived sometime between 1415 and 1489 (Flügel 2008b: 185). He broke with the dominant Murtipujaka community over issues of mendicant and lay practice, including icon worship. He gathered a group of disciples around him, and eventually from this small community a new mendicant order evolved, known after him as the Lonka Gaccha. In the sixteenth century, however, many of the mendicants in the Lonka Gaccha accepted the practices of the Murtipujaka lineages as correct; among these was icon worship. This led to the second phase, in the seventeenth century, when five different mendicants broke away from the Lonka Gaccha and reestablished (or established) their distinctive practices, including the rejection of icon worship. These five lineages and their associated lay supporters further split into many small units in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. While there were varying degrees of interaction among these communities, they by no means formed a single unified Sthanakavasi (“Hall Dweller”) or Dhundhiya

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(“Seeker”) community. Peter Flügel (2008b: 210) has argued that the term “Sthanakavasi” itself is largely a twentieth neologism, although there are frequent if scattered uses of the name from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century.3 The name was adopted by the lineages and their lay supporters as part of the effort to create a unified history and community out of the many disparate aniconic mendicant lineages and lay communities. A major reason why the history of the Sthanakavasi movements is less well-known than the histories of other Jain communities is that Sthanakavasi mendicants intentionally eschewed many aspects of the intellectual culture of the icon-worshipping Shvetambaras. To a significant extent, they viewed only the “original” scriptures in Ardha-Magadhi Prakrit as authoritative, and so until recently most Sthanakavasi mendicants as a matter of principle did not study Sanskrit.4 As a breakaway movement, the Sthanakavasis isolated themselves from the extensive manuscript libraries that remained firmly in Murtipujaka control.5 Sthanakavasis also viewed almost any form of literary activity as a sign of egoism and therefore lax mendicant practice. As a result, there are relatively few premodern Sthanakavasi texts.6 The textual articulation of the Sthanakavasi history of idols is therefore relatively recent, emerging clearly only in the nineteenth century.7 This Sthanakavasi history is found in a set of interlinked texts known as pattavalis, literally “Row of Seats.” The basic framework of a pattavali is a list of the leaders of the lineage, those who metaphorically “sit on the seat” of spiritual leadership, in the same way that a royal chronicle records the generations of kings who sat on thrones, and genealogies in most cultures record the generations of male heads of a family. A pattavali, in other words, narrates the history of the tradition as a succession of authoritative leaders from the time of Mahavira himself. As a genre pattavalis have been widespread among the Murtipujaka Jains for many centuries (Cort 1995b: 480–86), arising in the middle ages in the context of disagreements among the gacchas concerning which were authentic and which were not.8 A pattavali generally starts with a brief recounting of the life of Mahavira, and then dedicates most of its attention to the subsequent lineage of heads of the mendicant community, starting with Mahavira’s disciple Sudharma. For each person one learns the basic biographical facts of birth, initiation, accession to leadership, and death. For some, this is all one learns. More attention is paid to the most significant people in the history of that particular lineage, when one reads of the formation of the lineage, key events in its subsequent history, and the birth of rival (and, by definition, false and heretical) lineages and schisms. The genre was adopted as a form of historical writing within the Sthanakavasi traditions only in the nineteenth century (Flügel 2008b: 187), and so the extant

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Sthanakavasi pattavalis all date from many decades and even centuries after the events they narrate. The extensive degree to which the Sthanakavasi texts echo each other in both content and even specific phrasing shows that we are dealing not with independent texts, but rather a cluster of texts, each of which builds upon the others in a dense intertextuality. Further, while they undoubtedly contain some earlier Sthanakavasi history that had been passed down orally, the texts lean heavily on Murtipujaka pattavalis for the basic structure of early and medieval Jain history.9 This shared history is recast to advance a distinctively Sthanakavasi interpretation of it, as a falling away from the true ideals of Jainism. The Sthanakavasi monk and scholar Acharya Hastimal collected and published ten pattavalis in 1968 in a single volume entitled Collection of Lineage Accounts (Pattavali Prabandh Sangrah).10 Hastimal was born in 1910 in Pipar, a town near Jodhpur in the desert area of Marwar in western Rajasthan. By the early twentieth century, the majority of Shvetambaras in this region were Sthanakavasis, although they did not necessarily evince as staunch an ideological opposition to temples and idols as seen in Sthanakavasis from other parts of India such as Gujarat and the Punjab. He took initiation as a monk in 1920 in Ajmer from Acharya Shobhachandra, and at the age of 20 was promoted to the post of acharya as the seventh head of the Ratnachandra Sampradaya. Hastimal was a major figure in the twentieth-century transformation of the Sthanakavasi mendicant culture. Whereas traditionally Sthanakavasis were suspicious of scholarship and learning, one now finds a significant number of highly educated mendicant scholars. In addition to scholarship on the Shvetambara scriptures, Hastimal developed a keen interest in history. The massive four-volume Original History of Jainism (Jain Dharm ka Maulik Itihas), conceived, edited, and largely written by Hastimal, remains the most extensive and important presentation of the history of Jainism from a Sthanakavasi perspective. He also composed his own pattavali in modern Hindi verse, the Garland of Biographies of the Acharyas (Jain Acharya Charitavali), which summarized his extensive researches into Sthanakavasi history. Hastimal died in the town of Nimaj, near Pali in Rajasthan, in 1991.11 Each of the pattavalis collected by Hastimal narrated, either in brief or in extenso, the Sthanakavasi history of the origin of Jain images. In this chapter I focus on one of these texts, the Hindi Lineage Account (Pattavali Prabandh) of a layman and poet named Vinaychandra. I interpolate comments from other texts as they expand upon Vinaychandra’s account. According to Hastimal (1968: 323), Vinaychandra was awakened (pratibodh) to the true Jain teachings by the Sthanakavasi monk Hamirmal, and became a layman with pure faith in the Jain dharma. It is unclear if Hastimal meant that Vinaychandra had been

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an icon-worshipping Jain who converted to being an iconoclastic Sthanakavasi, or simply that the teachings of Hamirmal impelled Vinaychandra to become a convinced practitioner rather than just someone who had been born in a Sthanakavasi family. Hastimal said that Vinaychandra composed at least two other texts, and that from internal textual evidence he composed the Lineage Account sometime before 1845. Hastimal added both an expansive translation and additional prose comments to Vinaychandra’s verse text; I do not distinguish between Vinaychandra’s text and Hastimal’s commentary in my summary retelling here.

The History of Jain Idolatry Mahavira was born in Pavapuri in north India some 2,500 years ago. There was an inauspicious alignment in the stars when he was born: The “ashes asterism” (bhasma grah) meant that there would be 2,000 years of difficulties for his followers.12 While the asterism affected Mahavira’s birth-chart, the story of its ill effects is told in the context of his liberation. The Sthanakavasi authors borrowed this motif from the preeminent Murtipujaka biography of Mahavira found in the Scripture of Rules (Kalpa Sutra). This text said that on the night of Mahavira’s liberation “a great star called Kshudratma (the Lowly One), which was made up of a heap of ashes [bhasma], came into conjunction with the constellation of Bhagavan Mahavira’s birth. This conjunction will last for a duration of two thousand years.” The text went on to say that as a result of the effects of this asterism monks and nuns would receive less reverence, but that this ill-treatment would end when the conjunction also comes to an end.13 The theme of this astrological impediment to true religion has been a common one in Sthanakavasi writings, for it allows them to dismiss 2,000 years of Jain history as misguided and false. The Murtipujaka pattavalis are based upon an ideology according to which the authenticity of contemporary practices and teachings are guaranteed by an unbroken line of proper teachers stretching back to Mahavira. Despite the efforts of the Sthanakavasi pattavalis to establish such a line, they have to jump over the intervening two millennia and authenticate their practices by the example of Mahavira himself. If the teachers between Mahavira and Lonka Shah were all living in an age of unavoidable ignorance and delusion due to an inauspicious alignment of the planets, the Sthanakavasis can then dismiss that entire history. Starting during the lifetime of Mahavira, and then over the course of the six centuries after his liberation, there were seven heresies over various matters

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of Jain doctrine. They did not, however, lead to significant schisms in the community, and none of them involved images.14 Six hundred and twenty years after Mahavira’s liberation there was a severe drought and famine in north India that lasted for twelve years.15 Food and water were unavailable, so many monks performed santhara (also known as sallekhana), the rite of voluntarily withdrawing from all bodily sustenance in order to end one’s life in a state of meditative equanimity. They were thereby able to bring their mendicant lives to successful conclusions. Other monks migrated elsewhere in India to escape the drought, and so were able to protect their orthopraxy. Those who stayed behind were unable to sustain their mendicant lifestyles properly, and fell into lax conduct (shithila-achara). This has long been a charged term in Jain mendicant discourse, used to accuse rival lineages of practices that contravene the basic renunciatory and nonviolent ethics of Jain mendicancy. Monks who follow the proper ascetic regimen of nonattachment are said to be “forest dwellers” (vana-vasi), while those who follow a more domesticated regimen, and become attached to their possessions, are said to be “hall dwellers” or “temple dwellers” (chaitya-vasi).16 According to Vinaychandra, in order to feed themselves the monks who stayed behind began to practice what have long been seen by orthoprax Jain monks as hallmark activities of mendicant laxity: astrology ( jyotisha), medicine (vaidya), magic (tantra-mantra), and herbal healing (aushadha). In the eyes of the orthoprax critics, these are all practices that are overly concerned with worldly concerns of health and wealth. They do not exhibit a proper mendicant attitude of renunciation and indifference to the world. They also tie the mendicants to lay patrons and so compromise the mendicant practice of perpetual dispassion (samayika).17 The monks accepted food and drink that were inappropriate for them. The anonymous nineteenth-century Ancient Lineage (Prachin Pattavali) explained that these foods included root crops, fruits, flowers, and leafy vegetables, all of which are forbidden to monks, as they contravene the mendicant observance of non-harm (ahimsa). The monks took to living in improper residences, accumulated many possessions, and in other ways became preoccupied with bodily comforts. In order to support their lifestyles, the lax monks needed to attract people to become their followers. They began to consecrate idols and institute the worship of them, and so were able to bring many laypeople within their own sects. Vinaychandra said that introduction of the cult of idols was a major source of sectarian division in Jainism, first into the Digambaras and Shvetambaras, and then among the Shvetambaras into the various gacchas. Several Sthanakavasi pattavalis expanded on the beginning of idolatry. The lax monks taught that since the Jina has gone to liberation and is no

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longer present in the world, the people should make idols of him in order to remember him. The anonymous Marwar Lineage (Marudhar Pattavali), composed in the late-nineteenth century, said that at first the people just made pictures (tasvir) of the Jina on paper. They worshipped the pictures by daubing sandalwood paste on them. But the pictures became covered with sandalwood. After decades of this mode of worship, a lax monk named Ratan decided that using two-dimensional pictures was preventing his gaccha from growing. He made a wooden idol and worshipped it for fifty years. He worshipped the idol by lustrating it, but this caused the wooden idol to mold. He therefore substituted metal and stone idols. When people still did not join his sect, he started to sponsor dramas, and after each performance he gave food to the people. People flocked to the entertainment and feasts, and his sect spread to every village and town. Monks established their own congregations (gaccha) in imitation of Ratan. Laypeople grew attached to their own congregations and monks, and in order to please their teachers they built temples and monasteries in every village and town. Laypeople started to perform grand ceremonies that glorified their own congregations. These included the performance of various forms of fire sacrifice ( jaga or yajna, and homa), the Brahmanical rituals that long have been at the center of Jain criticism due to the excessive harm involved.18 Thus it was that many monks became chaitya-vasis, permanent residents of temples. For many centuries, the monks were pure enough that they could retain the scriptures fully by memorization alone. Nine-hundred and eighty years after Mahavira’s liberation, under the leadership of the Shvetambara monk Devarddhigani Kshamashramana, the scriptures were committed to writing in the town of Valabhi in Gujarat. This marked an evident decline in the spiritual powers of the monks, a decline that had been predicted by Mahavira himself. The eighth lesson of the twentieth chapter of the Blessed Scripture recorded a conversation between Mahavira and his chief disciple Gautama Svami, in which Gautama had asked the Jina how long the full knowledge of his teachings would persist in the world. Mahavira replied that it would last for 1,000 years, and then start to fracture (Deleu 1970: 256). The predominance of the lax monks who promoted an ethic of harm (himsadharma) grew. Vinaychandra and the authors of the other pattavalis referred to them as vesha-dhari (“wearing the apparel”), bhesha-dhari (“bearing the resemblance”), and linga-dhari (“bearing the insignia”). All these terms indicate that the monks merely looked like monks due to their outward clothing and appearance, but did not have the proper inner orientation of true monks. They are also termed gaccha-dhari (“holding to lineages”) to indicate their propagation of divisive sectarian attitudes. These lax monks locked away the scriptures in

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warehouses (bhandara), and in their stead composed new texts. They wrote epics, hymns, commentaries, poems, and all sorts of inventive texts in Sanskrit. In the nineteenth century, when Vinaychandra and the other authors were writing their pattavalis, most Sthanakavasi lineages forbade monks to study Sanskrit. This prevented them from being distracted by the commentaries, and allowed them to focus on the original Prakrit scriptures. We also see that this prohibition assumes that Sanskrit is the language of worldly literature, an activity unsuited for a proper monk. Vinaychandra said that the lax monks hid the true teachings of the Jinas, and in their place propagated an ethic of harm. In place of the conduct of equanimity, renunciation, and asceticism taught by Mahavira, they propagated rituals such as all-night devotional vigils, the worship of books, the playing of music, and the singing of songs.19 According to several pattavalis, among the false practices that were instituted was the ritual of worshipping the living guru.20 The monks composed texts such as the Glory of Shatrunjaya (Shatrunjaya Mahatmya) which said there was merit in going on pilgrimage. In his commentary on Vinaychandra’s text, Hastimal (pp. 132–33) expanded on this to say that Mahavira established the fourfold congregation (sangha) of monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen as a moving ( jangama) tirtha or salvific means, so that it would remain accessible to all people. Unlike many other religious teachers, Mahavira did not believe in the efficacy of physical things, such as the use of material objects in worship (dravya puja) or the worship of places as holy (kshetra puja). In reality, insisted Hastimal, geographic places have no salvific power.21 The lax monks taught the laypeople to perform vows aimed at worldly wellbeing. They introduced the rite of lustration in the worship of Jina idols, and also the offering of fruits, flowers, vegetables, and other sentient objects in that worship. This accustomed the people to accept the death of living beings as part of their regular religious rituals, and so led to a marked decrease in the practice of compassion (daya). By 1,000 years after the liberation of Mahavira, the saving knowledge taught by Mahavira had splintered, just as the light of the sun is lost when it sets. During the next millennium the community was further divided as the different gacchas split off from each other. Each gaccha became corrupt as people fell under the delusion of partisanship. Everyone forgot how to follow the teachings of Mahavira. Gajsingh Rathaur (1987: 622–34), in volume four of the Original History of Jainism, composed under the supervision of Hastimal, has summarized the Sthanakavasi perception of the condition of Jainism in the first half of the second millennium CE. These were the centuries immediately preceding the

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revolutionary reforms that would be initiated by Lonka Shah in the fifteenth century. Rathaur wrote (1987: 622): The scriptures (Agama), which formed a unified whole, were taught by the omniscient, all-seeing Lord Mahavira. They had been gathered together by the chief disciples (ganadhara) of Mahavira. They were preserved in the form of the twelve Limb Scriptures (Anga) by those monks who knew all fourteen Ancient Scriptures (Purva), and then by those who still knew ten Ancient Scriptures. But the temple-dwelling monks, and others who were focused on external material forms rather than inner spiritual truths, introduced into the religious community of Lord Mahavira their own texts, superstitions and rituals in place of the scriptures. Various reform (kriyoddhara) movements arose from time to time to try to uproot these corruptions. But the only result was that the religious community that had been bound together by its single allegiance to Lord Mahavira broke into many small pieces, and the community was colored by mutual strife, hatred and religious frenzy. Rathaur rooted his analysis on the historical writings of the dominant Murtipujaka lineages themselves. These lineages, such as the Kharatara and Tapa Gacchas, have portrayed themselves not as new schisms, but as returns to the original true conduct of Jainism.22 “Reform of conduct” (kriyoddhara) has been a key term in the rhetoric of these lineages.23 A dominant theme in the history of the Murtipujaka lineages has been an oscillation between close involvement in worldly concerns and a criticism of that involvement as lax and inappropriate for world-renouncing monks. The lineages have seen themselves as reformist at heart. While the Murtipujaka lineage texts showed a concern to demonstrate an unbroken continuity between Mahavira and the contemporary lineages, they also gave evidence of the need for repeated movements of reform to return to the original conduct taught by Mahavira. The Sthanakavasis have echoed and even paraphrased the reformist Murtipujakas in their criticism of laxity. This has been a common strategy among aniconic ideologues. Since their own writings can easily be dismissed by their Murtipujaka opponents, they prefer whenever possible to use the Murtipujakas’ own texts against the Murtipujakas. For example, Acarya Tulsi (1914–97), the late leader of the aniconic Shvetambara Terapanth, in both sermons and a 1995 conversation with the author, quoted from the Sanghapattaka (The Proclamation to the Congregation) of Jinavallabhasuri (d. 1111), one of the early ideologues of the Kharatara Gaccha. In particular, he quoted verse 21:

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Bait on a hook appears attractive to an ignorant fish. The Jina image works the same way. It is prepared by people with their own designs, who lure turtles by its beauty. By means of spears in the form of things such as pilgrimage, image-lustration, worship, and nightlong singing vigils, deceitful people who are Jains in name only lead astray the faithful. This verse would appear to condemn images. The commentaries on the text, however, make it clear that Jinavallabhasuri was attacking images that had been installed by lax temple-dwelling chaitya-vasi monks, which he said were unfit for worship due to the monks’ deficient conduct (hinachara). Vinaychandra and other Sthanakavasi authors obviously had read texts such as Jinavallabhasuri’s, and incorporated the reformist Murtipujaka criticism of chaitya-vasi laxity into their own histories as if it were a criticism of the entire cult of images. Rathaur also turned this self-identity of the Murtipujaka lineages, as orthodox and reforming, against the Murtipujaka claims. He described the origin of the Kharatara Gaccha in a successful debate with the temple-dwelling monks in the royal court of King Durlabha in Patan in 1024, when Acharya Vardhamanasuri called on the authority of the Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises (Dashavaikalika Sutra), the chief scripture on mendicant practice. He also related the founding of the Agamika or Scriptural Gaccha in the twelfth century as a reform based on a return to the sole authority of the scriptures.24 However, asserted Rathaur (1987: 633), all of these efforts at reform were incomplete and partial, and resulted only in further divisions in the community, and in further strife, hatred, hostility, and quarrels. Improper conduct was ubiquitous, and even those monks who claimed to be following correct behavior were lax. In fact, they were no more than the equivalent of the temple dwellers (1987: 635).

Lonka Shah and the Reform of Idolatry Let us return to Vinaychandra’s account of Sthanakavasi history, and the revolutionary events of the fifteenth century. According to Vinaychandra, one day in 1474 a lax partisan monk who lived in Ahmedabad decided to take all of the manuscripts under his care out of the warehouse.25 He saw that they were in tatters, and in need of repair. Several of the lineage accounts explain further that the manuscripts had been eaten by insects. This is a common problem in South Asia. One of the functions of the annual autumnal observance of Knowledge Fifth by Murtipujakas, when manuscripts are brought out of the libraries and put on public display, is to inspect them to insure that there is no damage from insects, water, or any of the many other causes of manuscript decay in

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South Asia. The Sthanakavasi authors clearly accuse the Murtipujaka monk of neglecting his responsibilities. In addition, according to the Sthanakavasis the scriptures, not the cumulative mendicant tradition, constitute the primary authority on proper Jain belief and conduct. Those scriptures are maintained in manuscripts, so to neglect the manuscripts is also to disrespect the Jinas’ teachings themselves, and therefore to disregard the true authority within the community. A scribe by the name of Lonka Shah went to see the monk at his monastery.26 The monk asked him to help with copying the manuscripts. Lonka agreed to do so, and the first manuscript which he took to his house to copy was of the Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises. This is the first text studied by a newly initiated monk, as it lays out the basic rules of mendicant conduct (Cort 2001a: 332). It is also the text used by Acharya Vardhamanasuri to refute the conduct of the temple-dwelling monks. While copying the manuscript, Lonka Shah compared the prescribed norms for mendicant conduct contained in the text with what he saw around him, and quickly came to realize that the contemporary conduct was corrupt (bhrasht). In particular, Hastimal says in his commentary on Vinaychandra’s text (p. 136), Lonka read the very first verse of the Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises: Dharma is the holiest thing. It consists of non-harm, equanimity and asceticism. Even the gods revere him whose mind is always on dharma.27 Lonka saw that even though the lax monks might be polite, their conduct was not in accordance with the Jain teachings (dharma). They had abandoned the holy path of non-harm, and instead foolishly followed a path of harm. But he could not criticize the monks, for he needed their cooperation in order to gain continued access to the manuscripts. He applied himself to copying the manuscripts as quickly as he could. He made two copies of each manuscript. One was the copy for the monk, which he duly turned over. He also made a second copy for himself. The Mewar Lineage specified that he worked by day to make the copy for the monk, and by night to make the surreptitious copy that he kept. He was able to copy manuscripts of all thirty-two scriptures, and studied them thoroughly.28 By this noble deed of Lonka, said Vinaychandra, the ill effects of the ashes asterism came to an end, and the true teachings of Mahavira were again available to the people.29 Lonka began to preach in public on the basis of his new understanding of the true meaning of the Jain scriptures. He said that the religious life of a true

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monk involved the very difficult practice of the five great vows (mahavrata) of non-harm, truth, not accepting what is not freely given, celibacy, and nonpossession. As he elaborated on the proper forms of mendicant conduct according to the scriptures, he drew contrasts with the lifestyles of the monks who did not maintain the vows. They wore the clothes and other outward insignia of monks, but in fact were ignorant fools. They were motivated by greed and followed a dharma of harm. Lonka broke off all contact with the fallen monks. He began to gather other like-minded people around him. A wealthy layman named Lakham Singh sponsored a congregational pilgrimage from the town of Arahata to the shrine of Shatrunjaya. The entourage stopped in Lonka’s town when the onset of the rainy season made the roads difficult to travel.30 To continue to travel would also cause harm to the many living creatures in the mud. The pilgrims started attending Lonka’s sermons, and were favorably influenced by them. A lax monk in the group asked Lakham Singh why they had stopped. When he heard Lakham Singh expressing concern about the many living creatures that would be harmed if they continued, the monk replied that harm is inevitable in the pursuit of dharma, and so there is no moral fault (dosh) in it.31 Lakham Singh compared what he heard from the monk with what Lonka preached. He broke with the monk, and he and his followers accepted Lonka as their teacher. Forty-five men renounced the world under Lonka’s instruction. The lax monks called this new, reformed mendicant lineage the Lonka Gaccha out of spite. Some lax monks also saw the truth in what Lonka preached, and so in 1476 a group of monks in the Tapa Gaccha led by its head, Acharya Anandavimalasuri, formally reformed their conduct.32 According to the authors of other Sthanakavasi lineage texts, monks in other lineages also adopted the new reforms, including monks in the Anchala Gaccha in 1546 and monks in the Kharatara Gaccha in 1549.33 The lax monks actively harassed the followers of Lonka. The reformed monks were able to maintain their monastic equanimity, and did not feel any enmity in return. They continued Lonka’s work in spreading the true dharma of compassion (daya). Acharya Hastimal (1971: 84–86) summarized Lonka’s teachings in his Garland of Biographies of the Acharyas. The heart of Lonka’s teachings was that the true dharma is based upon compassion (daya). His opponents said Lonka had many faults (dosh), and accused him of opposing almost everything in the contemporary Shvetambara ritual culture. This was not true; he merely forbade those practices that detracted from the true religion, that is, those that were based upon harm (himsa). Lonka’s belief was that since God himself is dispassionate (vitrag) and faultless (avikari), the worship of God should be in accordance with his character, and so should equally be without any faults. The

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biggest of these was the harm that characterized the worship of idols. With the exception of idol worship, Lonka did not oppose the Murtipujaka rituals themselves as much as he opposed the external ritualism and ostentation that had crept into religion. These expressions inevitably caused both obvious and subtle harm to living beings. On the basis of the scriptural injunction, “there can be no compassion in harm,”34 Lonka opposed these ritual practices.

An Alternative History of Iconoclasm Hastimal was one of the more irenic Jain authors of the twentieth century. While he vigorously defended the aniconism of the Sthanakavasis, he did so in a way that tried to leave open the possibility of ecumenical cooperation with Murtipujaka Jains on other issues. In this, he represented the tradition of those Sthanakavasis in Marwar who were not as strident in their iconoclastic arguments as were Sthanakavasis in other part of India. But the moderate tone of his rhetoric was not always reciprocated. What is perhaps the most sustained Murtipujaka investigation into the life and teachings of Lonka Shah illustrated a willingness to engage in no-holds-barred debate on the issue of icon worship and idolatry. This was the biography of Lonka Shah published in 1936 by Muni Jnansundar, entitled simply Blessed Lonka Shah (Shriman Launka Shah). Muni Jnansundar (pronounced “Gyansundar”) of the Upakesha Gaccha was one of the most strident defenders of icon worship in the first half of the twentieth century.35 He was born into a Sthanakavasi family in a village near Jodhpur in Marwar in 1880. After a series of personal crises, he became increasingly ascetic in his behavior, and eventually took initiation as a Sthanakavasi mendicant in 1906. He came from a local tradition that was not staunchly opposed to icon worship, but as a Sthanakavasi mendicant he was exposed to the debates waged by the ideologues on both sides. His own study of the Shvetambara scriptures convinced him that icon worship was fully supported by the authoritative texts. In 1915, he took a second initiation as a Murtipujaka mendicant from Muni Ratnavijay of the Tapa Gaccha. Ratnavijay urged Jnansundar to revive the small Upakesha Gaccha, then in a condition of desuetude (and now on the brink of extinction). Nonetheless, Jnansundar remained close to the Tapa Gaccha in his practice and institutional orientation. The Upakesha Gaccha appears always to have been relatively close to the Tapa Gaccha on matters of doctrine and practice (Dundas 2007: 129 and 229n152). Jnansundar spent most of his career in the cities and towns of Marwar. He was a towering figure in the local Murtipujaka community, in a part of the country where Sthanakavasis outnumbered Murtipujakas. The Murtipujaka

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community of Jodhpur elevated him to the post of acharya in 1943, with a new name of Devguptsuri. He died in the town of Pali in 1955. Ratnavijay awoke in Jnansundar a love of history and writing, and he dedicated the rest of his life to his scholarly and literary interests. Two of the first books he wrote were Marwari verse texts entitled The Pearl Necklace of the Icon of the Perfected Being (Siddh Pratima Muktavali) and Thirty-Six Verses on Icons (Pratima Chhattisi), both of which were published in 1915. These elicited strong responses from Sthanakavasi iconoclasts, and in the debates during the ensuing decades Jnansundar gave as good as he got. His defense of icon worship, coupled with a pointed criticism of the Sthanakavasi position, culminated in two books he published in 1936: The Ancient History of Icon Worship (Murtipuja ka Prachin Itihas) and Blessed Lonka Shah (Shriman Launkashah). He originally intended these to be issued as a single book, but he had produced so much material that he decided to publish it in two books. Jnansundar’s study of Lonka Shah presents a scholar with difficulties. In the words of Paul Dundas (2002: 247): “Jnansundar was as a historian of Jainism a pugnacious controversialist . . . and his book must be viewed in the context of the sectarian polemics which took place between image-worshippers and the Sthanakavasis in the early decades of the last century.” Jnansundar missed no opportunity to heap scorn upon the Sthanakavasi intellectual tradition. The tone of his writing shows how the public debates of the time were not governed by rules of polite restraint. In tone, Jnansundar frequently was the equal of any contemporary American radio talk-show host. He usually interpreted any information in a light that was as favorable as possible to his argument, and gave short shrift to alternative, less favorable, interpretations. As we will see in chapter 6, he also showed a naive credulity in his acceptance of any and all “facts” that might support the antiquity and universality of icon worship.36 At the same time, as Dundas (2002: 247) further notes, Jnansundar “did display a genuine critical acumen for textual analysis and he exposed many of the inadequacies in the traditional Sthanakavasi account of Lonka”. He was a tireless researcher in the manuscript collections of Marwar, and read widely in the scholarly and polemic literature of his time. His epithet as “Lover of History” (itihas premi) was justly earned. Jnansundar’s lengthy, detailed study of Lonka Shah remains an indispensable source for any historian who wants to study either this important Jain figure, or the history of the Sthanakavasi and Terapanthi traditions.37 But any critical use of Jnansundar’s writings requires the scholar to engage in a painstaking task of separating the factual wheat from the rhetorical chaff.38 Fortunately, I do not have to attempt that here. My interest is not in what Jnansundar has to tell us about the “historical Lonka,” but instead to present

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his rather skeptical and even derisive account of who Lonka “really” was, in contrast to what he saw as invented Sthanakavasi hagiographies. Jnansundar conducted his study to counter the growth among the Sthanakavasis of an account of Lonka Shah that was, as he convincingly argued, to a significant extent fictional. It was created to meet the need for a common narrative of historical origins among the Sthanakavasi communities. They had been largely separate in history, ritual, and lineage since their inceptions in the seventeenth century. In the first half of the twentieth century there was a growing movement to create a single, unified Sthanakavasi community, which culminated in the creation of the Shramana Sangha in 1952 (Flügel 2000: 79–98). A crucial part of this effort was the creation of a single identity, based not on the histories of the different lineages but on a supposedly shared origin in the life and works of Lonka (Flügel 2008b). Most of Jnansundar’s argument was marshaled to show how untenable the Sthanakavasi biographies were. He demonstrated clearly that the twentiethcentury Sthanakavasi authors did not have at hand any sources on the life of Lonka that could be dated confidently to near his lifetime and so be considered authoritative.39 No biography of Lonka was written either by a contemporary or by someone in the immediately subsequent decades. The extant Sthanakavasi traditions about Lonka, therefore, were all based on unreliable oral tradition. In the course of this argument through deconstruction, Jnansundar had to present his own informed opinion concerning the facts of Lonka’s life. The tone of his presentation shows that he doubted most of the claims for the greatness of Lonka, and criticized the very bases of the Sthanakavasi traditions. Again, my goal here is not to assess the “historical Lonka,” whether that of the Sthanakavasi authors or Jnansundar. I aim to contrast the Sthanakavasi narratives of him as one of the great heroes of the Jain tradition with a Murtipujaka counter-narrative of him as a man of at best modest abilities who through his actions, driven by anger and resentment, caused great harm to Jainism. In Jnansundar’s account, Lonka Shah was born in a Jain family in the town of Limbdi, in northeastern Saurashtra. His father died when he was only 8 years old, and his mother when he was 16. The responsibility for raising the fatherless child fell on his mother’s sister’s son. He received a modicum of education as was usual for someone of a merchant caste background, but whatever education he received was in Gujarati language written in Gujarati script. He lacked the money to pursue an education either in worldly commercial and literary subjects, or in religious subjects. Due to this impoverished background his prospects were meager in Limbdi, so he went to Ahmedabad. There he worked as a low-level money changer, sitting in the market exchanging small coins. Since he could write,

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he became a scribe. Just because he could copy letters did not mean that he was a scholar; his was merely a technical skill, not an adjunct of an intellectual life. His abilities as a scribe earned him employment in the Jain monasteries, where he was hired to copy the scriptures. He had studied neither Prakrit nor Sanskrit, nor even the Devanagari script (different from the Gujarati script) in which the scriptures were written, so he was unable to understand what he copied. The Jain monks taught him what he needed to copy the texts, but nothing more. His work in the monasteries was no different from that of non-Jain professional scribes such as Brahmanas. He did not learn the scriptures from an authoritative guru in a proper spirit of humility and devotion. In Jnansundar’s view, Lonka felt that the monks owed him a level of respect that he did not receive, and so he grew angry at both the monks and the larger Jain society that supported the monks. Out of pique he rejected the entire ritual culture of the monks and their lay followers. This included the regular rituals of asceticism, veneration, penance, and confession, in addition to the institutions involved with the worship of icons. He started to agitate against the monks, and gathered a small number of followers around him in a new schismatic sect. It is likely, in Jnansundar’s opinion, that his strident iconoclasm was also due to contact with Muslims and their un-Indian teachings—a subject to which I return in chapter 6. Despite the claims of later authors that he had thousands and even millions of followers, it is unlikely that they numbered more than 150. Lonka had no intellectual training, and so did not teach any specific new rituals or intellectual truths. He merely forbade his followers to practice the rituals of other Jains. He argued that they involved the person in sinful violence, and so should be avoided. The severity of his rejection of the extant ritual culture is clear evidence that he was ignorant of the scriptures, in which there is ample support for that ritual culture. Jnansundar said that the scriptures explain in great detail the need to balance the violence inherent in all human actions with the spiritual benefit gained from performing the traditional rituals. An intelligent Jain can distinguish among the three forms of violence (himsa) described in the scriptures. There is intentional violence (anubandha himsa) which results in great karmic bondage and in many miserable rebirths. There is the unavoidable violence (hetu himsa) caused by the many activities of daily householder life. The regular ritual performance of confession and expiation (pratikramana) is designed to minimize the negative karmic effects of these actions. Finally, there is the incidental violence (svarupa himsa) that is involved in ritual actions such as living as a mendicant or worshipping an icon. If the action is performed with pure intention, then there is no binding of harmful, impure (ashubha) karma. The

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only karmic bondage from such acts is beneficial, pure (shubha) karma. While such karma in the end is an impediment to liberation, it is a beneficial necessity in the spiritual lives of ordinary laypeople and mendicants.40 Lonka, in Jnansundar’s account, understood none of this. He simplistically said that all rituals are sinful acts of violence and so the cause of great karmic bondage and suffering. The details of most of the Jain rituals are found in the various levels of commentary, not in the root Prakrit texts. Lonka rejected the authority of the commentaries, and the cumulative tradition which they represented. He said that the texts used by the Murtipujaka monks were false. Nor did he compose any texts of his own. Of the hundreds of texts composed by Jain authors in the sixteenth century, there is not a single one by Lonka. Jnansundar noted that all the other people who founded religious sects in the sixteenth century— Jains such as Kadua Shah (Dundas 1999a) and Taran Svami (Cort 2006a), Hindus such as Kabir and Ramcharan, and the Sikh founder Nanak—left behind rich textual traditions. Not Lonka. Nor was there any textual or intellectual tradition among his followers. In the 450 years since Lonka, asserted Jnansundar, the iconoclastic Jain traditions did not make a single noteworthy contribution to Prakrit or Sanskrit literature. In the few cases in which his followers did engage with the Shvetambara cumulative textual tradition, they bowdlerized the texts to insult temples and icons. Lonka uprooted the very foundation of the true Jain teachings by attacking the extant scriptures, and replaced them with his own set of only thirty-two texts. Jnansundar said that it is not possible to establish a viable and sustainable religious community without an adequate ritual foundation. Over time Lonka’s anger at the Jain monks subsided, and he came to realize just how much harm he had done. As a result, he taught his followers that their wholesale rejection of the Jain rituals was wrong, and so they gradually readopted the ritual culture of the Murtipujakas. Contrary to the picture of contemporary Jain society painted by the Sthanakavasi authors, in Jnansundar’s opinion there had been no pressing need for reform. The vast majority of Jain monks followed the orthodox pattern of an itinerant life. The conduct of some of them was indeed lax, but it was not altogether corrupt. Some monks lived in monasteries rather than a life of peripatetic mendicancy, but they no longer lived in temples as had been the practice of the medieval chaitya-vasis. Further, these resident monks played an important role in influencing kings and so providing royal support for Jains and Jain institutions. The Sthanakavasi authors claimed that Lonka Shah through his revolutionary reforms had broken the power of the ashes asterism, and allowed the

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glory of Jainism once again to shine forth. Jnansundar disagreed. In truth, he said, the destructive actions of Lonka demonstrated that he himself was under the baleful influence of the ashes asterism, and his desperate actions were the last effects of its cruel power. By starting his own sect, Lonka broke the formerly unified Jain community into many small pieces. The history of Jainism in western India had been one of strong connections between the monastic leaders and a number of merchant castes. Lonka destroyed these connections. For many centuries Jainism had been a vibrant missionary tradition, with new castes joining the fold due to the uplifting teachings of the monks. Ever since Lonka’s time the pattern of conversions to Jainism had stopped. NonJains were repulsed by the dirty, unspiritual practices advocated by Lonka, and so the beneficial influence of other Jains was lessened.41 Whereas there were 70,000,000 Jains at the time of Lonka Shah, due to the dissension he caused there were only 2,300,000 Jains by the time Jnansundar was writing in the 1930s. Mahavira had foretold that the community of Jains he founded, comprised of monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen, would last for 21,000 years. Just 2,000 years after Mahavira, Lonka Shah had obliterated the institution of Jain monks, and instead had some of his own followers don the garb of monks without proper initiation from real monks. At the same time, concluded Jnansundar, the opposition to Lonka’s so-called reforms, in particular his criticism of temples and temple culture, energized the Jain community. There was renewed attention paid to temples and icons, as seen by the historical evidence of the many inscriptions from Lonka’s time and the subsequent decades.

Iconoclasm and Reform of Ritual and Theology The Sthanakavasi narratives of the rise of idolatry and the Murtipujaka narratives of the rise of iconoclasm bear striking similarities. They are not exact mirror images of each other, for there are important differences as well. But the overlap shows that the two share an understanding as to what major issues were at stake in the changes or reforms initiated by Lonka. They also allow us to see some of the broader features of iconoclasm as a social, cultural, and religious phenomenon in human history, and the ways that the Sthanakavasis fit into that history. Both narratives agree that the authority of the scriptures is at the heart of the disagreement. The Sthanakavasi narratives locate the authority for proper monastic conduct in the Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises, as it was Lonka’s reading of this text that first opened his eyes to the ways that the monks he

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knew were not following the scriptural authority. Instead, the monks had long since locked away the proper Prakrit-language scriptural authorities, and in their stead taken to composing their own imaginative poetic and narrative texts in the non-scriptural language of Sanskrit. When the idolatrous monks did consult the scriptures, they ignored the clear meaning of the Prakrit root texts in favor of their own fanciful commentaries. The return to the pristine teachings of Mahavira entailed a return to the original teachings in Ardha-Magadhi Prakrit, shorn of the commentarial accretions.42 Murtipujakas agree on the centrality of the Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises, as it is still studied by new monks in order to learn the basics of monastic conduct. But Murtipujakas insist that this and other Prakrit scriptures can be understood only as mediated by the conjoined authority of the Prakrit and Sanskrit commentaries and the living monastic tradition of teachers. The Murtipujaka narratives see as clear evidence of Lonka’s willful and prideful ignorance that he rejected the commentaries and thought he could understand the scriptures by studying them on his own. As we saw in chapter 2, the Murtipujakas say that the root texts remain asleep without the commentaries. In the words of the seventeenth-century Yashovijaya, in one of his many texts written to defend icons, the meaning of scripture is tightly bound in the root texts. To understand the full meaning one needs the expanded reading found in the commentaries: “The meaning that is tightly bound in the sutra [root scripture] is expanded in the vast niryukti [explanation]. How can those who do not avail themselves of this expansion adequately study the path?”43 Further, one cannot read the texts on one’s own and come to an accurate understanding of them. One must study the scriptures from a proper authority: This is only an initiated monk whose pupilic succession stretches back directly to Mahavira. The ritual practice around which this disagreement most visibly centered was the worship of images—holy icons for the Murtipujakas, but false idols for the Sthanakavasis. The Sthanakavasis argued that there was no scriptural authority for this practice, while the Murtipujakas argued that there was. The argument was not only a matter of scriptural authority. It also was an argument, as we have seen, concerning whether or not the worship of images contravenes the central Jain ethical imperative of ahimsa or non-harm. The Sthanakavasis said that it does, and that they promoted an ethic of compassion (daya dharma) in contrast to the idolatrous ethic of harm (himsa dharma). The Murtipujakas obviously disagreed, saying that the Sthanakavasi argument showed that they were simple-minded fundamentalists who lacked the education in scriptural hermeneutics necessary to read the texts properly. An educated person, according to the Murtipujakas, understands that harm is not a simple matter of right and wrong, non-harm and harm. There are complicated

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degrees of harm inevitably involved in any and all actions performed by human beings as embodied creatures, and so one needs a way of evaluating actions less on their crude externals and more on the internal intentions of the actors. Where the two narratives do not agree is in the extent to which Lonka and his followers rejected not only image-worship but also the entirety of the Jain ritual culture. Sthanakavasi authors say that he rejected only idolatry, but retained the many rituals focused on asceticism, renunciation, and equanimity. Murtipujaka authors, on the other hand, accused him of rejecting the entirety of Jain ritual practice, and so rejecting the rich tradition handed down to present-day Jains by the succession of wise and authentic teachers. This Sthanakavasi rejection of idolatry and the commentaries—and, according to the Murtipujakas, the entirety of tradition—bears striking similarities to the critique of idols and tradition (as embodied in the authoritative teachers and the texts that serve as commentaries upon the original scriptures) found in the Protestant Christianity. At the same time, a comparison of the two iconoclastic “reforms” shows significant differences that better allows us to see Sthanakavasi iconoclasm in the broader context of global religious history.44 Both the Sthanakavasi and Reformation movements involved a thoroughgoing rejection of images as idols. The tangible results of the two iconoclasms were seen in the buildings themselves. As opposed to elaborate, richly ornamented Catholic churches, the Protestants preferred simpler structures. The most extreme of these in the Reformed traditions were whitewashed and devoid of all but the simplest architectural ornamentation.45 Ulrich Zwingli exclaimed after the cleansing and whitewashing of the churches in Zurich in June and July of 1524: “In Zurich we have churches which are positively luminous; the walls are beautifully white!” (quoted in Garside [1966: 160]). Similarly, the Sthanakavasis abandoned the lavish and colorful Murtipujaka temples, and took to performing congregational rituals of preaching and asceticism in plain, unmarked buildings known as sthanakas. Protestants whenever possible took over Catholic churches and converted them to their own use. Enough aspects of the Catholic and Protestant ritual cultures were the same that, with the removal of images and other ceremonial trappings, and the addition of pews so that the assembled congregation could comfortably sit to listen to lengthy expositions of the Word, existing Catholic churches served the needs of Protestants. Jain temples cannot be transformed in a similar manner, so Sthanakavasis did not convert Murtipujaka temples to their own ends. Instead, the Sthanakavasis simply opted out of the Murtipujaka ritual culture altogether, and established their own buildings for preaching and other rituals.

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In both cases, the rejection of idols was tied directly to a rejection of the authority of the commentarial and teaching tradition in favor of a return to the fundamentals of the original scriptures as the sole authority. Only these texts were seen as divinely inspired, and so providing a model for contemporary religious life. In response, Murtipujaka authors said that nothing good could come from untrained laity attempting to read the scriptures without aid of either the authoritative interpretive community as embodied in the living monks or the commentaries. In a similar vein, Catholic defenders of the orthodox Christian tradition of interpretation and commentary argued: “[W]hen the unlearned meddled with the Bible they fell into all manner of error” (Fernández-Armesto and Wilson 1996: 42). Protestant reformers emphasized sola scriptura, the Bible alone as authoritative text, whereas the Catholics argued: “[T]he Bible was a crucial text but it had to be interpreted in the light of subsequent Christian teaching” (Gray 2003: 61). Madeleine Gray goes on to explain the basis of the Catholic emphasis on tradition: To avoid the possibility of disputes over interpretation, the Church claimed that its collective decisions embodied the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Christ had promised to leave the Holy Spirit to guide his followers: and the Holy Spirit spoke through the voice of the church, through councils and (increasingly) with the authoritative voice of the Pope. Acting on the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the church also claimed the power to deduce doctrine from the Bible and even to add to it with the authority of tradition. Catholics believed that the Bible, the Word of God, could be understood only on the basis of the tradition embodied by the church. For this reason, they vigorously opposed translating the Bible into vernacular languages. Protestants, on the other hand, emphasized “the authority of ‘the Word’ against that of an institutional church which they later denounced as hopelessly corrupt and antichristian” (Cameron 1991: 136). The return to the original scriptures was also seen as a return to the original simplicity of the first community—the early church with its basis in the lives of Jesus and his apostles, and the early Jain sangha with its basis in the life of Mahavira and his immediate disciples. This is a pattern noted more broadly among iconoclastic movements: “Although it always tends to appear as a relatively recent, revolutionary breakthrough, overturning some previous established cult of image-worship . . . [iconoclasm] regularly presents itself as the most ancient form of religion—a return to primitive Christianity, or to the

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religion of the first human creatures, before a ‘fall’ which is always understood as a fall into idolatry” (Mitchell 1986: 198). The subsequent social and artistic elaborations of tradition were seen as abhorrent aberrations, as an idolatrous obscuring of the primal simplicity of the divine revelation by the many productions of human pride and hubris. Felipe Fernández-Armesto and Derek Wilson (1996: 39) have noted: “[H]oly simplicity is always a reproof to religious establishments.” Idols were seen in both cases as among the most visually obvious examples of a sinful desire to ornament ostentatiously and unnecessarily what in truth was a simple and direct message. The Protestant emphasis on a return to the Biblical simplicity of the original Christian community also entailed a broader social agenda. Some Protestants, especially the Lutherans, were content to let most of the existing social order remain. Luther and his followers worked closely with princes and other members of the existing social and political hierarchy; conversion should be an orderly, top-down process. Others, especially the Calvinists, emphasized a more thorough social reform, with the creation of a more democratic, less hierarchical, holy community. Radical reformers such as Thomas Müntzer took the most extreme position. He preached against all those with money and in positions of religious or secular authority, and some radicals even said that the model of the church found in the Bible argued for the abolition of private property. The radicals participated in the peasant uprisings of the mid-1520s in southern Germany known as the Peasant’s War, and believed that only violence would cleanse the earth and bring about the Kingdom of God.46 This conjoining of a religious and a social agenda is missing in the Sthanakavasi case. Lonka Shah and his followers were concerned to reform Jain ritual culture, but this did not extend to a message of broader social reform. Rarely in any Jain writings do we ever find anything resembling a comprehensive discussion of the ideal society, and in this the Sthanakavasis were no exception. The millenarian doctrines of Christianity make it possible to imagine an ideal Christian society, in which the purity of heaven is realized on earth. For Jains, society at best is still part of the world of samsara, of suffering and rebirth. Jains have been unanimous that the religious path at some point requires the renunciation of society, not its transformation. Lonka Shah did not attempt to change the society of western India, nor did the Sthanakavasi reform lead to any significant social change. Lonka certainly did not advance a theology of violence as redemptive such as that found in the writing and preaching of some of the radical Protestant reformers, nor did he lead an army to defeat his opponents. As a result, Lonka also avoided the fate of the Calvinist reformer Ulrich Zwingli, who was found wounded on the battlefield after his Protestant troops from Zürich were defeated by a Catholic army: “[H]e was slain, quartered, burned,

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and his ashes mixed with dung and scattered about so that Protestants would have no relics to inspire and console them” (Ozment 1980: 338). The rejection of the elaborate developments of the cumulative tradition also led in both cases to a degree of anticlericalism. The Protestants rejected the authority of the clerical hierarchy headed by the Pope and represented locally by his bishops, priests, and monks. Lonka Shah rejected the authority of the lax monks and their lay followers. Protestant anticlericalism was tied to a theological concept of “the priesthood of all believers.” Instead of priests who had gone through a special sacramental transformation and so were qualified to perform the holy mystery of the Mass, Protestants had ministers, men who had undergone training in how to preach God’s Word as found in the Bible, but who otherwise were no different from everyone else. As a result, Protestants also rejected the special institution of monasticism, and the belief that a life regulated by extraordinary vows allowed one to lead a life of greater sanctity. In his early preaching career it appears that Lonka held a somewhat similar position, as he possibly did not renounce the world to become a monk.47 In this, he seems to have shared certain suspicions about the very possibility of being a true monk in the current age with his near contemporary Kadua Shah (Dundas 1999a), a position that has been held by other lay Jains in the subsequent centuries.48 The narratives given earlier indicate that many of his followers did become monks, and the history of the later Sthanakavasi tradition is certainly one in which monastic renunciation is at its heart. Lonka did not disagree with the shared Jain understanding that a life of vowed renunciation is essential for the spiritual path; he simply said that the extant monks of his time were not following those vows. While icons may have been the most visible signs of Catholic idolatry for the Protestants, and therefore their removal and destruction as false idols the most visible sign of Protestant iconoclasm, they were by no means the only aspect of Catholic material culture that the Protestants attacked. “There were also attacks on the relics of the saints and on the things used by the Catholics for their sacraments. Holy water was defiled, Communion wafers were trampled in the mud, holy oil was taken for boot polish” (Gray 2003: 135). The entirety of Catholic material culture was seen as representing the priestly hierarchy and privilege that the Protestants were seeping away. The Protestants were also “cleaning house” theologically, as they rejected the elaborate Catholic economy of salvation, in which relics and other sacred objects were intermediaries that brought holiness tangibly into the lives of Christians, and saints and the Virgin Mary were intermediaries to whom one could pray for guidance, comfort, and protection. Since the majority of icons were of either saints or the Virgin

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Mary, for most Protestant reformers the problem of idols and the problem of the improper worship of saints were inextricably linked. As Bryan Mangrum and Giuseppe Scavizzi (1991: 7–8) say of Andreas Karlstadt, who was at first strongly influenced by Martin Luther but then moved beyond Luther to adopt more radical positions on many issues, he “does not clearly separate the problem of images from the problem of the cult of the saints. Images, although they have taken a life of their own, are for him above all the medium of the idolatrous cult of the saints.” The Protestants rejected the intermediary role of Mary and the saints, and directed the focus of their prayers and devotion solely upon the Triune God. In this they were influenced by the humanist critic Desiderius Erasmus, whose writings provided the framework for many of the reformers’ arguments. In a short Latin poem written in 1510 or 1511, The Expostulation of Jesus with Mankind, Perishing by its Own Fault,49 Erasmus had Christ himself bemoan the fact the most Christians mistakenly turned elsewhere in their prayers—and by implication, therefore, saints and idols—rather to Christ. Protestants followed Erasmus. Ulrich Zwingli in particular “declared that he owed his belief in Christ as the only true mediator between God and Man to the message contained in the Expostulatio” (Reedijk [1956: 293]; see also Miller and Vredeveld [1993: 498], Garside [1966: 94]). Citing passages from the Bible that describe Jesus Christ as the only savior, the only intercessor before God, and the only mediator between God and humanity, the Protestants simply said, in the words of the Lutheran Augsburg Confession of 1530: “[I]t cannot be proved from the Scriptures that we are to invoke saints or seek help from them” (Noll 1991: 96). This echoed the similar affirmation of Zwingli, one of the founders in Zurich of the Reformed wing of the Reformation. In his Sixty-Seven Articles of 1523, written in the context of a debate with a spokesperson of the established Catholic Church, and subsequently adopted by the Zurich city council, Zwingli affirmed, “Christ is the only Mediator between God and us” (Noll 1991: 41).50 A generation later, John Calvin, the great systematizer of Reformed Protestantism, wrote in his 1559 Institutes of the Christian Religion, “Regarding the saints . . . let us not even dream that they have any other way to petition God than through Christ, who alone is the way [John 14:6]. . . . Now Scripture recalls us from all to Christ alone. . . . Therefore, it was the height of stupidity, not to say madness, to be so intent on gaining access through the saints as to be led away from him” (Calvin 1960: 879). This Protestant rejection of the saints and other intermediaries between humanity and God was a major step in the long historical process that Max Weber (1946: 139–56, 1958: 105–18;) has called the “disenchantment of the world” and the “rationalization of the world.”51 The earlier medieval Catholic world was one full of magic and miracles, inhabited by innumerable saints who

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acted as intermediaries between humanity and God. It was a world suffused with sacred presences, in which God’s presence is experienced as multiple and varied. Increasingly the Protestant (and post-Protestant) world is seen as a machine, made only of inert matter, and devoid of mystery. Nothing in this world mediates between the person and the one God. It does not appear that Lonka Shah’s iconoclasm was accompanied by a similar “disenchantment of the world” nor a “monotheizing” of Jainism. While there has been almost no research on Sthanakavasi attitudes toward the many unliberated gods and goddesses with whom Jains ritually interact, Sthanakavasis evidently did not reject these deities out of hand.52 This is not to say that Jains have not voiced criticisms of the worship of unliberated gods and goddesses. The medieval Shvetambara Tristuti Gaccha, and its contemporary but historically unrelated namesake, both rejected the inclusion of hymns to the goddess of scripture (Shrutadevi) and the local protector god (Kshetrapala) in the performance of the regular rite of confession (pratikramana) (Wiley 2004: 27). The contemporary Digambar Terapanth also rejects the worship of these deities (Cort 2002c: 57). This criticism was not adopted by Lonka Shah.53 Another significant difference between the Protestant and Sthanakavasi criticisms of images lies in the application of ethics. As we saw, central to Lonka’s rejection of idols was that their worship inevitably entailed unacceptable levels of violence (himsa). In the standard Shvetambara rite of worshipping an icon the worshipper makes offerings of flowers; plucking the flowers harms the plant. He offers cooked food, which entails violence to fire bodies in its preparation. The offerings of incense and a lamp similarly involve the harmful use of fire. The worshipper bathes the icon, resulting in harm to water bodies, as well as the needless birth and death of innumerable invisible microorganisms in the waste water. From this perspective, image worship is nothing but a giant battleground, in which the person ignorantly causes the death and destruction of countless beings, and so binds vast amounts of harmful karma to his soul. One does not find such an argument in the Protestant case, for the simple reason that the nonhuman world is not understood in Christian metaphysics to be inhabited by beings that possess immortal souls. Christianity does not enjoin the wanton and senseless destruction of the nonhuman world, for this would violate God’s commands to humanity to act as stewards over the natural world. But the nonhuman is not a significant ethical arena for Christians, in the way it is for Jains. Instead, Christian arguments advanced against the culture of icons criticize them as a senseless waste of valuable resources that could better be used to help the poor. This argument was most famously advanced by the Catholic Cistercian monk St. Bernard of Clairvaux in his letter sent in about 1125 to

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William, Abbot of St. Thierry. In this letter, Bernard said that all the expensive ornamentation in churches was of no use to the poor: “The church is resplendent in her walls, beggarly in her poor; she clothes her stones in gold, and leaves her sons naked; the rich man’s eye is fed at the expense of the indigent. The curious find their delight here, yet the needy find no relief” (Bernard [1957: 20]; see also Freedberg [1989: 301–02]). While he did not totally condemn icons and church adornment, he stressed that expenditure on them should be in proportion to the tangible needs of the poor for Christian charity. Similar arguments against the excessive spending on icons and other church ornamentation were made by various of the later Protestant reformers.54 Ulrich Zwingli wrote in his 1523 Conclusions, his blueprint for a reformed Christian church, “the money which had for centuries been poured into church art to mirror and secure the glory of the world hereafter must go instead to provide for the poor in this world here and now” (Garside 1966: 108). Protestant ministers preached about this, and people engaged in the iconoclastic cleansing of the churches of all idols acted on it. Thus, in September 1523, when one Klaus Hottingre and two accomplices removed a large and beautiful wooden crucifix from a church in Zurich, he said that their intention was “that they should sell the wood and give the money got from it to the poor people who could make best use of it” (quoted in Garside [1966: 119]). In the fiftieth of his famous Ninety-five Theses of 1517, Martin Luther said that the basilica of St. Peter in Rome, which was then under construction, was being built “with the skin, flesh, and bones” of average Christians (Luther 1957a:30). He repeated this the next year in his Explanations of the Ninety-Five Theses, where he said of the kinds of “good works that can be done by expending money” that “the first and foremost consists of giving to the poor or lending to a neighbor who is in need and in general of coming to the aid of anyone who suffers, whatever may be his need.” He continued to say: “This work ought to be done with such earnestness that even the building of churches must be interrupted and the taking of offerings for the purchase of holy vessels and for the decoration of churches be discontinued” (Luther 1957b:199). Finally, he wrote in his 1520 Long Sermon on Usury: Now we would not disallow the building of suitable churches and their adornment; we cannot do without them. . . . But there should be a limit to this, and we should take care that the appurtenances of worship be pure, rather than costly. . . . It would be satisfactory if we gave the smaller proportion to churches, altars, vigils, bequests, and the like, . . . so that among Christians charitable deeds done to the poor would shine more brightly than all the churches of wood and stone. (Luther 1962: 285–86)

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Here, we see a Christian concern to balance the glorification of God with the Christian ethical demands of human justice. Both the Sthanakavasis and Protestants make ethical arguments against icons; but the very different contexts within which the two ethical systems work mean that the ethical arguments themselves are also quite different. A third significant difference between the Protestant and Sthanakvasi iconoclasms stems from the significant ways in which the debates around icons in Christianity have been closely tied to understandings of the meaning of the Eucharist.55 In brief, the iconophilic Orthodox traditions, both Eastern and Western, have accepted that through the mystery of transubstantiation there is the real presence of Christ in the host. The more extreme iconoclastic Protestants such as Zwingli and Calvin denied that there was any real presence in the host; the Eucharist is only a symbolic act. Luther, who criticized the worship of icons, but opposed the radical iconoclastic cleansing of churches of all icons and art, also held a middle position on the Eucharist: He rejected transubstantiation, but accepted the real presence of Christ. Clearly, there were very different fault lines in the Jain case. There is no ritual or matter in Jainism that in any way approximates the Eucharist and the host, so what are distinctively Christian problems do not arise in Jainism. But we also find in Jainism that the iconophily of the Murtipujakas does not translate directly into an acceptance of any sort of real presence of the Jina. Both Sthanakavasi and Murtipujaka philosophers agree that after nirvana the Jina is present only in the realm of perfection (siddha loka) at the top of the universe, and cannot enter into this world in the ways that interactive deities do in Hinduism, Christianity, Islam, and Judaism.56 Whereas iconoclasm in Christianity is related to the sacramental denial of real presence, and a broader desacralizing of the world, in Jainism one sees simultaneously iconophily and a denial of real presence. At the heart of the Protestant Reformation was a profound theological revisioning of the very basis of salvation. The Catholic tradition emphasizes living a life enveloped in the salvific framework of the seven sacraments. All people receive five of them: baptism, confirmation, the Eucharist or Mass, penance, and extreme unction or “last rites.” The other two are optional, and in fact mutually exclusive: marriage and priestly ordination. According to Catholic understanding, each of these is an encounter between the earthly and the sacred: “[A] physical act or object which becomes charged with spiritual meaning and thus can convey or confer grace” (Gray 2003: 40). Luther’s revolution rejected the belief that the sacraments can convey salvation. Instead, he argued for sola fide, justification or salvation “by faith alone,” through grace alone. As Lutherans profess, according to the Augsberg

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Confession, “It is also taught among us that we cannot obtain forgiveness of sin and righteousness before God by our own merits, works, or satisfactions, but that we receive forgiveness of sin and become righteous before God by grace, for Christ’s sake, through faith” (Noll 1991: 88–89). Catholics do not deny a vital place to faith, but they do not view it as the sole means of salvation. Faith and the “good works” of the sacraments mutually reinforce each other, leading the person gradually toward salvation. Luther argued that nothing a person does can save him or her; salvation comes only through the grace of God. The person responds to God’s gift of grace by returning faith, an “assent to and acceptance of things known and hidden” (Cameron 1991: 118). The performance of the sacraments and other good works should flow naturally from this faith, but they are insufficient to save one without it. As Luther preached in Wittenberg in 1522 in a series of sermons in which he laid out the basic ideology of the Lutheran Reformation, the problem with images was less the abuse of people worshipping them, and more the common practice and belief that “whoever places an image in a church imagines he has preformed a service to God and done a good work, which is downright idolatry” (Luther 1959: 84). The real idolatry of idols for Luther was not so much the worshipping of material images as it was the prideful and sinful assumption that a person by installing and venerating them can on his or her own advance toward salvation. Luther’s emphasis on faith alone, elaborated and modified by other and later reformers, marked a momentous break with the past, as it involved a radically new understanding of the central message of Christianity. Despite the fact that many modern Sthanakavasi authors invoke Luther as a fellow iconoclast of Lonka Shah, the bases of their rejections of idols were significantly different, and as a result had very different results. No great sea change occurred in Jain doctrine due to the reforms launched by Lonka Shah and his followers. The differences in the ritual cultures of the Sthanakavasis and Murtipujakas are obvious and significant, and relations between the two groups have frequently been strained and even acrimonious. But the doctrinal differences between the two are slight compared with those between Protestants and Catholics. Lonka Shah objected to and rejected certain elements of a shared ritual culture. The Protestants rejected nearly the totality of the Catholic tradition and replaced it, albeit in a process which is still ongoing five centuries later, with something new. In sum, we see that there are some similar elements in the iconoclasm of the Sthanakavasis and the Protestants, especially as they link the rejection of idols with a devaluation of the authority of the cumulative tradition in favor of a return to the original scripture. But the differences far outweigh the similarities. Protestant iconoclasm is rooted in a drastic reformulation of the very basis

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of salvation, as based on God’s gift of grace and the corresponding human response of faith, instead of the saving power of sacramental rituals. It is tied to a vision of a new social order, in which all of human society should be reordered in imitation of the original radical simplicity of the first church. It is also tied to a new vision of the world, in which the natural and sacred realms are stripped of all the intermediaries standing between the individual and God. The Protestant Reformation, in other words, was much more far-reaching in its goals than was the Sthanakavasi reform.

Idolatry, Iconoclasm, Tradition, and Fundamentalism Richard Davis (2005) has written about iconoclasm in what he calls, explicitly importing a term from Gabrial A. Almond, R. Scott Appleby, and Emmanuel Sivan (2003), an age of “strong religion.” They prefer this term to “fundamentalism,” and use it to characterize religious movements that are “militant and highly focused antagonists of secularization” (2003: 2). Davis (2005: 265) observes that iconoclasm is a “tactic of choice among some adherents of strong religion”. This is not, however, iconoclasm such as we see in the writings and works of Lonka Shah and his followers. They launched sharp critiques against Jain idols and idolators, but did not, as far as we know, ever harm an image or temple. Adherents of strong religion, on the other hand, prefer “highly public, in-your-face iconoclasm” (2005: 265), such as the destruction of the Babri Mosque in Ayodhya, the giant Buddha images in Bamiyan, and the World Trade Center in New York City. They seek to scandalize, and thereby forcefully reject the presumptions of civility and shared Enlightenment values of the secular world. They see these values as in fact oppressing religion, and only extreme acts of iconoclasm can suffice to shake and, they hope, shatter the existing hierarchies of secularism.57 Lonka Shah and his followers clearly fit into a broad, and perhaps loose, but literal definition of “fundamentalism.” Like all reformers everywhere, they called for a return to the original fundamentals of the religion. In their case, this was a simple, unostentatious community, based on the authority of those texts in Ardha-Magadhi Prakrit which contain the words of Mahavira himself. It was a community that observed only those rituals and practices found in the teachings of Mahavira, and therefore rejected idols and temples since they were introduced into the tradition centuries after Mahavira by proud and ignorant false monks. Lonka Shah and his followers do not, however, fit into the “strong religion” definition of fundamentalism. Obviously, they did not attack secularism, as the

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concept and therefore the episteme did not even exist at the time, and has only slowly come into being in India with a distinctively Indian shape over the past several centuries (Madan 1997, 2006). Neither did they attack the contemporary shared and cosmopolitan culture of Jain, Hindu, Muslim, and nonreligious western India. Their goal was to return Jains to the true, original practices of Jainism, not to remake all of society in their own image.58 I would hesitate to label the religion of Lonka Shah and the Sthanakavasis as “weak”—he clearly was a forceful personality, who brought about changes still in effect 500 years later. But a comparison of the forms of iconoclasm advocated and practiced by Lonka Shah and the Sthanakavasis with other forms—those of the Protestant Reformation, and the practitioners of “strong religion” in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries—allows us to see clearly what Sthanakavasi iconoclasm is not, as well as what it is.

6 The Inevitability of Tangible Form: A Natural Theology of Icons

In the twentieth century, new narratives in defense of icons arose within the Jain intellectual traditions. Earlier narratives were situated, as we have seen, almost totally within a distinctly and solely Jain framework. Even though Jains have always been a minority community in India, and oftentimes a tiny minority, most Jain narratives exist within a conceptual universe that is largely Jain. Non-Jains impinge upon these narratives rarely, and when they do it is not as significant players. At best, non-Jains are ignorant and spiritually less evolved figures who cause problems. That social worldview changes with the twentieth-century narratives. As a result of the large-scale social, political, economic, and cultural processes that fall within the broad rubrics of colonialism, modernity, and globalization, Jain narratives about icons began to take ever greater cognizance of the larger non-Jain world. We find arguments for icons that marshal evidence from other times and other places, from other cultures and religions, to defend the practice of icon worship as a universal—and hence natural—cultural and religious practice. While these external sources never supplant the traditional Jain sources of authoritative knowledge—the scriptures and the properly initiated mendicant teachers—they do take on a role of important and valid supporting evidence rarely given to non-Jain sources in premodern times. In this chapter I look at the writings of four twentieth-century Shvetambara Murtipujaka mendicant intellectuals, all of whom made

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similar arguments concerning the “naturalness,” and even the psychological unavoidability, of icons and their worship. All four of them were deeply involved in a widespread debate between Murtipujakas and Sthanakavasis concerning icons, a debate carried on in sermons, live debates, and writing. This debate dominated Shvetambara society in the last third of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth. Much of what was written was published as pamphlets. Other sources were locally published and distributed books, and articles in journals distributed solely within Jain circles. Much of this material did not survive, and what did is often difficult to find.1 I doubt the four authors ever all met each other. The later ones must have been aware of the earlier ones, and it is obvious that they read each others’ writings. At the same time, their arguments are found in books, pamphlets, and articles by other authors (both mendicant and lay) from the time. My goal here is not to trace a genealogy of the arguments, but instead to analyze some of the underlying threads.

The Eternality of Material Form (and Therefore Icons) We have already encountered the idiosyncratic, argumentative, but historically astute Muni Jnansundar in the previous chapter. Among his most important works, written after several decades of research and preliminary publications, was his 1936 The Ancient History of Icon Worship (Murtipuja ka Prachin Itihas). He began the book by locating the worship of icons in Jain cosmology and metaphysics. In the very first sentence of his book he asserted, “The history of icon worship is of the same antiquity as the human species” (1936a: 1).2 According to Jain cosmology, the world has no beginning. If both matter and humanity are beginningless, then according to Jnansundar, their interaction and thus the human use of matter are also beginningless. By locating human interaction with matter in the timelessness of eternity, he removed it from any historical critique. History is the narration of beginnings and subsequent developments, and therefore of humanly created institutions and practices. Since icons are material forms, Jnansundar asserts that they are outside any such history: “If humanity is beginningless and endless, then icon worship (murti puja) is also beginningless and endless. There is no basis for scholars to doubt this” (1936a: 1). Jnansundar concluded this initial assertion by saying, “Icon worship (murti puja) has an intimate connection with the universe, because the universe is simply a mass of substances with form (murtiman padarth)” (1936a: 1). Jnansundar rooted icons and icon worship in Jain metaphysics. Jainism is a materialist philosophical system, which accepts the eternal existence of

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six eternal substances (dravya). These are divided into matter and five immaterial verities: soul, motion, rest, space, and time.3 Jain metaphysics distinguishes between soul, which is alive, and the other five substances, which are not, but here Jnansundar wanted to stress the eternal verity of matter. Further, he stressed that matter by its very nature has form. The word he used here, murtiman, is inextricably related to the most common word for icon, murti, and so Jnansundar implied that Jain materialist metaphysics inevitably entails a defense of icons and therefore of icon worship. Jnansundar then continued to build his defense of icon worship upon the foundation of Jain metaphysics. While consciousness is a trait of the soul, the soul depends upon the body and its sense organs for its knowledge: “Knowledge of the five formless (amurt) substances4 comes through the substance that has form (murt)” (1936a: 1). We will return to this argument, for it is one that other Jain defenders of icon worship also made, and we find it in non-Jain iconic religious traditions as well. Jnansundar (1936a: 1-2) concluded this opening metaphysical defense of icons by further locating it in the very nature of the universe: Since the verity of matter, which has form (murt), is beginningless, then how can there be any doubt that form/icon worship (murti puja) is endless? None whatsoever. . . . No matter what the field—scientific, commercial, religious—there can be no knowledge without a form/icon (murti), nor is it possible to accomplish any task [without using forms]. Whether one is the tiniest infant or the most spiritually advanced yogi, the first thing one needs to accomplish anything is a form/icon (murti). There are no two opinions about this among contemporary intellectuals. Everyone is of one opinion in their belief in form/icon (murti). The principle of icon worship (murti puja) is universal. It can never have been absent from the universe. Just as gold and yellowness are inseparable, so the universe and universally venerable icon worship (murti puja) are also inseparable. Given this, not believing in icons (murti) is a form of murdering nature (prakriti). Jnansundar in this passage made two linguistic jumps to establish his point. The first, which makes for an awkward translation at best, and that I have indicated by the ungainly phrase “form/icon,” played on the multiple yet overlapping meanings of the noun murti and its related adjectival forms murt and murtiman. Murt at its most basic refers to anything that has a material form.

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R. S. McGregor (1993: 829) adds that it refers to anything that is tangible or perceptible. A murti, therefore, is “any body having material form.”5 It is an all-encompassing noun for anything material: a murti can be a human body, a rock, a molecule, or a star. Murtiman is an adjective derived from the noun, referring again to anything that has a material form. Murtiman can also function as a noun. Jnansundar was therefore simply saying that the universe is filled with material forms. This is basic Jain metaphysics, and this acceptance of the ultimate reality of material form is a significant part of what distinguishes Jainism as a philosophical system from idealistic Indian philosophies such as the monistic schools of Vedanta and some Buddhist schools. Having gotten his (Jain) reader to accede to the universality of form, and therefore by his linguistic sleight of hand to accede to the universality of icons, Jnansundar made a further jump. He again started with an obvious and incontrovertible statement: As embodied beings, as ourselves being murtiman, it is a physical fact that we use material forms (murti) in every aspect of our very existence. Without the employment of material form, there is nothing. This is not just a religious truth, but one equally rooted in the worlds of science and commerce (in its broadest, most literal sense). The use of material form is necessary in each and every task (kam). He then quickly slid from this to icon worship (murti puja), implying that anything one does involving material forms (murti) is a form of worship (puja). This sacramental understanding of the very basics of human existence, as being an extended practice of icon worship, is one that iconoclasts disagree with. But it allowed Jnansundar to argue that icon worship is not a cultural institution with a history that is therefore open to critique. Icon worship according to Jnansundar is an inherent aspect of nature. Iconoclasm, therefore, is really nothing more than a misguided attempt to deny the fundamental substances of nature—or, in Jnansundar’s more aggressive language, an attempt to murder nature (and therefore icons).

The Spiritual Life Depends on Form In his defense of icon worship as natural, Jnansundar (1936a: 1) asserted, “Knowledge of the five formless (amurt) substances comes through the substance that has form (murt).” He did not elaborate on this statement based on Jain metaphysics, but it was an important element in the arguments of other defenders of icon worship. Among these were two of the other principle twentieth-century Murtipujaka theologians of the icon, Acharya Buddhisagarsuri and Pannyas Bhadrankarvijaygani. Buddhisagarsuri (hereinafter Buddhisagar) was born as Bechardas Patel in the town of Vijapur in northeastern Gujarat in 1874.6 Although his family was

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Hindu, he came into contact with the Jain monk Muni Ravisagar. Bechardas became Ravisagar’s disciple, and a Jain.7 He was one of the first students at the new Yashovijay Jain Sanskrit Pathshala in the nearby town of Mehsana, where he was a star student.8 He also worked as a teacher in local Jain schools in villages of north Gujarat, and continued his spiritual development. Ravisagar died in 1898, an event that appears to have intensified Bechardas’s yearnings for a life of spiritual equanimity. He took initiation as a Jain monk in 1901 from Ravisagar’s disciple Sukhsagar, at the age of 27. He was famed as a spiritual practitioner, and so was given the informal title “Firm in Yoga” (yoga-nishth). He was a charismatic preacher, and was asked by the king of Baroda state, Maharaja Sayaji Rao, to come and preach there.9 His lay followers promoted him to the post of acharya and suri in 1914, and he died at the age of 51 in 1925 in his natal town of Vijapur. Because of his lay schooling, and his subsequent intellectual interests, he was versed in a wide array of subjects. He was also a prolific author, being credited with 108 or 125 books.10 His first book was a critique of Christianity, aimed at countering the influence of missionaries in Gujarat, entitled A Comparison of Jainism and Christianity (Jain Dharm Khristi Dharmno Mukabalo).11 Buddhisagar was among the many Shvetambara mendicants of his time who engaged in the widespread debates concerning icons and icon worship. In 1906 in Ahmedabad he wrote a pamphlet on the subject entitled Icon Worship in the Jain Scriptures (Jain Sutramam Murtipuja). His preaching and writing on the subject were obviously convincing to some. His chief disciple, Acharya Ajitsagarsuri, had originally been a Sthanakavasi mendicant named Amirishi, who was reinitiated as a Murtipujaka mendicant by Buddhisagar in Ahmedabad in 1910.12 A subsequent leader of the lineage of Buddhisagar’s successors, Acharya Kailassagarsuri, was born in a staunch Sthanakavasi family in Ludhiana, Panjab. According to his biography, in 1938 he read a book on the subject of icon worship by Buddhisagar, and was so thoroughly convinced that he traveled to Ahmedabad to take initiation as a mendicant from the then head of the lineage, Acharya Kirtisagarsuri.13 Buddhisagar (1978: 5) located his natural defense of icons and icon worship in the concept of love (prem). Wherever there is love, he wrote, there is an object of that love, and that object is a form/icon (murti). He also used murti in a manner perhaps better translated as “emblem” or “sign,” or as “icon” in the sense used by the philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce14 rather than its more usual Christian sense: “[T]he murti of that for which love is felt stands in the heart, and the loving person learns from it” (1978: 5). Buddhisagar here imported into the Jain theology of the icon the concept of prem, a concept more commonly found in the Vaishnava devotional theologies of Krishna. Prem is a form of desireless and egoless love, in which the person, according to the Gaudiya Vaishnava theologian Krishnadas Kaviraj in

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his 1615 Chaitanya Charitamrita (The Nectar of Deeds of Chaitanya), acts “solely for the pleasure of Krishna” (Haberman 1994: 163). It is contrasted with kam, love that is egoistic and based on desire. Whereas kam is “ordinary desire,” prem is “the highest love.” In many respects, the difference between prem and kam is analogous to that in Christian theology between agape and eros. While one does find the word prem in the name of monks—Acharya Vijay Premsuri (1887–1958), for example, was a widely influential leader of the largest twentieth-century sub-lineage of monks in the Tapa Gaccha15—it is rarely used by Jain theologians in a positive sense such as Buddhisagar does here. Buddhisagar in his defense of icons also used the same formula of proceeding from form to the formless that we saw in Jnansundar’s writings. Buddhisagar argued that spiritual practices of necessity require the person to use material forms before he or she can ascend to pure disembodied spirituality (and in Jain metaphysics the unembodied soul is pure spirit, not matter). As we have seen, Buddhisagar evinced an easy willingness to employ terms from the shared vocabulary of Indian spirituality, and not restrict himself to Jain technical terms, and so he used the terms “with form” (sakar) and “formless” (nirakar), found in many other Indian spiritual traditions. He wrote, “From worshiping (puja) the icon with form (sakar pratima) comes love of the formless Lord (nirakar prabhu)” (1978: 5). Later in his essay he returned to this argument. Here he used language from the discipline of yoga, in which the early levels of meditation (dhyan) require an object or support (alamban) on which to focus one’s concentration. Only after one has achieved the ability to maintain single-pointed concentration on one object, without any distraction from other sense objects (including thoughts and feelings), can one proceed to the more rarified forms of meditation that do not depend on external supports. He wrote (1978: 18), Devotion (bhakti) for and the support (alamban) of an icon with form (sakar pratima) are necessary for meditation. One cannot just suddenly meditate on the formless Supreme Lord (nirakar paramatma).16 And no one can instantly love the formless Supreme Lord. Devotion begins with the Lord with form, and with the icon of the Lord with form.17

From Form to the Formless One of the most sustained defenses of icons in the twentieth centuries was conducted by the Tapa Gaccha monk Pannyas Bhadrankarvijaygani (hereinafter Bhadrankarvijay). He was born as Bhagvan Das in 1903 in Patan, one of the

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strongholds of Jainism in Gujarat for over 1,000 years. By the early twentieth century Patan was a sleepy backwater town, located in the northern section of the princely state of Baroda. Like many Jains of Patan, his father Halabhai Maganbhai had moved to the growing entrepot of Bombay, where Bhagvan Das grew up and went into business. In his twenties he came under the influence of one of the most charismatic and influential Tapa Gaccha monks of modern times, Muni Ramvijay (later Acharya Vijay Ramchandrasuri; 1896–1991).18 He began to study the works of the influential seventeenth century Tapa Gaccha philosopher Mahopadhyaya Yashovijaya, and much of his later writing in defense of icons was directly based on Yashovijaya’s writings. In 1930 he took mendicant initiation with the new name Muni Bhadrankarvijay. He steadfastly refused to be promoted to the post of acharya, but did accept promotion to the intermediate posts of pannyas and gani in 1940. He was the author of many books on Jain theology and practice that have remained central to contemporary Tapa Gaccha intellectual culture. He died in Patan in 1980. There is a memorial shrine to Bhadrankarvijay outside the city wall, where his body was cremated.19 (See Figure 4.24.) Among his most important books was Icon Worship (Pratima Pujan), an extended defense of icons written in Gujarati and published in 1941. A Hindi translation was published in 1980, and both Gujarati and Hindi editions remain in print. Much of Bhadrankarvijay’s defense was based on his study of Yashovijaya, and so was located within a specifically Jain discourse on icons that had developed over the preceding three centuries. He also used similar arguments to those employed by Jnansundar and Buddhisagar. Bhadrankarvijay said that since even extrasensory powers are inadequate to recognize those spiritual qualities that define a Jina or other enlightened soul, all people, whether they be advanced spiritual adepts or simply common devotees, must rely on the embodied form—either in a person, or in an icon—to recognize the deity, the Jina, whom they seek to worship.20 Bhadrankarvijay also argued that this is a universal human trait: “It is impossible for the common man to imagine the entirety of God. But he can do this by means of an icon, and thereby the practitioner can attain a point of single-pointed concentration.”21 Bhadrankarvijay’s arguments in defense of icons were based on what we can call a processual dualism of matter and spirit, a defense also found in some Christian (see later) and Hindu (Davis 1997: 47–49) writings. This is not an absolute dualistic rejection of matter. In the end matter must be transcended, for the soul in its pure state is disassociated from matter; but on the path matter is an unavoidable and therefore essential instrumental cause of spiritual advancement. Bhadrankarvijay expressed this in many of his writings. To take just one example, from one of the several posthumous collections of his essays,

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he wrote of the spiritual path, “It is an ordered procession from that which has form (murt) to the formless (amurt), from using a support (salamban) to not using a support (niralamban), from matter (dravya) to spirit (bhav), and from the gross (sthul) to the subtle (sukshma)” (1980b: 156). Bhadrankarvijay’s defense of icons—a defense of the use of inert matter as a means to advance to a state of pure living soul—also centered around a sophisticated and complex argument based on the Jain hermeneutical tool of the nikshepas (literally “putting down,” but more accurately “systematic analysis”). In brief, the use of the nikshepas requires one to analyze any given word, topic, or object according to a set of contextualizing frames. In its earliest form these four were dravya (substance or matter), kshetra (space), kala (time), and bhava (immaterial, spiritual) (Bhatt 1978: XIV). In the later Shvetambara tradition the four were nama (linguistic designation), sthapana (material representation) dravya (substantial or material aspect), and bhava (immaterial or spiritual aspect) (Alsdorf 1974: 455–56). The latter formula, for example, was the foundation of Yashovijaya’s defense of icons in his One Hundred Verses on Icons (Pratima Shataka), which underlay Bhadrankarvijay’s and almost all other sub-rtipu -jaka defenses of icons (Cort forthcoming b). In brief, whereas sequent Mu the iconoclastic Sthanakavasis emphasized bhava in the worship of the Jinas, Yashovijaya argued that all four were of equal importance. The argument advanced by Jnansundar, Buddhisagar, and Bhadrankarvijay—and there are many other examples from the writings of the Jain defenders of icons—is predicated upon a natural and psychological necessity of images and forms: human perception operates by means of external images, and so the use of images (and icons) in religious practices is “natural.” Essentially the same argument has been advanced by defenders of icons in other religious traditions as well.

Material Form (and Therefore Icons) as Essential Instruments on the Spiritual Path The ultimate goal in Jainism is for the person to attain eternal liberation from suffering by freeing the soul from all the gross and subtle forms of bondage that inevitably entail suffering. The soul in its pure state is marked by the four infinitudes of knowledge, perception, bliss, and power. Each and every living thing in its ultimate being is such a soul. The infinitudes are blocked by a subtle form of matter—actually eight kinds—called karma. This relegation of all matter to forms of bondage can create a powerful dualism of spirit and matter, and

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there is ample evidence of such dualism throughout Jain history, especially in the extensive practices of asceticism (Banks 1997; Cort 2001b: 118–41; Laidlaw 1995: 149–286), but also in the iconoclasm of the Shvetambara Sthanakavasis and Terapanthis. At the heart of the Sthanakavasi critique of icons is that it is illogical to worship (or otherwise use) inert matter in order to attain a condition of pure spirit.22 Murtipujakas have strongly defended icon worship from such attacks. In Jain theology there is no “real presence” of divinity or pure spirit in an icon, and so the incarnational defense of icons that one finds in many Hindu traditions (Deadwyler 1985; Narayanan 1985) is not available.23 Instead, they have had to employ an instrumental defense. To fixate on icons as a final goal would be wrong. As human beings, however, we are embodied, and dependent upon our bodies, including our senses, for everything in our spiritual lives, so we cannot reject matter. Nor, therefore, should we reject icons. For example, in The Ancient History of Icon Worship Jnansundar wrote (1936a: 199), “By means of the icon I worship the pure, eternal, omniscient God Supreme Lord Tirthankars. The icon is just the instrumental cause (nimitt karan). Just as there are pages of the scriptures for the worship of the Word of the Dispassionate Jina, so there is the icon for the worship of the body (khud) of the omniscient Tirthankaras.” Jnansundar turned on its head the Sthanakavasi position of accepting scripture while rejecting icons. He argued that in reading the words of scripture in a manuscript or book one is as dependent upon material forms as in the worship of an icon. Jnansundar here repeated a position earlier advanced by Yashovijaya, who in his One Hundred Verses on Icons asked why the iconoclasts said that icon worship is forbidden when at the same time they venerated the very script—a material form—in which the scriptures were written (Cort forthcoming b). In a similar vein, Bhadrankarvijay wrote (1980b), “Matter (dravya) is the cause (karan), and spirit is the effect (karya).”24 These statements are echoed in many other Murtipujaka writings, and frequently heard from Murtipujaka mendicants and other intellectuals in defense of icon worship. A similar argument, also in a South Asian framework, but in a Hindu theological context, was advanced by the art historian A. K. Coomaraswamy in an essay entitled “Origin and Use of Images in India.” As Ronald Inden (1990: 110–11) has recently observed, Coomaraswamy was an idealist historian, who rooted his interpretation of Indian (Hindu) culture in the philosophy of Advaita Vedanta of the eighth-century Shankara, according to whom all material forms are at best only provisionally real as part of relative reality (vyavahara), in contrast to the non-dual and immaterial absolute reality (paramartha).25

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Coomaraswamy as an art historian also exhibited a profound sensitivity to the material side of things, and argued that the direct worship of divinity “as he is in himself,” that is, as para-rupa or “trans-form,” is “in fact only possible . . . to the perfected Yogin and veritable jivan-mukta, who is so far as he himself is concerned set free from all name and aspect” (Coomaraswamy 1956b: 165). While Coomaraswamy did allow for an immaterial, purely spiritual apprehension of divinity, he limited it to the rarest of the spiritual elite, those who are so advanced in their spiritual development that they themselves are liberated in this very life ( jivan mukta) and so, according to the Hindu understanding, themselves de facto deified. The vast majority of people require material forms in their spiritual lives. A strikingly similar hierarchical argument in defense of icons has a long history in the European philosophical traditions, from which it also entered into the Christian theological traditions. In the European and Christian settings this instrumental argument is generally coupled with a hierarchical theology, what Alain Besançon (2000: 154) has termed “the vision of a ‘scalar’ universe leading from the superbeing, the Super One, down to formless matter.” God, pure spirit, is at the top of the hierarchy, and inert matter, devoid of any spirit, is at the bottom. In between, on a series of rungs, are angels who are spirit and matter made of light, humans who are both spirit and physical matter, and living but spiritless animals. This conception of the universe came into Christianity both from passages in the Hebrew Bible, such as the image of Jacob’s ladder in Genesis, and from the Greek philosophy of Plato and Aristotle (Barasch 1992: 164). It was introduced into Christian theology most forcefully in the fourth century by Dionysus Areopagite, also known as Pseudo-Dionysus.26 Dionysus saw the spiritual path as a two-way process. On the one hand there was the descent of God, pure spirit, into the world of matter through revelation and grace. On the other hand there was the ascent of the soul toward God. The human mind cannot see God directly, for God “hides behind symbols” (1992: 174). God hides himself out of “love of man” and as “a concession to the nature of our own mind” (The Celestial Hierarchy, quoted at Barasch [1992: 174]). While Dionysus did not advance an explicit defense of icons, his theology of hierarchy and veils was used by later theologians for such a purpose. The icon was interpreted to be one of the veils created by God that can be used by humanity to rise toward God. Further, the veils—and therefore by latter extension, icons—not only shield the unprepared human from the overwhelming direct vision of God, they serve as an enticement to seek God. They “stir our thought, . . . provoke wonder, and thus make us at least attempt to lift the veil” (Barasch 1992: 175). Symbols, according to Dionysus, can therefore “elevate

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us spiritually from the sensible to the intelligible and from sacred and symbolic images to the sheer peaks of celestial hierarchies” (The Celestial Hierarchy, quoted at Besançon 2000: 154). In his hierarchical theology Dionysus also advanced a defense of the use of objects that have shape and form on the spiritual path to that which is without either. The spiritual path must start with the embodied realities and limitations of humanity. He wrote, “[W]e lack the ability to be directly raised up to conceptual contemplations” (Pseudo-Dionysus 1987: 149). Due to this inability, “we need our own upliftings that come naturally to us and which can raise before us the permitted forms of the marvelous and unformed sights.” Not everyone has the spiritual ability to perceive immaterial spiritual truths. As Moshe Barasch (1992: 159) has pointed out, Dionysus did not explicitly discuss icons or art. He can be interpreted as advocating a theology of symbols more easily than a theology of material forms, although his reference to “permitted forms” is sufficiently ambiguous that it can be read as referring to icons. However, a reading based on a literal understanding of the Biblical commandment against idols could also interpret Dionysus as warning against using icons, since they are expressly forbidden. As a result, he was claimed by both iconoclasts and iconophiles in subsequent centuries. Among those defenders of icons who followed Dionysus was St. John of Damascus (ca.674–ca.749), one of the two most important foundational theologians of the icon.27 His Three Apologies Against Those Who Attack the Divine Images, more commonly known simply as On the Divine Images, was written in the early eighth century in response to the widespread iconoclasm led by the rulers of Constantinople, what is known as the Iconoclastic Controversy. John provided the first systematic Christian theology of the icon. He laid the foundation for the subsequent Byzantine valorization of the icon, and centuries later was influential in the Roman Catholic theology of the icon developed by St. Thomas Aquinas and then St. Bonaventure, that today remains the basis of Catholic teachings. In On the Divine Images, John argued that the denial of the human need for physical images was in fact a heretical denial of the incarnation. Lee Wandel (1995: 35) has described John’s position: The Damascene’s argument extended beyond the assertion of God’s taking on human form. The Incarnation had altered the relation between God and matter on the one hand, and the meaning of matter for man on the other: “I worship the Creator of matter who became matter for my sake, who willed to take His abode in matter; who worked out my salvation through matter” [On the Divine Images, p. 23]. Matter

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served human salvation, insofar as God was working through it. Just as it was heretical to sever Christ’s divine and human natures, to sever Christ’s spirit from his flesh, so, too, were iconoclasts heretical to deny matter its role in human salvation. The Incarnation was not merely the moment of divine embodiment. It marked an essential change in the relation between divinity and the material world: No longer could the two be separated, for the one who had taken “His abode in matter” worked through matter to touch human souls, to save them. God spoke through matter to man. John advanced an argument similar to that of the Jains. He argued, “[T]he mind which is determined to ignore corporeal things will find itself weakened and frustrated.”28 As Moshe Barasch (1992: 227) paraphrases John, “People, it turns out, need images; using images is our way to come to terms with the invisible”. John expanded upon this by arguing that humans think by means of analogy. Direct apprehension of the spiritual and immaterial is impossible; we can do so only indirectly, by the analogous apprehension of material form. In language that could have come straight form the pen of a Jain defender of icons, John wrote, “It is impossible for us to think immaterial things unless we can envision analogous shapes.”29 John’s arguments were extended by the other foundational theologian of the icon in the Eastern tradition, St. Theodore of Studion (759–826). While John’s defense of icons had helped the iconophiles win the first round of the long-running Iconoclastic Controversy, the iconoclasts led by the Emperor Constantine V regained the upper hand with stronger arguments presented at the Council of 754. It fell upon Theodore to develop a more sophisticated defense of icons, one that has remained at the heart of Eastern Orthodox theology for over a millennium.30 Theodore rooted his discussion of the relationship between the material and the immaterial, between matter and spirit, in the incarnation, the coming into embodied form of the immaterial spirit, and the conjoining of the two within the single person of Jesus Christ. As Catherine P. Roth (1981: 11–12) has outlined Theodore’s argument in his First Refutation: If Christ cannot be portrayed, then either He lacks a genuine human nature (which is docetism) or His human nature is submerged in His divinity (which is monophysitism). The council of Chalcedon (451) had held that Christ was “in two natures without confusion, without change, without division, without separation.” If Christ’s human nature is not changed or confused with His divine nature, then He

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must be able to be portrayed like any human being. If His two natures are not separated, then the one portrayed must be the incarnate God, even though the divine nature itself cannot be portrayed. Roth summarizes the gist of Theodore’s argument: “[A]n iconoclast effectively denies God’s incarnation which alone makes human salvation possible. If Christ could not be portrayed both before and after His resurrection, then He was not truly man, humanity was not truly united with God, and no human beings could expect to become ‘partners of the divine nature’ ” (16).31 John’s and Theodore’s argument of the necessity of material forms in human religiosity was brought into Western Christianity by St. Thomas Aquinas, and has subsequently remained orthodox Catholic teaching. The sixteenth-century Council of Trent, which defined Catholic orthodoxy in the face of the challenges of the Protestant Reformation, affirmed in 1562, “the nature of man is such that he cannot without external means be raised to meditate on divine things” (Schroeder 1960: 147). While this doxa was issued in the context of the mass with all its “lights, incense, vestments, and many other things of this kind,” it applied equally to the Council’s affirmation of icons. The argument of the need for material form in the spiritual life resurfaced seven centuries after the Iconoclastic Controversy in the context of the Protestant Reformation in western Europe. While some of the Reformers, in particular Andreas Karlstadt and John Calvin, argued for a radical and total iconoclasm on the grounds that any use of material form, any use of that which was apprehensible by the senses, was in direct violation of God’s will, Martin Luther took a more moderate iconoclastic stance. The term “iconoclast” may not even adequately apply to Luther; he argued, in a position not all that unlike the position of the Sthanakavasis, that a true Christian should simply ignore icons, not actively destroy them. He rejected what he saw as extreme Catholic veneration of physical matter, but equally rejected what he saw as extreme Reformation rejection of matter. In part this was again rooted in an understanding of the centrality of the incarnation to Christian theology. Rejecting matter could only lead to a body–spirit dualism, whereas for Luther “the spiritual life could never be totally disembodied” (Eire 1986: 72). Luther also rooted his argument in a psychology of perception. In common with all Protestant reformers, he stressed the primacy of the word and the oral over the image and the visual and tangible. In Luther’s case, he privileged one mode of apprehension over another. He did not, however, reject the visual and material. He wrote in his 1525 critique of the more extreme iconoclasts, Against the Heavenly Prophets in the Matter of Images and Sacraments, that whenever he heard the Word visual images inevitably formed:

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[I]t is impossible for me to hear and bear it [the account of Christ’s passion] in mind without forming mental images of it in my heart. For whether I will or not, when I hear of Christ, an image of a man hanging on a cross takes form in my heart, just as the reflection of my face naturally appears in the water when I look into it. (Luther 1958: 99–100) As Carl C. Christensen has summarized Luther’s psychology (and therefore theology), images are inevitable in human consciousness (1979: 49–52). The tension between an ideological or theological insistence that whatever is ultimately real—be it God, the good, or pure soul—is beyond sensory perception, and the inevitability of the human need to use the senses to perceive and understand anything (even thoughts, as many psychologies view mental perception as another sense) is also deep-seated in the Western philosophical tradition with its Greek roots. It emerges in particular in the distinction between “natural” and “artificial” or “conventional” signs. The earliest discussion of these is found in Plato’s Cratylus.32 After first laying out a theory of natural signs, according to which words and images are naturally like the thing to which they refer, Plato argued that any natural sign is inherently imperfect, for it cannot reproduce all of the qualities of the thing it represents. If it reproduced every single quality, it would be a duplicate, not an image. In sum, concluded Plato, “all signs, whether words or images, work by custom and convention, and all are imperfect, riddled with error. The mistake is to think that we can know the truth about things by knowing the right names, signs, or representations of them” (Mitchell 1986: 92). This would seem to lead to a position advocating a direct experience of reality, unmediated by anything that depends upon the senses. Plato did not come to such a conclusion. Instead, according to Plato, “it is a mistake to think that we can know anything without names, images, or representations” (Mitchell 1986: 92). All knowledge is inevitably mediated by images.33 Idolatry, according to Plato, is the mistake of conflating knowledge of the imperfect image with the perfect nature to which the nature refers. But we cannot avoid images, and “since images are all we have to work with, we have to learn to work with them dialectically, acknowledging and identifying their imperfections” (Mitchell 1986: 94).34 A final example of a defense of icons (in this case both two- and threedimensional ones) as essential on the spiritual path comes from Buddhism, in particular the esoteric school of Japanese Buddhism known as Shingon. Kukai (774–835; also known as Kobo Daishi), the founder of the Shingon school, in 806 wrote his Memorial Presenting a List of Newly Imported Sutras and Other Items. This was a catalogue of the texts and objects he brought back to Japan

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from his trip to China. He also included in it a defense of the use of material objects in religious practice. He wrote that ultimate truth—the dharma—is indeed formless: “Truth is neither words nor color nor form” (Sawa 1972: 86). He then went on to distinguish how one can learn the truth through words as opposed to through material form: “Although words may be used in transmitting truth, people can be made to feel truth only by means of forms and colors.” He concluded, “Esoteric teachings hold that profound truths are difficult to express in written or spoken words. For those who find enlightenment on subtle points difficult, it is essential to resort to pictorial representations to inspire a sense of hidden meanings.”35 Here Kukai seems to advance a position similar to that of Plato, Pseudo-Dionysus, and the Jain iconophiles, that in the end it is necessary to go beyond material forms to arrive at the “profound truths” found only in “hidden meanings.” But his Buddhist “celestial hierarchy” started with material form, and Shingon Buddhist ritual practice has involved extensive use of material objects for over a millennium. We see, then, in different religious and philosophical traditions, defenders of icons relying upon a two-part argument. The first element in the argument sees the spiritual life as a hierarchical path, in which the adept of necessity starts with practices that depend upon material form, and then moves step-by-step to an experience of pure spirit. While this is in many respects a strong argument for the use of icons, in the end it can also belittle them. They are at best instruments that are necessary in the early stages of the spiritual path, but that should be discarded by the spiritual elite. The second element leaves less room for spiritual iconoclastic elitism, for it argues that such elite experience of unmediated pure spirit is in fact either impossible or, in the Christian context, heretical.36 The theological details of these Jain, Christian, and Buddhist defenses of the use of material form, and therefore icons, differ profoundly; but they share a rejection of an absolute matter–spirit dualism, and to varying extents they therefore valorize material form and recognize the necessity of icons.

The Myth of Aniconism The argument that it is not in fact possible to transcend totally the use of icons is what the psychologically oriented art historian David Freedberg has called “the myth of aniconism.” In his wide-ranging 1989 The Power of Images, Freedberg argued against what he saw as a false assumption by art historians and others that art exhibits a greater degree of spirituality the more it tends toward the aniconic and away from the anthropomorphic (1989: 54).37 Freedberg said that the valorization of the aniconic is not supported by the data. There is no culture that

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does not employ material images. Using the supposedly culture-free scientific language of psychology, he characterized what he termed “the will to image” as a “psychological impulse” (56). Freedberg summarized his argument in language with which Bhadrankarvijay, Plato, Pseudo-Dionysus, St. John, St. Theodore, Martin Luther, and A. K. Coomaraswamy all would heartily agree: [A]ny number of cultures share a belief, more or less articulately stated, that the more spiritually developed a religion is, the less need it has for material objects to serve as a channel to the deity. People should be able to form an adequate relationship with the godhead without the aid of a mediating object. But unfortunately they cannot. Unless they are superior mystics, most people cannot ascend directly to the plane of the intellect without the aid of perceived objects that may, at least conceivably, act as links between the worshiper and the worshiped, which they represent. Freedberg went on to say that this unavoidable need for images leads to an unavoidable “condensation of the divine in the material object,” which he said is “just what everyone wants to avoid.” His own philosophical (and theological?) stance had already been indicated by his use of the adverb “unfortunately”— one senses both Jewish and Christians understanding of idolatry as sin,38 and the Platonic and Neo-Platonic valorization of pure spirit lurking just beneath his words. This is not the place to enter into a full analysis of Freedberg’s complicated discussion in The Power of Images of what he terms in his subtitle “[T]he history and theory of response.”39 Let us return to the Jains, with the recognition that the Jain defenders of icons have not been alone in positing the human necessity to employ images, both conceptual and material, in the attempt to apprehend divinity.

The Universality of Icons and Icon Worship Freedberg (1989: 59) argued from both history and anthropology, “[T]he idea of a culture without material images runs counter to both experience and history.” Freedberg was not trying to advance a theological defense of the use of icons in religious practice, but a similar argument from history was used in such a way by the Shvetambara Murtipujaka monk Pannyas Kalyanvijaygani (hereinafter Kalyanvijay). He was born in 1888 in a village near the town of Jalor. While this is within the present-day boundaries of the state of Rajasthan, the merchant castes of this area have long been Gujarati speaking, and in other

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ways closely tied to the religious culture of the Tapa Gaccha and Gujarat. He took initiation as a Jain monk in Jalor in 1907, and was promoted to the positions of pannyas and gani in 1938 in Ahmedabad. Like Bhadrankarvijay, he resisted the efforts of his lay disciples to promote him further to the position of acharya. He died in Jalor in 1975. He devoted his life to the study of manuscripts and inscriptions, and was one of the great historians and textual scholars among twentieth-century Shvetambara Murtipujaka monks.40 Among the subjects to which he devoted extensive research was the history and practices of icon worship among the Shvetambaras. He summarized the results of this textual research in his 1956 Handbook on Worshipping the Jina (Jinapuja Paddhati), in which he marshaled evidence from dozens of canonical and post-canonical texts both to establish the historical authenticity of Jain icon worship, and to advance his own position on various disputed issues concerning the proper manner to worship icons.41 The book was published first in Ahmedabad in 1956, and then in Jalor in 1957, in Gujarati language printed in Nagari (Hindi) script. In response to the requests of many Jain mendicants and laity who were unable to read Gujarati, he published an expanded Hindi translation in 1966 as Collection of Manuals for Worshipping the Jina (Jinapuja Vidhi Sangrah). After an extensive discussion of the many references to icon worship in Jain texts, Kalyanvijay in a short section addressed the question, “Is it necessary to worship icons or not?” Kalyanvijay had already shown that the worship of icons had a rich and ancient history in Jainism, but he here turned to evidence from outside the Jain tradition to indicate that this was a universal practice, not just a peculiarity of the Jains. He brought in evidence from Islam and Christianity, two seemingly iconoclastic religions, to show that icon worship is found in all religions (or at least the two that strenuously critiqued Hindu and Jain icon worship as idolatrous). Kalyanvijay then moved beyond solely religious evidence, to argue that the worship of icons is part and parcel of everyday civil society and even is integral to family life. In part his argument overlapped with the one we have already seen, that the use and worship of icons, as material forms, is part and parcel of human nature. But if it is human nature, and not just a Jain cultural trait, then it is necessary to bring in evidence from outside the Jain tradition. Here is the passage in full: The disagreement between those who believe in icon worship and those who don’t is found not only in India, but has spread throughout the world.42 Rivers of blood have flowed, and thousands of faultless people have died. But still this question cannot be resolved: Is it necessary to worship icons or not?

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How ignorant is man! All on his own he takes auspicious sight (darshan) of both animate and inanimate icons everyday, he worships them, and yet does he inquire of others about the need for this? He honors his father and grandfather, wise seniors, officials and officers. He follows their orders and bows his head to them. Not only that, he places garlands of flowers on the shrines, memorials and graves of renowned men of the nation. He makes the pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina, and goes to the mosque to pray. He goes to Jerusalem and is baptized there, and goes to the church where he prays standing before pictures of Mother Mary and Jesus Christ. In what way isn’t all this worship of animate and inanimate icons?43 In this argument Kalyanvijay echoed similar statements from the other Murtipujaka defenders of icons. Buddhisagar (1978: 5–8) provided a long litany of examples from outside Jainism. Catholics worship icons of Jesus and Mary. Protestant Christians worship the Bible as the icon (pratima) of the Lord, and as the very form (rup) of the Word. Muslim reverence for the Qur’an is a form of icon worship, as are the practice of facing toward Mecca to pray and rituals at the tombs of saints. Other examples Buddhisagar advanced were from Buddhism, ancient Egypt, Vedic Hinduism, the supposedly iconoclastic Arya Samaj, and Zoroastrianism. Like Kalyanvijay, he brought in secular examples such as the fact that contemporary Europeans erect statues of nationalist heroes, and lift their hats when passing such statues, just like both Europeans and Hindus do before the statue of Queen Victoria in Bombay and elsewhere in India (1978: 8). The most sustained argument from world history was made by Muni Jnansundar. His devotees gave him the honorific sobriquet “Lover of History” (itihas premi) because of his extensive historical researches. Jnansundar recognized that this argument represented a significant departure from the traditional forms of proof in Jain argumentation. He devoted chapters 2–4 in The Ancient History of Icon Worship to a careful analysis of all the evidence of icons and icon worship in the Jain scriptures. Then he introduced a new approach in chapter 5, which he entitled “The Place of Icons in the Historical Field.”44 He wrote, “The people of today have changed. Today’s era is the era of history. In place of evidence from scripture, people in contemporary educated society place greater faith on historical evidence” (Jnansundar 1936a: 119).45 Elsewhere, in an equally detailed and wide-ranging study of the relationships between mendicant lineages and lay castes in Rajasthan, Jnansundar spelled out further how historical inquiry represents a new episteme within Indian scholarship. He criticized other authors for relying only upon manuscripts and texts. “Real history,” wrote Jnansundar (1937: 7), as practiced by intellectuals

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of both the East and the West, relies on the careful investigation of additional sources such as inscriptions, copper plate grants, and coins. It also requires the historian to study carefully the full range of published materials—and by this Jnansundar gave the writings of non-Jain scholars an authority nearly equal to that of traditional Jain texts. Jnansundar reviewed the scholarly evidence concerning icons from archaeology, inscriptions, and texts. Jnansundar here showed that he had read widely in the Indological scholarship of the previous century, and included in his discussion much of the material I have discussed in chapter 1. He then moved outside India, to establish that Jain icons from the past had been found the world over. As we saw earlier in chapter 4, Shvetambara Murtipujakas have long credited Emperor Samprati with establishing Jina icons and temples throughout India and beyond. If one accepts this as historical fact, which Jnansundar and others did, then it is logical to expect that there will still be traces of these icons today. The evidence he advanced is found in other defenses of icons from the first half of the twentieth century, but at this point it is not possible to learn either the sources of this information nor how it became so widely reported within Jain circles.46 Jnansundar (1936a: 157–64) listed forty-three such examples. Some of them he claimed were specifically Jain icons or other evidence of Jain icon worship, such as an icon of Mahavira unearthed by a farmer near Budapest,47 a bronze siddhachakra48 from America, several broken icons from Mongolia, and an old Jain temple in Siam.49 Other examples simply demonstrated the universality of icons and icon worship in human history. Jnansundar’s list here ranged from Greece, Rome, Egypt, Assyria, Ninevah, Phoenicia, and Israel, to England, Florence, Glasgow, France, Madrid, and Norway, and to Ise, Iran, Siberia, Oceania, South America, and Sri Lanka. He concluded that the archaeological evidence for the ubiquity of icon worship dated back at least to 5,000 or 6,000 years B.C.E., and was confident that further excavations would find even earlier evidence. Finally, he added up all the icon worshipers in the world, and came to a figure of 1,406,900,000, whereas the number of iconoclasts in the world was no more than 220,000,000 (1936a: 164–65). Most of these iconoclasts, of course, were Muslims,50 which brings us to the Murtipujaka history of iconoclasm.

A Global History of Iconoclasm Some defenders of icons such as Kalyanvijay did not advance a historical argument for the worldwide criticism of the worship of icons. He simply attributed this to ignorance and intolerance—in other words, to inevitable human failings.

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Buddhisagar, Jnansundar, and Bhadrankarvijay, on the other hand, advanced a more specific historical explanation for the widespread opposition to icon worship. Not surprisingly from authors steeped in the Jain cultural ethos of western India, according to them iconoclasm everywhere in the world stems from a single source: the teachings of the original iconoclast, Muhammad. This history was spelled out in greatest detail by Bhadrankarvijay.51 After having established the ubiquity, the antiquity, and the beneficial nature of icon worship, Bhadrankarvijay said that it was necessary also to understand when and why people had opposed it, and who these people were.52 Data showed that everyone in the world worshiped icons before the seventh century. This date is significant, because it was with Muhammad (ca. 570–632 CE) that opposition to icon worship arose for the first time. According to Bhadrankarvijay’s narrative, by the seventh century the tradition of icon worship in Arabia had become marked by a number of transgressions and corruptions. But Muhammad illogically opposed the entire practice of icon worship, rather than simply trying to reform it and remove the faults. Furthermore, he advanced his opposition not through carefully argued logic, but by the expedient of the sword.53 When Muslims came to India they brought their iconoclastic beliefs with them, and due to this spiritual ignorance54 they proceeded to tear down and destroy temples, icons, architecture, and art throughout India. But even with all this oppression, the Muslim culture made little impression on the Indian people until the fifteenth century. Muslim rule began in Delhi in the thirteenth century. In their intoxication of power they converted many temples and ignorant people from Hinduism, but met with only limited success at changing the core iconophilic values of India. Those who converted were largely ignorant of dharma, and converted out of selfish interests. Muslim rule spread to Gujarat and western India. Again they destroyed buildings and art, and looted the wealth of those they could not convert. They were still able to make only limited inroads. In response to Muslim iconoclasm most of the people became even stronger in their faith (vishvas) and devotion (bhakti) to icon worship and devotion. Inscriptional evidence shows that whenever possible people rebuilt temples that had been destroyed, as happened, as we saw in chapter 4, when the merchant Samara Singh spent millions of rupees in 1315 to restore the temples at Shatrunjaya that had been destroyed by the soldiers of the Delhi Sultan in 1313, and thus restore it to an appearance just like heaven. Bhadrankarvijay said that the sixteenth century marked a dark time in the history of Indian culture. In that century a number of ignorant men turned their backs on their cultures and came to look on temples and icons with a

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cruel gaze. Among the Shvetambara Jains there was Lonka Shah, among the Digambara Jains there was Taran Svami, among the Sikhs there was Guru Nanak, among the weavers there was Kabir, among the Vaishnavas there was Ramcharan, and among the English there was Martin Luther.55 These and other men thoughtlessly raised their voices in opposition to temples and icons. They said that these are only insentient objects and so have no place in the worship of God. They abandoned the worship of icons, and so also abandoned the spiritual path that was so beneficial to their very souls. Lonka Shah in his youth had been a worshipper of icons, but according to Bhadrankarvijay he came under the influence of the preachings of Muslims, and so abandoned his own religion. He repeated the Muslim teachings that since God had been liberated from all material form there was no need to use material forms such as temples and icons to worship him. Lonka Shah opposed not only the worship of icons, but also rejected most other elements of the Shvetambara Jain intellectual and ritual culture. He rejected the Jain scriptures and Jain culture, as well as most of the devotional and ascetic rituals.

The Trope of Muslim Iconoclasm Bhadrankarvijay’s attribution of Islam as the source of all iconoclasm, and therefore his evaluation of Islam as fundamentally opposed to the basic iconic values of Jainism (and by extension Hinduism and India), is part of a long-standing trope found in Jain and Hindu texts from western India. Richard Davis in his 1997 Lives of Indian Images borrows from the historian Aziz Ahmad (1963) the recognition that two bodies of epic narratives composed in late medieval western India need to be read as implicit antonymns of each other, as “epic and counter-epic.” These were “Islamic ‘epics of conquest,’ written mainly in Persian and addressed to a Muslim audience, and Hindu ‘epics of resistance,’ composed in Hindi and other Indian vernaculars and speaking primarily to a Hindu audience” (Davis 1997: 89, quoting Ahmad 1963). When read together, the two narrative traditions “conduct a vigorous debate over the status and power of Hindu religious images and temples” (Davis 1997: 89). Ahmad rightly cautions that the traditions should not be read as factual accounts; the ways that they mirror each other indicate that we are dealing with rhetorical strategies of advancing either a defense of icons or a defense of iconoclasm, rather than a detailed recording of the “facts” of history. Davis (1997: 91–112, 186–221) expands upon Ahmad’s observations to explore the ways that the Hindu temple of Shiva at Somanatha, on the shore of Saurashtra, lay at the heart of both narrative traditions.56 For the Muslim

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authors, the temple and icon of Somanatha were the preeminent examples of Hindu idolatry in the idolatrous subcontinent. Somanatha was described by some Muslim authors as the king of all the idols in India. Some authors said that in fact it the most ancient of all the idols in Mecca, that of Manat. Muhammad had ordered his son-in-law Ali to destroy it when he cleansed the Kabba of all the heathen idols, but its worshipers had smuggled it out of Mecca to India, and installed it there as So-Manat. The destruction of this idol in 1026 by Mahmud of Ghazni was, therefore, not an act of vandalism or imperial conquest, but the fulfillment of a command from the Prophet himself. Mahmud was seen as a defender and propogator of the true iconoclastic faith par excellence. Parallel to this Muslim narrative of the purification of India from the sin of heathen idolatry were the Hindu narratives of the righteous Hindu kings who protected icons, and when necessary restored those that had been destroyed. Somanatha was again at the center of several narratives. The icon of Shiva, and the temple in which it was enthroned, were indeed looted and destroyed by the ignorant iconoclasts. Righteous Hindu kings responded, and either retrieved the stolen icon as in the case of the Chahamana king Kanhadade, or restored the temple and icon as in the case of the Chaulukya king Kumarapala. This theme has continued to be a powerful one in Hindu writings in western India. To some extent Hindu self-identity in Rajasthan and Gujarat involves a sense of not being Muslim, reinforced by memories of a long-standing antagonism between Hindus and Muslims dating back to the destructions of “the glory that was Gujarat” (the term is from the title of the Hindu nationalist K. M. Munshi’s 1955 history of pre-Muslim Gujarat) at the hands of Muslim invaders. In his recent history of Gujarati literature, Sitamshu Yashaschandra (2003: 598) discusses the genesis of the first Gujarati novel, Nandashankar Mehta’s 1868 Karana the Insane (Karanaghelo). Mehta’s subject was the defeat of Karana Vaghela, the last Hindu king of Gujarat, at the hands of the armies of the Delhi Sultanate. While the main theme is that Karana’s downfall was due to his moral degradation, that this was also the end of “Hindu” rule in Gujarat, and the beginning of “Muslim” rule, was not insignificant. This is seen especially when one considers that Nandashankar chose this topic over two alternatives: the defeat of Patai Raval, the Hindu king of Champaner, at the hands of the Gujarati (Muslim) Sultan Muhammad Begdo; and Mahmad of Ghazni’s destruction of the Somanatha temple. It is striking, although not commented on by Yashascandra, that the three themes that occurred to Nandashankar for his watershed innovation in Gujarati literature all hearkened back to the end of “Hindu independence” at the hands of Muslim invaders, or the destruction of Somanatha, “the shrine eternal” (the phrase is again from Munshi, 1951).57

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Somanatha is just one among the very many pilgrimage shrines in western India around which such stories of destruction and renovation revolve. We have seen that the narratives of the nearby Jain shrine of Shatrunjaya also involve this theme, although not as centrally as Somanatha. Ahmad referred to Hindu “epics of resistance”; Davis recognizes that many of the relevant texts in fact are Jain. One of the texts he discusses is Jinaprabhasuri’s Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Shrines (Vividha Tirtha Kalpa). Many of the stories of Jain shrines that Jinaprabhasuri narrates in his guidebook revolve around the predations of Muslims, and the restorations of destroyed shrines and icons by righteous Jains—usually wealthy merchants, sometimes royalty, and in both cases at the inspiring instruction of their mendicant teachers.58 The histories of many, if not most, of the Jain pilgrimage shrines in western India involve this theme of Muslim iconoclasm and Jain restoration. The theme is also built into the shrines themselves. Many of them are surrounded by high fortress-like walls, and hidden away in the complexes are small underground chambers for saving the most precious icons and their adornments in times of trouble. Given that many of these shrines are in isolated locations, the defensive arrangements can simply be attributed to the need to protect the wealth of the shrines from thieves of all religious persuasions. But the framework by which pilgrims, temple officials and employees, and guidebook authors all explain these arrangements is the ever-present danger of Muslim iconoclasm. Further, many of these shrines and the older cities of western India retain material evidence of past destruction. To give just one example, in the former imperial capital of Patan in north Gujarat are a number of Muslim mosques and tombs that incorporate preIslamic architectural units such as pillars and domes. Architectural historians have shown clearly that much of this represents simply the fact that early Muslim immigrants to western India employed local artisans, trained in the preexisting architectural styles, to construct mosques and tombs (Patel 2004; Shokoohy 1988). On the other hand, the presence of effaced Hindu and Jain anthropomorphic imagery in some of these structures speaks to their having been converted to their present function from an earlier one as temples. James Fergusson (1876: II: 68–9), and following him Alka Patel (2004: 82n6), have observed that Jain temples in particular, due to the large pavilions used for community rituals, were much better suited to conversion into mosques than Hindu temples, which tended not to employ as much open space. There is no denying that some Jain temples were converted into mosques and tombs. Jain literary sources have played an important role in the more recent narratives of Muslim iconoclasm and Hindu restoration, as a significant number of the temples listed in Hindu nationalist accounts of

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“what happened to the Hindu temples” (Goel 1998, esp. 90–97) are actually not Hindu at all, but Jain. All of this is part of a long-standing and deep-seated Jain prejudice against Muslims and Islam. The America-born Mira Kamdar (2000: 116), who is from a Jain family on her father’s side, has written of “the prejudices against Muslims that unfortunately persist among some of my relatives.”59 In September 2001, soon after the destruction of the World Trade Center by radical Islamicist terrorists, a Jain friend e-mailed me to express his sympathy, and added, “and now you know what we’ve been feeling for centuries.” In my years of fieldwork among Jains in western India I have heard many such comments, both casual asides and more sustained polemics. It is not a universal phenomenon, but it is quite widespread.60 Bhadrankarvijay in his narrative of the origin and history of iconoclasm said that the extreme nature of Muhammad’s iconoclastic reaction to icon worship was like cutting off the head simply to give someone a haircut. While this metaphor is easily and universally understandable as an example of an extreme reaction to a problem that is both illogical and self-destructive, in this context it conveys additional connotations. Once again we see Islam identified as “the religion of the sword.” Further, several Muslim festivals are marked by the decapitation of goats and other animals as sacrificial offerings. To many Jains, this means Muslims are simply identified as people who slaughter living creatures.61 Bhadrankarvijay used a metaphor to illustrate the extremity of Muhammad’s iconoclastic actions that at the same raised in the minds of his Jain readers this most common Jain objection to Muslims. For Jains this is not a matter of choice of diet, but a fundamental ethical issue. Being vegetarian is a sine qua non for the most elemental of religious and ethical conduct according to Jains. Muslims, being the Indian meat-eaters par excellence, are, in the minds of many Jains, at best only nominally human, and are certainly not worthy of serious social, intellectual, or ethical consideration.62

Universalizing Discourses of Icons and Iconoclasm In discussing Jain condemnations of Islam as a religion of irredeemable violence, we seemingly have come a long way from our starting point in this chapter, a Jain defense of icons based on human nature and the very nature of reality itself. But the two strategies for defending icons that we have explored in this chapter—that the use and worship of icons are unavoidable due to our very embodiedness, and that the evidence of history shows overwhelmingly that people in almost all times and places have worshiped icons—are in fact closely

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intertwined with the Jain condemnation of Islam as violent and iconoclastic, and therefore “unnatural.” Both of these discursive strategies employ a universalizing approach to disarm all possible objections to icons. The first is that because we are embodied, of necessity we ourselves are material form, and of necessity must use our senses (which are material) to lead a spiritual life. Any spiritual life therefore also of necessity must involve material forms. These forms include icons. The use and worship of icons is not an aspect of our context-specific cultural conditioning. It is not limited to just some cultures and histories. Because it is part of our shared biological embodiment, it is universal. To be human is to be embodied, to be human is to use material forms, and therefore to be human is to worship icons. While the Murtipujaka authors advance this as a general truth, they also look to history for the evidence to support their position. A survey of the global history of humanity provides evidence from all cultures—and our authors show how even seeming iconoclasts such as Muslims, Sthanakavasis, and Protestant Christians use icons in their practices. Again, they use this evidence to argue that icon worship is not limited to certain cultures and histories. It is universal. History, therefore, shows us that icon worship is natural. The logical corollary to this is that iconoclasm, the opposition to icons found only in a very few times and places, is in fact unnatural. Jnansundar (1936b: 2), as we saw, argued that not to believe in icons “is a form of murdering nature.” Who are these iconoclasts? The Jain authors were aware of Protestant Christian rejection of Catholic icons, but they are not well enough informed about Protestant theology and practice to explain Protestant iconoclasm. I have found no evidence of Jain awareness of the eighth-century Iconoclastic Controversy in the eastern Mediterranean world. In their litanies of iconoclasts, they included a number of Hindus from the sant tradition, but again provided no further details.63 The targets of Murtipujaka argumentation are two: the Muslims and the Sthanakavasis.64 In the case of the Muslims this becomes a double criticism, for not only do Muslims wantonly destroy temples and icons, they also as both part of their regular diet, and especially on festival occasions, eat meat. For 2,000 years not eating meat has been the basis of Jain ethics, and conversely eating meat has been seen as the most basic and heinous of all possible sins. Jain narrative texts often conflate meat eating with cannibalism. Destroying holy icons and eating living beings are combined in one heinous irreligion. The Murtipujaka condemnation of Sthanakavasi iconoclasm does not include this ethical tinge. But once we are aware of the ways in which Murtipujakas conceive of sinful iconoclasm and sinful meat eating as being

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conjoined in the case of Muslims, we can see that there is a hint of this same conjoined critique in their discussions of Sthanakavasis. The Murtipujaka authors trace the origins of Lonka Shah’s iconoclasm to Muslim influences. While they never come right out and accuse Lonka of being a Muslim himself, the attribution of his iconoclasm to Muslim influences carries with it an unstated suggestion that he, and his followers, are guilty of just as hideous sins as are Muslims. This hypothesis has also found its way into more scholarly writings (Jaini 1979: 310; Malvania 1964a, b). Barring any concrete evidence, and none has so far come to light, it is at best nothing more than a hypothesis, and one that needs to be treated very carefully by historians lest they confuse the ethically charged rhetoric of a Murtipujaka Jain narrative strategy for historical fact. The Jain chronicles keep alive memories of the destruction and conversion of Jain shrines and icons. Pilgrims to shrines see the fortification walls and the underground chambers, and interpret them as tangible evidence of the danger of iconoclasm. But it is important to see the ways that these memories are constructed. As Richard Davis (1997: 189–90) has written, Memory does not exist by itself. It must be given form, narrated and renarrated by humans to themselves and others, in order to persist or return. Those who formulate and articulate collective memories do so in their own times, alive to their own situations. So the memory of iconoclasm, I will argue, has been periodically reembodied in new narratives, and these narratives have never been transparent renderings of fact nor innocent of larger agendas. Davis was writing of the narratives of iconoclasm authored by Hindu nationalist historians in the twentieth century. Mutatis mutandis, we can apply his acute observation to the writings of their contemporary Murtipujaka defenders of Jain icon worship.

Conclusion: Framing the Jina

I ended the introduction with a discussion of the concept of the frame and framing. In a gesture of symmetry that corresponds with the aesthetic of the Jina icon, let me begin the conclusion by returning to this concept.

Frames In the first chapter I framed the image of the Jina in academic history, as based on archaeology, epigraphy, and textual scholarship. While a number of places in ancient northern and eastern India are important in this history, the city of Mathura emerged as central, for this is where we find both the earliest narrative images and the earliest cult images of the Jina. These images slightly predate the earliest known Buddha images, which are also from Mathura, but the respective timelines are so fragmentary that they do not allow us to make any definitive judgments concerning the relative priority of images in the two traditions. What we can say is that carved stone images developed around the same time in both communities, that these images in turn emerged out of a slightly older tradition of images of kings and local deities, and that from Mathura the ritual and artistic culture of images spread to other areas of north India. Further, the extant data allow us to say that there were narrative Jina images probably by 100 BCE, and cult Jina

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images probably a generation later, by 75 BCE. While images do not require temples, the evidence indicates that there were also Jain temples from about as early as the images. Finally, the Jain ritual culture of images at Mathura was not restricted to these two forms. Carved stone plaques known as ayagapatas, whose precise ritual function is a subject of debate, were in existence at least as early as the earliest Jina images. The earliest ayagapatas were carved with non-anthropomorphic sacred symbols, but by the end of the first century BCE we find Jina images on these as well. A fourth Jain cult object at Mathura, and one that became more prominent in Buddhist ritual culture, and that I discuss in greater detail in chapter 3, is the stupa or funerary mound, designed for the worship and veneration of relics. This material allows us to see clearly how early Jina images emerged in Jainism, and how quickly they rose to a prominent position in the Jain ritual culture at Mathura. The Jina image was so successful as both a plastic portrayal of the Jain sacred ideal, and a focus of ritual practice, that it quickly spread throughout north India, and into other media such as cast metal. (Evidence of images in other media such as terracotta and wood is less convincing. When and where Jains expanded from sculpted stone Jina images to cast metal images is not fully clear.) The Jina image was successful as a depiction of the ultimate goal of Jainism, moksha or liberation from embodied rebirth into a disembodied perfection. Early in their history of images the Jains developed a representation that was so successful that it in its basic elements it has demonstrated remarkable stability over the subsequent 2,000 years. I explore this feature, one that many art historians who privilege iconographic and aesthetic change and development have viewed as a problem, within the frame of Minimalism. This allows us to see how the Jina image with its strong emphasis on mirror symmetry and geometrical form expresses a long-standing effort to reduce material form to its most basic and perfect elements. At the same time, this frame allows us to see a major divergence between the modern secular aesthetic of Minimalism and the long-standing Jain sacred aesthetic of the symmetrical Jina. Whereas the former resists any reference to a transcendent ideal outside the object itself, the Jina image always engages in precisely such a reference. The initial frame of the second chapter is cosmology—or what might be more accurate in the Jain setting, cosmography, the eternal layout of the cosmos. This frame brings into focus the continent of Nandishvara Dvipa or the “Continent of Rejoicing,” where thrice annually the gods go on pilgrimage to worship the fifty-two eternal icons of the four eternal Jinas. The description of the worship of the icons there, found in early texts of both the Shvetambara and Digambara traditions, provides a charter myth for the subsequent worship of Jina icons by Jains throughout history.

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A reading of (and looking at) the detailed description of Nandishvara Dvipa quickly makes it apparent that another frame is relevant here, that of the mandala or cosmic diagram. While most scholarship has looked at mandalas as two-dimensional painted objects, and understood them to be aids to interior meditations in which the highly trained practitioner mentally recreates the cosmos as a sacred world, the Jain emphasis on cosmographical mandalas that are filled with icons leads us to understand the inherent three-dimensionality of all mandalas, as well as the close, perhaps inseparable, connection between mandalas and icons. Mandalas share with Jina icons an understanding that perfection is highly ordered, and therefore any depiction of that which is perfect must embody a high order of symmetry. Symmetry best conveys visually a concept of an unchanging perfection that underlies the universe, in contrast to landscape painting, which in its irregularity and asymmetry conveys an alternate understanding based on constant change and variation. Nandishvara Dvipa is not the only mandalaic depiction of eternal icons in Jain cosmography. Once we are alerted to the presence of these icons, we see them in many places: on the five Mount Merus at the center of the cosmos, at the four gateways to the continent of Jambu Dvipa or Black Plum Continent on which we live, and elsewhere, so much so that icon-worshipping Digambara and Shvetambara Jains regularly venerate them in numbers so vast as to be almost uncountable. The icon-worshipping Jains understand themselves to inhabit a cosmos filled with icons. This vision of an icon-filled universe has not gone unchallenged in Jainism, and it is necessary here to frame the Jina icon with an alternative iconoclastic (or at least aniconic) cosmology. Descriptions and references to the eternal Jina icons are found in a number of Shvetambara scriptures, and so one of the frames around the Jina image is scripture. Any alternative iconoclastic cosmology must engage in complicated scriptural hermeneutics to explain away those references. This has been a major preoccupation of many Sthanakavasi intellectuals for at least the past century, and quite probably since the inception of the iconoclastic Shvetambara traditions in the fifteenth-century with Lonka Shah. The Sthanakavasi interpreters have employed two strategies. One has been to reject the many layers of commentary as unauthoritative, and accept only the original Prakrit sutras as true scripture. This eliminates the many references to idols in the commentaries. It is not a fully sufficient strategy, however, for there still remain references to idols in sutras accepted by the Sthanakavasis. Sthanakavasi intellectuals have employed various hermeneutical strategies to address this further difficulty, ranging from bowdlerized editions that simply excise the offending passages, to translating and interpreting these passages in ways that alter the

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meaning to an aniconic one, to simply accepting the presence of the passages but not bothering to comment upon them. The resulting Sthanakavasi vision of the cosmos is one that is every bit as vast as the Murtipujaka vision, but in this case it is a cosmos devoid of idols, not full of icons. Chapter 2 portrays Jina icons as eternal and uncreated, and therefore in many ways without a history. Narrative, as an explanatory frame that more often relates how things came to be through a focus on chronology, in this case relates how things are through a focus on cosmology and sacred geography. This is not the only explanatory frame the icon-worshipping Jains have placed around the Jina icon to account for its existence. There is also a historical frame, which is the subject of chapter 3. The historical frame takes us back to the beginning of the current cycle of twenty-four Jinas in this part of the universe, and the life of the first of those Jinas, Adinatha, or Rishabhanatha. Before him life was so pleasant that no one had sufficient experience of pleasure and suffering, of good and bad, to develop the moral sensibility necessary to renounce the world and seek liberation. During Adinatha’s lifetime, however, the nature of time itself changed, and Adinatha was impelled to give up his kingship and seek the ultimate truth. After he attained enlightenment he conveyed that truth to the world by preaching it to the assembled multitude of gods, humans, and animals in the universal preaching hall known as the samavasarana. The samavasarana itself becomes the paradigm for the Jain temple, and the Jina seated in the hall and preaching the paradigm for the icon of the Jina installed in the temple. The four-sided (and therefore universal) symmetry of the samavasarana indicates that here we have another mandalaic vision of ultimate reality. Eventually the karma that bound Adinatha’s enlightened body to the world came to an end, and he attained disembodied liberation on Mount Ashtapada. The funerary rites were led by his son Bharata, as part of which he established icons. This became another emblematic charter myth for icons and their worship. Bharata also erected funerary monuments (stupas) over the cremated remains of Adinatha and other liberated monks. Placing the frame of the stupa around the Jina icon reveals that while most scholars have downplayed or ignored the role of stupas in Jain ritual and devotional culture, that role was significant in early Jainism. For reasons that remain unclear, this was a ritual and material option that the later Jain tradition gradually abandoned, perhaps in explicit contrast to the increasing role of stupas in Buddhist ritual culture. It was not abandoned completely, however. Once we see the many ways that the worship of Jina icons is actually a cult of worshipping deceased spiritual ancestors, and we look at the later Jain tradition within the frame of relics, we see that memorial icons play an important role in Jain worship.

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The icons established by Bharata on Mount Ashtapada remain only a distant, theoretical charter for the contemporary worship of icons, for Mount Ashtapada is inaccessible to all but the most spiritually adept humans. Iconworshipping Shvetambaras turn to the later history of King Samprati, grandson of Emperor Ashoka, to account for the presence of Jina icons in India. This “second origin” of icons shows that mythic accounts of origins often depict multiple creations, as if a single creation is insufficient in its explanatory powers. Samprati arranged for the spread of Jainism outside the northeastern Indian homeland of Jainism. He did this in part by teaching the barbarians in foreign lands the proper rules for gifting food to monks. He also established over 100,000 temples and millions of icons there. A full Jain ritual culture, in other words, needs both monks and icons. Neither is sufficient. The similarities between the stories of Samprati establishing temples and icons throughout the greater Indic world, and the Buddhist Ashoka establishing stupas throughout the same lands, show that we are dealing with a shared mythic structure. A fourth cluster of narratives accounting for icons focuses on the Shvetambara pilgrimage shrine of Mount Shatrunjaya in Gujarat. Here we see not a linear pattern of the establishment and growth of temples and icons, but a cyclic one. Shvetambara sources narrate that after their original construction and establishment, the temples and icons atop Shatrunjaya were damaged or destroyed fifteen times, and then renovated each time. The narratives of Bharata and Samprati provide charter myths for the role of kings in the culture of temples and icons. By medieval times there were few if any Jain kings, and these paradigms were only partially applicable. The most powerful Jains in the medieval Shvetambara communities of western India were merchants, and the narratives of the renovations of Shatrunjaya described how the most recent renovations had been arranged and financed by similar wealthy merchants. Thus, the “origin” and spread of icons in the world is something that is ongoing, and contemporary Jains can participate in this process. In chapter 2 we saw that the aniconic and iconoclastic Sthanakavasis rejected the icon-worshipping Jain vision of a cosmos filled with icons. The Sthanakavasi tradition traces its origins to the fifteenth-century iconoclastic revolution of Lonka Shah. While Lonka Shah and his successors claimed that they were only restoring Jainism to its original aniconic purity—and the archaeological evidence discussed in chapter 1 lends credence to their historical claims that images were not a central part of “original Jainism” during the time of Mahavira and immediately thereafter—we do not have any evidence of explicit earlier articulations of an aniconic or iconoclastic stance. The comparative study of debates over images in the world’s religions indicates that rarely, if ever, have they been have been accepted by everyone without some degree

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of criticism or at least uneasiness. Narratives of images as eternal or divinely created can be seen as evidence of a perceived need to defend the existence of images against criticisms and rejection. Applying this comparative frame to the Jina image in chapter 4 brings into clearer focus the Shvetambara narrative of the Jivantasvami icon, the sandalwood icon of Mahavira that was carved in his lifetime before his renunciation and enlightenment, and so depicts him as a prince. The story of Udayana and the Living Lord icon of Mahavira clearly has interacted extensively with (and quite likely was borrowed from) the Buddhist narratives of the lifetime icons of the Buddha commissioned by Udayana and Prasenajit. The explanatory frame of the icon created during the lifetime of the divinized “founder” of the tradition, as a way of saying that the practice of the founder himself legitimizes the later practice of making and worshipping icons, leads also to a third set of such stories, involving Jesus Christ and his mother Mary in the icon-worshipping Christian tradition. Here we see two variant themes: either the original lifetime icon was miraculously created, not by a human hand; or else the first icon was painted by a supremely reliable eyewitness such as the Apostle Luke. In either case the presence of icons is protected from criticism. This is not the only frame that can profitably be applied to the lifetime icon of Mahavira. In addition to the rich trove of narratives of this icon, there is a small number of extant icons that depict the iconography. Both the narratives and the icons are from the same general region of western India, indicating that we are dealing with a regional replication cult of Living Lord icons. Placing the frame of iconography around the Living Lord icon further shows how this iconography interacted with Vaishnava and Saurya (and to a lesser extent Buddhist) iconography, as all the traditions employed similar visual means of expressing the trope of God-as-King. Finally, the narratives and icons of the lifetime icon allow us to see some of the ways in which iconic traditions, with their emphases on multiple depictions of god, can allow for more polytheistic tendencies, as multiple depictions of a single deity blend into multiple depictions of multiple deities. The simultaneously monotheistic and polytheistic nature of Jainism lends itself especially to such developments. While there were only twenty-four Jinas in this part of the universe in this cycle of time, the icon-worshipping Jain pantheon has not been limited to them. In addition to the iconographic expansion of Mahavira in the lifetime icon (and of Adinatha, Parshvanatha, and Suparshvanatha as well, with the former depicted in early icons with shoulder-length hair, and the other two depicted with snake hoods sheltering their heads), we see that Jains have expanded their pantheon in other ways. There is Simandhara Svami, the Jina currently alive and preaching in another part of the universe. There is

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Gommateshvara Bahubali, the son of Adinatha who attained enlightenment before his father; he was not a Jina and so had a different post-enlightenment career, but he is nonetheless worshipped by Digambaras as the equivalent of a Jina. There is Gautama Svami, the wonder-working disciple of Mahavira who is widely worshipped by Shvetambaras. Then there are the non-liberated deities who protect Jains and the Jain teachings, and deceased monks, all of whom are worshipped in icons, and in the latter case also in the form of carved footprints. Chapter 5 turns more fully to the frame of iconoclasm, and investigates the Sthanakavasi narratives that explain how the originally pure and true Jainism became corrupted by the worship of false and inanimate idols. The immediate frame for this chapter is the biography of Lonka Shah, with whom I began the book. The Sthanakavasi narrative of Lonka frames him as an iconoclastic reformer, who swept away the accumulated debris of centuries of increasing laxity and corruption and thereby restored the Jain teachings and Jain community to their original, pristine glory. There have also been Murtipujaka narratives of Lonka, which frame him as the worst among many misguided people in Jain history who have caused the tradition great and even irreparable harm. The frame of “reformer” within which the Sthanakavasi authors have chosen to see Lonka leads to a comparison with the Protestant Reformation in Christianity, in which Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, and others are also framed as reformers who returned the tradition to its aniconic origins. This allows us to see that images in multiple times and places have been key elements in farreaching movements of religious reform; at the same time, images are only one element in these discourses of reform. The final chapter places a different kind of narrative frame around the Jina icon. Here the narratives are not so much those of linear history as ones that indicate that it is the very nature of an embodied human being to require the use of his or her senses to understand divinity. Icons are naturally unavoidable and hence essential. Whereas the other narratives in this book have ranged in time from ancient to medieval India, the narratives in chapter 6 are distinctly twentieth-century, and like the two narratives with which I began the book, about Lonka Shah and Atmaram, they bear many of the hallmarks of globalized modernity. At the same time they demonstrate how Jain modernity is deeply informed by Jain tradition, and so cannot be reduced to being only a response to colonialism and Western-centered globalization. The framework of the theological and psychological defense of icons as inevitable due to our embodiedness allows us to see how other iconic traditions, in particular the Eastern Orthodox Christian tradition, but also elements of the earlier Greek philosophical tradition and the icon-worshipping esoteric Buddhism of Japan,

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have employed similar arguments. Finally, the frame of the inevitability of icons leads to a discussion of the seemingly equal inevitability of the iconoclastic lashing out at and destruction of sacred icons.

And Still More Frames For all that my explorations of the Jina image have taken me far afield from Jainism as narrowly construed, to Minimalism and fundamentalism, to Japanese, Tibetan, and Southeast Asian Buddhism, to Christian apologetics pro and con icons, I should emphasize that there are many frames I have chosen not to put around it. A number of scholars (Babb, Cort, Humphrey, and Laidlaw) have written extensively on the worship of the Jina icon, and thus located it in frameworks of ritual and devotion. Given the androcentric nature of both the Jain tradition as a whole and the Jina image in particular, a framework of gender and feminist theory would undoubtedly be most illuminating (Kelting and Vallely). Others (Banks and Laidlaw) have framed the Jina image in terms of how it represents a distinctly Jain way of thinking about the human body. Elsewhere I have framed the Jina image within the field of material culture, and the extensive scholarship that frames it within visual culture and art history is a foundation without which I could not have written this book. The Jina image has been framed within Western critical theory (Humphrey and Laidlaw). And there are other frames. But, as Jonathan Culler noted in his discussion that I quote in the introduction, contexts and therefore frames recede in a seemingly endless manner. Not all frames are equally illuminating or helpful, and the choice of which frames to use is in the end the responsibility and burden of the author as interpreter.

The Jina Icon in the Center: Jainism as a Religion of Icons What these multiple frames do clearly indicate is the multiple ways that the Jina icon has been central to Jainism for more than 2,000 years. Today there are tens of thousands of Jain temples in India, and over one hundred have been built outside of India in recent decades in North America, Great Britain, Japan, East Africa, and the Netherlands, as Jains follow the globalized economy and settle in many new locales. There are about 3.5 million Jains in the world (Dundas 2002:4), but I think it safe to say that the Jains are far outnumbered by the Jina icons. Nor is this a new phenomenon, as the evidence from Mathura and elsewhere in ancient India so clearly demonstrates.

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This “embracing of the iconic” has not gone unchallenged. We have seen some of the iconoclastic and aniconic voices raised in criticism of idols by the Sthanakavasis in recent centuries. The degree to which Jain narratives have insisted on explaining the presence of icons for nearly as long as there have been icons indicates that unease and even outright opposition to icons also developed early in the tradition, and has continued to be an important Jain voice, even if a silent one until recent centuries. In chapter 4 I cited John Kiecshnick’s (2003:53) discussion of Buddhism in medieval China. Buddhists brought the ritual use of icons into China, and their use became so widespread that the Chinese identified Buddhism as “the teaching of icons” (xiangjiao). Jainism has never been identified as a teaching of icons, or in language more likely to be found in India, a “way” (marga) of icons. But the icon-worshipping Shvetambara Murtipujakas—literally the “worshippers of icons”—are alternately known as the Mandiramargis, the “followers of the way of temples.” Terming Jainism a “way of icons” (murti-marga) would not be inappropriate. For 2,000 years most Jains have commissioned, established, and worshipped Jina icons in temples. One of the first things Jains do today when a sufficient number of them has settled in a new community as part of their global spread is to find a place where they can locate one or more icons to worship as a community, for those icons are central to their identity and very existence as a community. The next step, as we now see in ever greater numbers around the world, is to build a temple. Jains announce their abiding residence in a new place by building a temple and worshipping icons. As we saw in the discussions of the iconoclastic and aniconic Sthanakavasis, even those who have opposed and criticized idols have in profound ways found their identities and practices as Jains defined by the presence of the very icons they criticize. Thus it is that almost any frame one chooses to use in order better to see and understand the Jains inevitably ends up being a frame around an image—an icon or an idol—of the Jina.

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Appendix: Titles of Jain Texts

An˙ga = Limb Bha¯.sa¯ = Exposition Cu¯rn.i = Dispersion Niryukti = Explanation Pu¯rva = Ancient Text T.abba¯ = Paraphrase T.¯ka ı ¯ = Commentary Vr. tti = Gloss A¯ca¯ra Dinakara = Sun of Conduct . A¯ca¯ranga Su¯tra = Scripture on Behavior A¯dipura¯n.a = Lorebook of the Beginnings A¯khya¯na Man.ikos. a = Treasury of Stories Akr. trim Caitya¯layom . ka¯ Arghya = Honoring the Uncreated Temples Anaga¯ra Dharma¯mr. ta = Nectar of Dharma for the Homeless [Monks] As..ta¯padjı¯nı¯ Pu¯ja¯ = Worship of Blessed Ashtapada Aupapa¯tika Su¯tra = Scripture on Spontaneous Arising A¯vas´ yaka Cu¯rn.i = Dispersion on the Obligations A¯vas´ yaka Niryukti Vr. tti = Gloss on the Explanation of the Obligations Bhagavatı¯ Jor. = Conjoined Meaning of the Blessed Scripture Bhagavatı¯ Su¯tra = Blessed Scripture Bhu¯dharjı¯ kı¯ Pat..ta¯valı¯ = Bhudhar Lineage Br. hat Katha¯ Kos´ a = Great Storehouse of Stories

284

APPENDIX: TITLES OF JAIN TEXTS

Candan Mu¯rtti = Sandalwood Icon Das´ as´ rutaskandha Su¯tra = Scripture of Ten Chapters Das´ avaika¯lika Su¯tra = Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises Dharma¯bhyudaya Maha¯ka¯vya = Epic Poem on the Arising of Religion Dharmpra¯n. Lon˙ka¯´s a¯h (Kra¯ntino Yugsr..s.ta¯) = Lonka Shah, the Life-Breath of Religion (The Creator of the Era of Revolution) Dharma San˙graha = Collection on Religion Dr..s.tiva¯da = Disputation about Views Dvı¯pasa¯gara Prajñapti = Exposition on Continents and Oceans Harivam . ´s a Pura¯n.a = Lorebook of the Lineage of Hari ¯ Jain Aca¯rya Carita¯valı¯ = Garland of Biographies of the Acharyas Jain Dharm ka¯ Maulik Itiha¯s = Original History of Jainism Jain Dharm Khristı¯ Dharmno Muka¯balo = A Comparison of Jainism and Christianity Jain Su¯trama¯m . Mu¯rtipu¯ja¯ = Icon Worship in the Jain Scriptures Jambu¯dvı¯pa Prajñapti = Exposition on Black Plum Continent Jayanti Carita = Deeds of Jayanti Jaya Sam . hita¯ = The Compendium of Jaya Jinapu¯ja¯ Paddhati = Handbook on Worshipping the Jina Jinapu¯ja¯ Vidhi San˙grah = Collection of Manuals for Worshipping the Jina Jı¯va¯jı¯va¯bhigama Su¯tra = Scripture of Classification of the Animate and Inanimate Jña¯ta¯dharmakatha¯h. = Stories of Knowledge and Righteousness Kalpa Su¯tra = Scripture of Rules Kalya¯n. Kalika¯ = The Bud of Kalyan Ka¯ran.aghelo = Karana the Insane Khambha¯t Pat..ta¯valı¯ = Cambay Lineage Kot.a¯ Parampara¯ kı¯ Pat..ta¯valı¯ = Lineage of the Kota Tradition “Kra¯ ntika¯ rı¯ Santratna” = “A Revolutionary Jewel of a Saint” Kriya¯kala¯pa = Bundle of Rites Kuvalayama¯la¯ = Garland of Prince Kuvalaya Kuvalayama¯la¯ Katha¯ = Story of the Garland of Prince Kuvalaya Marudhar Pat..ta¯valı¯ = Marwar Lineage Meva¯.r Pat..ta¯valı¯ = Mewar Lineage Mu¯las´ uddhi Prakaran.a = Textbook on Fundamental Purity Mu¯rtipu¯ja¯ ka¯ Pra¯cı¯n Itiha¯s = The Ancient History of Icon Worship Na¯bhinandana Jinoddha¯ra Prabandha = Narrative of the Renovation of the [Temple of ] the Jina Who is the Joy of Na¯bhi Nandı¯ Su¯tra = Auspicious Scripture Nandı¯s´ vara Bhakti = Devotion to Nandishvara Nandı¯s´ vara Dvı¯pa Pu¯ja¯ = Worship of Nandishvara Dvipa

APPENDIX: TITLES OF JAIN TEXTS

285

Nandı¯s´ vara Pu¯ja¯ = Worship of Nandishvara Navya Karma Grantha = New Karma Texts Navyug Nirma¯ta¯ = Builder of a New Era Nirva¯n.a Bhakti = Devotion to [the Sites of the Jinas’] Liberation Nirva¯n.a Ka¯lika¯ = Verses on Liberation Nirva¯n.a Ka¯n.d.a = Chapter on Liberation Nis´¯tha ı Cu¯rn.i = Dispersion on the Interdictions Pañca Meru Jinapu¯ja¯ Vidha¯n = Rite for Worshipping the Jinas on the Five Merus Pañca Meru Pu¯ja¯ = Worship of the Five Merus Pañca¯´s aka = Fifty Verses Pañca Tı¯rth Stavan = Hymn to the Five Shrines Pañca Tı¯rthı¯ Pu¯ja¯ = Worship of the Five Shrines Pat..ta¯valı¯ Prabandh = Lineage Account Pat..ta¯valı¯ Prabandh San˙grah = Collection of Lineage Accounts Paümacariya = The Deeds of Padma Prabandha Cinta¯man.i = Wishing Stone of Narratives Pra¯cı¯n Pat..ta¯valı¯ = Ancient Lineage Pras´ amarati Prakaran.a = Textbook on the Joys of Peace of the Soul Pras´ navya¯karan.a Su¯tra = Scripture of Questions and Answers Pratima¯ Chattı¯sı¯ = Thirty-Six Verses on Icons Pratima¯ Pu¯jan = Icon Worship Pratima¯ S´ataka = One Hundred Verses on Icons Ra¯japras´ nı¯ya Su¯tra = The Scripture Relating to the Questions of the King [Prasenajit] Sa¯gara Dharma¯mr. ta = Nectar of Religion for the Householder Sakala Tı¯rtha Vandana = Veneration of All the Shrines Samavaya¯n.ga Su¯tra = Scipture of Combinations Samprati Nr. pa Caritra = Deeds of King Samprati S´a¯´s vata Caitya Stava = Hymn to the Eternal Icons S´atruñjaya Ma¯ha¯tmya = Glory of Shatrunjaya S´atruñjaya Tı¯rthoddha¯ra Prabandha = Narrative of the Renovation of the Shrine of Shatrunjaya Senapras´ na = Questions of Sena Siddh Pratima¯ Mukta¯valı¯ = The Pearl Necklace of the Icon of the Perfected Being S´ra¯vaka Pratikraman.a Su¯tra T.¯ka ı ¯ = Commentary on the Scripture on the Rite of Confession by Laity S´rı¯ma¯n Laun˙ka¯ S´a¯h = Blessed Lonka Shah Stha¯na¯n.ga Su¯tra = Scripture of Categories Sthavira¯vali = Succession of the Elders Sukhabodha = Easy to Understand

286

APPENDIX: TITLES OF JAIN TEXTS

Su¯trakr. ta¯n˙ga Su¯tra = Scripture Relating to Heretical Views Tattva¯rtha Su¯tra = Scripture of the Meaning of the Reals Tiloya Pannat..ti = Exposition on the Three Worlds Tı¯rthama¯la¯ = Garland of Pilgrimage Shrines Trilokasa¯ra = Essence of the Three Worlds Tris. as. .tis´ ala¯ka¯purus. acaritra = Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons Uttara¯dhyayana Su¯tra T.¯ka ı ¯ = Commentary on the Scripture of Mahavira’s Final Teachings Va¯stusa¯ra Prakaran.a = Textbook on the Essence of Architecture Va¯stuvidya¯ = Science of Architecture Vasudevahin.d.¯ı = The Journeys of Vasudeva Vı¯r Stutiru¯p Hun.d.¯num ı . Stavan = Hymn of a Bill of Exchange in the Form of a Hymn to Maha¯vı¯ra Vis´ es. a¯vas´ yaka Bha¯.sya = Special Exposition on the Obligations Vividha Tı¯rtha Kalpa = Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Shrines Vya¯khya¯ Prajñapti Su¯tra = Scripture of Exposition of the Teachings Vyavaha¯ra Su¯tra = Scripture of Proceedings

Notes

INTRODUCTION

1. See Wiley (2004: 191) on Santba ¯ l (1893–1982). . 2. The historical path from Lon ka ¯ S´¯ah to the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s is much more complex, and much less straightforward, than Santba ¯ l indicated. See the indispensable work of Peter Flügel (2000, 2003, 2006a: 325–39, 2007, 2008b, . 2009) on Lonka ¯ and the origins and subsequent history of the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ movement(s). 3. See Wiley (2004: 234) and Jagaccandravijaygan.i (1989) on Vallabhsu ¯ ri (1879–1954). ¯ tma 4. Brief English introductions to the life of A ¯ ra ¯ m can be found in Flügel (2008b: 189–90n27) and Wiley (2004: 231). 5. A yati is a monk who only partially follows the Jain mendicant vows. They dominated S´veta ¯ mbara Jain mendicancy for several centuries, but the institution of the yati is now nearly extinct as a result of a major Jain reform movement in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. See Cort (2001b: 43–46) on yatis, and Dundas (2007: 45–50) on the Vr. ddha Posa ¯ lı¯ya (also Br. hat Posa ¯ lika) lineage of the Tapa ¯ Gaccha. 6. See Salmond (2004: 65–90). ¯ tma 7. A major reason A ¯ ra ¯ m remained a Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ monk was that at that time the only Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka monks in the Punjab were domesticated yatis. ¯ tma A ¯ ra ¯ m opposed their lax conduct as strenuously as he opposed the aniconism of the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s. One of his first actions when he went to Ahmedabad in 1875 was to engage in a public debate on the requirements of true monastic conduct ¯ ca with A ¯ rya S´¯antisa ¯ garsu ¯ ri, the s´rı¯pu ¯ jya or head of the most important domesticated branch of Tapa ¯ Gaccha yatis in Gujarat in the mid- and late-nineteenth ¯ tma century. Following the debate A ¯ ra ¯ m shifted from white to yellow

288

NOTES TO PAGES

7–14

robes in order visually to distinguish himself from the large number of yatis, who wore ¯ tma white robes. A ¯ ra ¯ m worked to “reform” Jain practice on multiple fronts throughout his life. 8. But. era ¯ y (1807–80) was a former Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ monk who had been convinced of the appropriateness of icon worship, and who was among a number of former Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ monks from the Punjab who became important advocates of icon worship in the nineteenth century. Others were Muktivijaygan.i (formerly the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ Mu ¯ lcand, 1830–89) and Muni Vr. ddhivijay (formerly the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ Vr. ddhicand, 1834–93). See Devluk (1992: I: 366–73) on these three. 9. See Jagaccandravijaygan.i (1989: 61–62) for a list of Vallabhsu ¯ ri’s activities in connection with the Indian nationalist movement. 10. See Hatcher (1996) for a similar discussion of the adoption of the language of improvement and progress in nineteenth-century Bengal. 11. The best English-language surveys of the Jains are Dundas (2002), P. S. Jaini (1979), and Wiley (2004). 12. I expand upon the argument of this section in Cort (forthcoming-b). 13. This shows how ideologically driven social movements can result in words coming to mean the opposite of what they originally meant. There was no negative connotation attached to the Greek word eido¯lon, which simply referred to any image, anything with shape (eidos). 14. The relative merits of these three terms have been discussed by many scholars. I have chosen not to engage in an extended analysis of the various arguments advanced in favor of the use of all three words, as well as alternatives such as “image–object” and “icon–body,” and so refer the interested reader to the following, which is by no means a comprehensive bibliography on the subject: Baschet (1996: 10–15); Besançon (2000: 65); Camille (1989: xxv and xxx); Hopkins (2002); Humphrey and Laidlaw (1994: 57–58n1); McCallum (1994: 179–81); Mitchell (1986: 113); Morgan (2005: 117–18); Parry (1996: 44); and Waghorne (2004: 243n1). 15. See Cort (1995b) for some preliminary reflections on these issues within the setting of Jain history. 16. The genealogy of the concept of “frame” is still longer and more complex. Culler developed his theory in significant part through his reading of Jacques Derrida ([1978, 1979]; in Culler [1982: 193–99]), in particular Derrida’s concept of parergon. Derrida in turn borrowed parergon from Immanuel Kant, who used it in the sense of “ornamentation” in his Critique of Judgment, where he specifically drew attention to the ornamental role of picture frames in “augmenting the delight of taste” (Culler [1982: 193], quoting Kant [1952: 68]). But the lineage does not stop at Kant in the eighteenth century. Parergon is an important term in the philosophical writings of Plato, for whom it is something “secondary” (Culler 1982: 193). Culler quotes Derrida ([1982: 194], quoting Derrida [1979: 20]): “A parergon is against, beside, and above and beyond the ergon, the work accomplished, the accomplishment, the work, but it is not incidental; it is connected to and cooperates in its inside operation.” Thus the “context” of the use of “frame” as an analytical term continues at once to expand and to recede.

NOTES TO PAGES CHAPTER

18–21

289

1

1. I address this issue more fully in Cort (1995b). 2. Neither “Hinduism” as a clearly defined religious tradition, nor “Hindus” as a clearly defined religious community existed until centuries after the time period under discussion. Nonetheless, I use the terms as a convenient shorthand to refer to both the Bra¯ hman.ical tradition that accepted the Vedas as authoritative scripture, and the local “folk” traditions devoted to a range of gods and goddesses that in turn influenced all three of the “great” traditions, but that seem to have been incorporated most fully into the later theistic Hindu traditions. 3. Whether the use of ritual images developed first in Mathura, or further northwest in Gandhara, as well as the nature of the relationships between those areas (in terms of artistic conventions and techniques, pilgrimage, trade, and dynastic rule), remain the subject of extensive scholarship. The political fate of the areas under consideration has seriously hampered further research. What is clear from all the available evidence, however, is that the Jain developments occurred only in Mathura, not in Gandhara. 4. Ghosh (2002) represents such a fuller study. 5. The Digambaras insist that as a matter of course a Jina must be male. The S´veta ¯ mbaras accept that while this is normally the case, there was one exception in the current series of twenty-four Jinas: the nineteenth Jina, Mallina ¯ tha, according to them, was female (Jaini 1991: 14–15). Since she attained enlightenment before she attained puberty, and therefore stopped most of the karmically driven processes of the body at a young age, she was never a woman in the full sense. Further, with only one known exception, S´veta ¯ mbaras have always depicted Mallina ¯ tha in male form. In the collection of the Lucknow Museum is a headless seated image, with clearly developed breasts and a braid down the back (Shah 1956b, 1987: 160). At the base of the image is a water pot, the standard cognizance for Mallina ¯ tha. The image has been tentatively dated to the ninth century. 6. See Cort (1996b, 1997a, 2007, and forthcoming a). 7. I have no further information on this text. Kalya ¯ n.vijay attributes it to Vis´vakarma ¯, the divine architect whom Hindus credit with authoring almost all of the medieval s´ilpa s´¯astras. These texts tended to be highly aggregative. Verses were added to different manuscripts of the same text, and verses from one text were included in subsequent texts, all in a setting of ongoing craft practice. These verses, with a few orthographic differences, are also . included by Narmada ¯ s⁄ankar Mu ¯ ljı¯bha ¯¯ı Sompura ¯ in his S´ilpa Ratna ¯ kara (1990: 491), the most important twentieth-century architecture and iconography anthology in Gujarat. 8. See Srinivasan (1997: 325–37) for a discussion of the Jain (and, in the case of the Buddha S´¯akyamuni, Buddhist) decision to eschew multiple heads and arms in contrast to a widespread South Asian acceptance of multiplicity. An exception to this observation, and possibly a unique one, is an eighteenth-century seven-headed image of the Jina Candraprabha in the collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London (Jaini 1979: illus. 13). Jaini interprets the seven heads to represent the Jain philosophical tool of applying seven standpoints to all judgements concerning reality (sapta-bhan.gi-naya).

290

NOTES TO PAGES

21–28

9. The best introduction to this topic is by Bollée (2005). 10. See Strong (2001: 42), as well as the sources he cites in his bibliography. 11. The S´veta ¯ mbara list is given by Krause (1999a: 335–37). She says the canonical source for the list is the Stha ¯ na ¯ n˙ga Su ¯ tra. Dundas (1985: 191) and Shah (1987: 83) . indicate that it is also found in the Samava ¯ ya ¯ nga Su ¯ tra. The Digambara source is Tiloya Pan.n.attı¯ 4.896-914; see also Varn.¯ı (1970–95: 1: 137). On the atis´ayas, see also von Glasenapp (1925: 252–53) and Jaini (1979: 129–31). 12. Shah (1987: 210) says that the pra¯tiha¯ryas are derived from the earlier yaks.a images. 13. Most siddha pratima¯s are from the past several centuries, although one in the collection of the Freer Sackler Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution (F1997.33) dates from 1333 CE. 14. Throughout her study Quintanilla demonstrates a willingness to date the ancient sculptures of Mathura with great precision. I do not find either the specificity of her dating, nor the interrelated chronology of images she developed, to be fully convincing. But I do not question the broader thrust of her conclusions, and so my disagreement with her methodological assumptions does not negate the importance of her analysis for my discussion here. 15. V. N. Srivastava (1972: 52n7) says that the scholar Jyoti Prasad Jain was the first to advance this identification of the architrave, in the early 1940s. ¯ dipura 16. Both Shah and Quintanilla cite the A ¯ n.a of the Digambara author Jinasena, composed in Karnataka in the mid-ninth century, as the basis of their identification of this scene. Neither cites any narration of the story of the dance of Nı¯la ¯ ñjana ¯ between the time of the architrave and Jinasena. I find it problematic to use a text from 1,000 years later to identify this scene, but its identification has no bearing on either the identification of the Jinas or the dating of the architrave. There is ample early evidence of the specific iconography of R.s.abhana ¯ tha. I thank Robert Del Bontá for alerting me to the problematic nature of the identification of the dance scene. 17. At one place in her text (2007: 94) she gives it a date “ca. early first century CE.” She has confirmed (e-mail to the author, Aug. 24, 2007) that this is a typo, with the B in BCE accidentally omitted. Elsewhere, both in her text (96, 250) and in the caption to her illustration of the image (102) she gives the correct date of ca. 100–75 BCE. She also gave this earlier date in her dissertation (1999: 74–76). 18. See also Myer (1986: 110–11). 19. On the Buddha image, see also the small medallion made in India but excavated in what is now northern Afghanistan at Tillya Tepe, a nomadic grave site from ca. 100 CE (Schiltz 2008: 276). On one side it shows a standing lion; on the other is a man pushing an eight-spoked wheel with a inscription in Kharoshthi script and in the hybrid Sanskrit of early Buddhist inscriptional language that reads, “He who brings the wheel of law into motion.” This figure, which Schiltz has dated to the last quarter of the first century BCE, and therefore adjudged to be possibly the oldest extant representation of the Buddha, does not depict the Buddha in a form found in later iconography, indicating the fluidity in the early development of the Buddha image. The excavator of the site, Victor Sarianidi (1985: 44), more conservatively simply dated the medallion to the probable time of the grave in which it was found, the first century CE.

NOTES TO PAGES

28–38

291

20. ¯aya ¯ ga. 21. A possible exception is a stone plaque excavated at Vaidyer Cak in the South 24 Parganas District of West Bengal. Sudipa Bandyopadhyay (2007: 96) dates it to “about eleventh-twlefth century A.D.” The plaque is not inscribed, however, so it is not possible to state for certain that it was an a¯ ya ¯ gapat.a. It might have served a different function, as do the many medieval stone plaques found in Jain temples throughout India. 22. See van Lohuizen-de Leeuw (1949: 51–57), R. C. Sharma (1968: 146–50), and Mitterwallner (1986: 62–64) for thorough discussions of the many problems involved in dating this inscription, as well as the range of opinions advanced over the last century. 23. Patrick Olivelle (2009) notes a similar range of terms used to denote temples and shrines in roughly contemporaneous Bra ¯ hman.ical legal literature. 24. See Davis (1997: 3–6) for a similar response in the early twentieth century to the Didarganj yaks.¯ı , and Coccari (1989) for mention of both an old Jain image and an old Buddhist image currently worshipped in Banaras as deified heroes (bı¯r ba¯ ba¯ ). 25. Dhaky (1989: 96–97n31) further speculates that the famous chowrie-bearing Didarganj yaks.¯ı (see later) “may perhaps originally be standing in attendance to such a late Mauryan Jina figure.” This also is unsupported by other evidence. 26. Ray included essentially the same passage in both works. His 1952 article was prepared for publication by 1945, but the printing of the volume was delayed due to the riots in Lahore on the occasion of the partition of India and Pakistan. His 1975 book is . a second edition of his Maurya and S´unga Art originally published in 1945; while much of it involved an expansion of the earlier book, his discussion of the Lohanipur torsos did not. 27. This is obviously a tautological argument; if one accepts a Mauryan dating for one or both of the Lohanipur images, then the scholarly consensus is overturned, and cannot stand on its own as a counterargument. 28. U. P. Shah (1987: 321) defended the earlier date, and dismissed the argument that because the polish continued to be used for several centuries, many polished sculptures should be dated later. 29. Also of relevance here is a recent essay by Tapati Guha-Thakurta (2002), who argues that the early attempts to date the Didarganj image to the Mauryan period need to be seen within the framework of the historiography of early Indian art. Some art historians of the early twentieth century were concerned to show that India had its own great artistic tradition independent of any possible Greek or Persian influences. Dating images of high technical skill such as the Didarganj female and the Lohanipur torsos to the Mauryan allowed them to do so. 30. The sole published illustration of the terracotta, in Lal and Srivastava (1981), is of such poor quality that it neither allows one to evaluate the image nor to reproduce it. 31. Naman P. Ahuja, in an e-mail to the author (July 29, 2008), rightly observes that we must distinguish between “Jain” terracottas and “Jina” terracottas. The early material evidence from Mathura and other sites indicates that the Jains were very open to using motifs and products from the cultures in which they were enmeshed, and so there must have been what we can call Jain terracottas. He concurs in the absence of any identifiably Jina terracottas, that is, images of either seated or standing Jinas. See also Ahuja (2005).

292

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38–48

32. Unfortunately, even though the article refers to accompanying plates, the plates were not published, and so I have not been able to see visual evidence of these images. 33. Images of this deity, in both male and female forms, have been found in many excavations of ancient north Indian sites. To give just a few example, excavations between 1940 and 1944 at Ahichchhatra in Bareilly district, Uttar Pradesh, yielded fifteen terracottas of the deity, which have been dated between 450 and 650 CE (Agrawala 1948: 30–32); excavations between 1951 and 1955 at Kumrahar, near ancient Pataliputra near Patna, Bihar, yielded twenty-eight terracottas, dated between 100 and 500 CE (Altekar and Mishra 1959: 109–11); excavations in 1950 and again between 1958 and 1962 at Vaishali, another ancient site in Bihar, yielded eleven terracottas, dated between the 200 and 600 CE (Deva and Mishra 1961: 53; Sinha and Roy 1969: 162–63); excavations between 1957 and 1965 at Rajghat, on the northern edge of Varanasi (Banaras) in eastern Uttar Pradesh, yielded about eighty terracottas, dated from 300 to 700 (Narain and Agrawala 1978: 85–91); and excavations at Khairadih in eastern Uttar Pradesh yielded fifteen terracottas from the early centuries CE (V. Jayaswal 1991: 36–45). 34. See also Ghose (2002: 185–86), who is the only other scholar to discuss the Ayodhya figurine after its original publication. Her willingness to accept it as Jain is equally guarded. 35. The most recent scholarship on Kha ¯ ravela, his dynasty, and the inscription are Kant (2000) and Shastri (2001). The former’s book has been roundly criticized by other scholars (see, e.g., the reviews of Norman [1973] and Hinüber [1975] of the 1971 first edition, as well as the skeptical comments by A. L. Basham in his foreword to Kant’s book). Shastri brings more recent archaeological data to bear on the interpretation of the inscription. 36. The verb in question is sam . nivesa, which can mean either “taken away” or “subjugated.” The reading of the verb is not in dispute. 37. Sircar (1965: 215) gives 326 BCE as the date of the overthrow of the last Nanda king, Jayaswal and Banerji (1930: 75) give 325 BCE, and Padmanabh Jaini (1979: 277) gives 324 BCE. 38. Barua (1938: 476) expressed no firm opinion on this matter, although he would seem to have preferred the later date when he translated that the time elapsed was “three hundred (or 103) years.” 39. M.A. Dhaky (personal communication, January 16, 2006) concurred in this evaluation of Shah’s datings, and is also of the opinion that usually one can safely add a century to dates proposed by Shah. 40. See also J. Huntington (1989: 86). 41. See also note 18. 42. See, for example, verses 2.41–2 of the Va¯ stusa¯ ra Prakaran.a (Textbook on the Essence of Architecture) of T. hakkura Pheru, composed in 1316, which mentions images made of wood and ivory. On the other hand, Shah (1987: 80) cites another medieval ¯ ca¯ ra Dinakara (Sun of Conduct) of Vardhama S´veta ¯ mbara text, the A ¯ nasu ¯ ri, composed in 1411 (Williams 1963: 15), that says that one should not worship images made of iron, wood, clay, ivory, or cow dung in one’s household shrine if one desires worldly well-being. Vardhama ¯ nasu ¯ ri also includes stone images in this list, so his prohibition may apply only

NOTES TO PAGES

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to domestic shrines, not public temples, although I have never encountered images of the other five materials in any Jain setting. Further, Vardhama ¯ nasu ¯ ri’s strictures may have more to do with the worshipper’s intentions than the material of the images. 43. See Dundas (2002: 132–33) and Wiley (2004: 93–94) for the latest discussions of this issue. . 44. See Shah (1955c: 109–12) on the eight mangalas. 45. Ra¯ japras´nı¯ya Su ¯ tra 44 (Dı¯paratnasa ¯ gara edition, p. 306). See also R. C. Sharma (1972). 46. The Prakrit title of the text (Na¯ ya¯ dhammakaha¯ o) is Sanskritized in two different ways: Jña¯ ta¯ dharmakatha¯ (Dundas [2002: 74]; this is the spelling found in almost all Jain publications of the text) and Jña¯ tr.dharmakatha¯ h. (Jaini [1979: 54], Wiles [1997: 63], Wiley [2004: xxi]). The practice of alternative Sanskritizations is an old one (Kapadiya 2000: 49). See Winternitz (1972: II: 446n1) for two different possible meanings of the title. 47. Jña¯ ta¯ dharmakatha¯ 1.16.171 (Dı¯pratnasa ¯ gara edition pp. 217–18). . 48. Bhadrankarvijay (1980a: 60–61, 1991: 59–60) lists a number of S´veta ¯ mbara canonical texts in which there are references to the worship of images. 49. Paümacariya 32.60-97. 50. The dates of Uma ¯ sva ¯ ti are the subject of scholarly disagreement. The range I give is from Wiley (2004: 222). Dhaky (1989: 97) dates him to ca. 350–400, and Dundas (2002: 86) to the fourth or fifth century. Johnson (1995: 47), on the other hand, dates him to between 150 and 350. See also the sources Johnson cites. 51. Pat. oriya ¯ (1977) also argues that the Pras´ amarati Prakaran.a was not written by Uma ¯ sva ¯ ti. 52. Pras´amarati Prakaran.a 305. 53. See Srinivasan (2006: 244, 2007: 18–19), and the many sources she cites. 54. Among the dozens of Jain images of Jinas and other deities there is not a single extant image in metal. They are all of stone. 55. See Einoo (2005a, 2005b) for a more recent discussion of references to images in the early Bra ¯ hman.ical texts. For an overview of these texts see Gonda (1977). 56. I thank Timothy Lubin (e-mail to the author, August 25, 2008) for help in dating these texts. P. V. Kane (1974: 2: 705–08) has provided further passages on temples and images in additional early Bra ¯ hman.ical texts, although his datings of the portions that refer to images, like those of von Stientencron, are also too early according to current scholarly thinking. 57. See Zimmer (1951: 211–15) for a similar meditation on the Jina image from an art historical perspective. 58. See Leoshko (1994, 2003) for further reflections on these issues. 59. Of the vast literature on minimalism, my presentation here is based largely on two works by James Meyer (2000, 2001). 60. For another example of such a page see Fischer and Jain (1978: 2: Plate VIII). 61. The four-faced images participate in a broader South Asian tradition of images facing the four directions. This emphasis on universal directionality also intersects with the pan-sectarian tradition of installing images of the eight (or ten) guardians of the directions (dikpa¯ las) on the outer walls of temples. See Wessler-Mevisser (2001) and the sources she cites.

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62. There is an extensive literature on S´veta ¯ mbara Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka worship (pu ¯ ja¯ ) and veneration (vandana) of images: see Babb (1996), Cort (2001b: 61–99), Humphrey and Laidlaw (1994), W. J. Johnson (2003), and Kelting (2001), as well as their bibliographies. In contrast, almost nothing has been written in European languages about Digambara worship; see Vasantharaj (1985) and Stevenson (1910: 86–92). CHAPTER

2

1. This point has been made convincingly by Phyllis Granoff in a series of essays (2001, 2003, 2004, 2006). On this topic see also the related scholarship of Gerard Colas (2004) and Richard David (1997: 44–49, 2001). I would argue that the Buddhist stories of the lifetime icon of the Buddha, which I discuss in chapter 4, exhibit a similar anxiety. 2. The best English discussion of Jain cosmology is in Caillat and Kumar (1981). Kirfel (1967) remains indispensable. The complex Jain cosmography developed in both the Digambara and S´veta ¯ mbara traditions at a very early date, and gives evidence of the extensive interactions between the traditions. For example, one of the foundations for cosmology in both traditions is the shared Scripture of the Meaning of the Reals (Tattva ¯ rtha Su ¯ tra), composed by Uma ¯ sva ¯ ti in the fourth or fifth century. The extended commentaries on the text are important additional sources on the development of Jain cosmology. The continued importance of cosmology for Jain ideology is seen in the number of texts devoted to the subject over the centuries, as well as its central place in Jain mendicant curricula; for some of this extensive literature, see Caillat and Kumar (1981: 15–16), Cort (2001a, 2004), Kirfel (1967: 208–09), and Van Den Bossche (2007). It is also seen in the large number of expensive paintings of Jain cosmological themes, which have featured prominently in most major exhibitions of Jain art; see Granoff (2009), Pal (1995), and Van Alphen (2000). 3. I have found no connection between the fifty-two temples of Nandı¯s´vara Dvı¯pa and the fifty-two deified heroes (vı¯ra, bı¯r; Kothari [1982: 23], Harlan [2003: 136–37]). Nor does there appear to be a connection with the fifty-one “seats” (pı¯.tha) of the goddess (Sircar 1973, P. Kumar 1974: 267–76). Both of these other sets are relatively late Tantric conceptions, and so appear to emerge out of very different cosmological concerns. Fiftytwo is the number of temples that emerges naturally from the strict mirror or bilateral symmetry of the temples on both the horizontal and vertical axes. In each of four clusters of temples, located in the four cardinal directions, a central temple is surrounded by four temples in the cardinal directions. Each of these four is then flanked by two more temples, for a total of thirteen in each cluster, and fifty-two overall. 4. On the problematic nature of “scripture” within Jain contexts, see Folkert [1993: 35–94]. 5. These powers are Prakrit laddhi, Sanskrit labdhi. 6. Prakrit vijja¯ ca¯ ran.a, Sanskrit vidya¯ ca¯ ran.a; Prakrit and Sanskrit janghaca¯ ran.a. 7. Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9; this passage is found on pages 879–81 of volume two of the edition by Dos´ı¯ and Bhojak. 8. Other important early descriptions in the S´veta ¯ mbara canon are found in the Exposition on Continents and Oceans (Dvı¯pasa¯ gara Prajñapti) section of the Scripture on Classification of the Animate and Inanimate ( Jı¯va¯ jı¯va¯ bhigama Su ¯ tra; Ohira [1994a: 2]; Dixit

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[1971: 62–3]; Maheta ¯ and Jain [1966: 48–66]; and pages 391–401 of Muni Dı¯pratnasa ¯ gar’s . edition), and the Scripture of Categories (Stha¯ na¯ nga Su ¯ tra; Dixit [1971: 8]; Ohira [1994a: 4]; page 1955 of the 1985 edition and 394 of the 2003 edition). These two passages are either contemporaneous or slightly later than that in the Blessed Scripture. The principle Digambara descriptions are found in the Prakrit Exposition on the Three Worlds (Tiloya Pan.n.attı¯, 5.52–116) of Yativr.s.abha, which dates from the sixth century CE and was composed in south India; the Sanskrit Lorebook of the Lineage of Hari (Harivam . s´a Pura¯n.a, 5.547–682), finished by the monk Punna ¯ t. a Jinasena in Gujarat in 783; and the Sanskrit Essence of the Three Worlds (Trilokasa¯ ra, 966–1014), composed by the monk Nemicandra Siddha ¯ ntacakravarti in the late tenth century in the court of the Ganga kings of Karnataka. Nemicandra’s text remained important in Digambara intellectual culture, as it was translated into Hindi by the great intellectual T.od.armal in the eighteenth century in Jaipur. For scholarly discussions of Nandı¯s´vara Dvı¯pa, see Amar (1974–75: 525–29), Fischer and Jain (1978: II: 19), Kirfel (1967: 253–57), and Shah (1955c: 119–21, 1987: 22–23). 9. For information on Jinaprabhasu ¯ ri, see Cort (1990b: 287–88), Granoff (1993: 12–40), and Vinayasa ¯ gar (2004: 265–66). 10. My abbreviated translation here is adapted and corrected from my earlier translation in Cort (1990b: 263–65). Chojnacki does not include this particular chapter in her French translation. 11. See Johnson’s translation in Tris.as.t.¯ı s´ ala¯ ka¯ purus.acaritra (vol. 1, pp. 395–97). 12. The Digambara Yativr.s.abha gives the exact same diameter at Tiloya Pan.n.attı¯ 5.53. 13. See Kirfel (1967). 14. There is now a large literature on man.d.alas. In addition to the sources I cite, see Bühnemann (2003, 2005) and Gaeffke (2005). . 15. Lessing and Wayman cite Snags rim 225b–6, which in turn is a quotation from Abhidha¯ na (Toh. 369). 16. Denise Leidy and Robert Thurman (1997: 150) have published four photographs of the Lhasa man.d.ala, and Brauen one (fig. 46). 17. See Kiyota (1978: 81–104), Snodgrass (1988), and Yamasaki (1988: 123–51) on the two man.d.alas. 18. See Sawa (1972: 75–79) on the deities of the man.d.ala, and Sawa (1972: 130–31) for To ¯ -ji in general. 19. Sawa (1972: 99) dates the icon of Fudo ¯ Myo ¯ -o ¯ , as well as the others in the man.d.ala, to about 839. 20. See Sawa (1972: 15, 58 and 127–30) on Kongo ¯ bu-ji. 21. See also Sawa (1972: 135) for a photograph of an installation of a threedimensional man.d.ala, with its prominent icons, in the Tokyo National Museum. 22. An explicit (if secondary) focus of this exhibition was, in the words of the authors of the catalogue, “to explore the relationship between the two-dimensional and three-dimensional mandala, how the former serves ultimately as a blueprint for the architecture, or catalyst for the vision, of the latter” (Leidy and Thurman 1997: 9). 23. R. Soekmono (1990) says that Candi Sewu was probably founded in 782, while Candi Borobodur was probably built between about 750 and 860, during the reign of the S´ailendra dynasty.

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24. On Candi Jago, see also Kinney (2003: 95–125), who prefers to read the monument as a set of narratives or “storybook in stone,” although her discussion of the set of fourteen free-standing icons installed at the temple—what she terms a “constellation of Buddhist deities”—indicates clearly the underlying man.d.alaic structure of the iconography. 25. Heinrich Zimmer in his Artistic Form and Yoga in the Sacred Images of India (1984) provides extended analyses of both icons and man.d.alas in the Hindu context. But here again the theological framework for his interpretation was exclusively Tantric and non-dualistic, so he portrays both icons and man.d.alas (as well as the simpler geometric yantras) as objects to be employed in meditative practice, but in the end to be transcended to attain a state of unitive consciousness. 26. This emphasis by both scholars and “convert” practitioners on the man.d.ala as an external prop for the true locus of proper religion—an inner spiritual transformation—and the concomitant neglect of the man.d.ala as a physical setting for the “real presence” of a deity, is another instance of what scholars have termed the unstated “Protestant presuppositions” of much European and American scholarship on religion. See Cort (1990a) and Schopen (1997: 1–22). 27. See Scott (2004: 213–30) for a recent discussion of the topography of Dante’s text, framing it within the long tradition of Christian visionary literature. 28. See the detailed charts in Sayers (1949). 29. See the foldout chart at the back of Sayers and Reynolds (1962). 30. See also Amartya Sen (2005: 325): “From the arithmetic conundrums of the Atharvaveda and the numerological fascination of the epics to the grammatical tables of Pa ¯ n.ini and the numbering of sexual positions by Va ¯ tsya ¯ yana, there is a remarkable obsession in ancient India with enumeration and calculation.” 31. Figure 46 is also labeled as Nandı¯s´vara, but incorrectly so; it is a painting of all eight concentric continents and oceans. For another published painting of Nandı¯s´vara, see Van Alphen (2000: fig. 48). 32. See also Hegewald (2000: 25–32) for a discussion, together with four illustrations, of these and other representations of Nandı¯s´vara Dvı¯pa and its fifty-two temples. 33. The icon in Shah (1955c: 84), while simply labeled as a four-faced Jina shrine, is clearly also an image of Nandı¯s´vara. He gives no date for this Digambara image, now in Surat, Gujarat. 34. See Dhaky (1975b: 329 and 1996: 67–69), and Sompura and Dhaky (1975: 15–16) on this text. Dhaky quotes the same passage as is found in the published version of the Va¯ stuvidya¯ (verse 3.54; p. 17), although he numbers the verses differently. Sompura and Dhaky write that the text dedicates a “generously long chapter” to the fiftytwo shrine temple, but this is not found in the published version. 35. Kanchansagarsuri (1982: 25, figs. 74, 129, 130); Burgess (1977: 22). Fergusson (1910: II: 29–30 and fig. 279) describes this temple in some detail, and gives its plan. Kim (2007: 93–130) gives an excellent discussion of the nineteenth-century social, economic, and religious framework of this temple. She notes that while the temple inscription designates Ujamba ¯¯ı as the patron, other nineteenth-century sources (and following ¯ bha ¯¯ı Vakatcand or her them many twentieth-century ones) credit either her father Hema nephew Prema ¯ bha ¯¯ı Hema ¯ bha ¯¯ı for building it. As a personal aside, I concur with her

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positive aesthetic evaluation of the temple. It is a charming and unique Jain temple, the effect of which is impossible to convey through a photograph. 36. In the middle of the pavilion are representations of the five Merus (see below), each with sixteen icons, indicating how the cosmological locations of eternal icons blend into each other. ¯ s´a 37. Her exposition expands upon A ¯ dhara’s brief mention of the observance at 9.63 (p. 674). 38. The important set of Digambara texts known as the Bhaktis has been largely ignored by scholarship, except for a preliminary discussion by A. N. Upadhye (1935: XXVI–XXIX). Upadhye writes that according to Prabha ¯ candra, author of the twelfth century VS Kriya¯ kala¯ pa (Bundle of Rites) commentary on these texts, the Prakrit versions of the Devotions were composed by Kundakunda and the later Sanskrit versions by Pu ¯ jyapa ¯ da. The dates of Kundakunda are still subject to a wide range of scholarly opinion, from the early years CE proposed by A. N. Upadhye (1935: x–xxiv) and accepted by most subsequent Digambara scholars, to the early fifth century CE or later proposed by W. J. Johnson (1995: 91–96), and finally the latter half of the eighth century as proposed by M. A. Dhaky (1991). I find it doubtful that he composed the Prakrit Bhaktis, especially as so many Digambara liturgical texts are attributed to Kundakunda on no grounds other than accumulated tradition. G. C. Caudharı¯ (1973: 460–61) has similarly questioned the attribution of the Sanskrit versions to the sixth century CE Digambara commentator Pu ¯ jyapa ¯ da. Upadhye notes that while tradition understands there to be ten Bhaktis, only eight exist in Prakrit metrical form. One of those for which only the concluding prose portion is still extant is the Prakrit Nandı¯s´vara Bhakti. In sum, it is not possible to attribute firmly either a date or an author to the extant Sanskrit Nandı¯s´vara Bhakti. 39. As I note elsewhere (Cort 2009a), the ritual focus of the three eight-day observances among north Indian Digambara Jains in recent years has shifted from Nandı¯s´vara Dvı¯pa to the Siddhacakra (“Wheel of Perfection”). See, among many other sources, Cort (2001b: 118–19, 162) on this circular (and symmetrical) visual representation of the supreme Jain spiritual virtues. 40. The observance is similar to what I have elsewhere termed the “extraordinary asceticism” of S´veta ¯ mbara Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jakas (Cort 2001b: 134–38). 41. Technically there are no Digambara nuns, only advanced laywomen. See Shanta (1985, 1997). R. C. Jain says that the performance of the Nandı¯s´vara as..ta¯ hnika ¯ allowed ´ ´ Maina ¯ sundarı¯ to cure her husband Srı¯pa ¯ la’s leprosy (1996: 28). Among the Sveta ¯ mbaras this story is associated with the twice annual Ol.¯ı (Cort 2001b: 162–63), and hints that perhaps Ol.¯ı has supplanted the Nandı¯s´vara as..t¯a hnika ¯ in S´veta ¯ mbara lay ritual culture. 42. Dya ¯ natra ¯ y, Nandı¯s´ var Pu ¯ ja ¯ , pp. 96–97. See Cort (2003) on Dya ¯ natra ¯ y. 43. Dharmacandra, Nandı¯s´ vara Dvı¯pa Pu ¯ ja¯ , pp. 262–63. The kinnaras and kecaras are types of male deities, and the kinnarı¯s, apsara¯s (Gujarati apachara¯ ) and indra ¯ n.¯ı s are all types of female deities. 44. See Babb (1996: 64–101) for an analysis of the sna¯ tra pu ¯ ja¯ in the Kharatara Gaccha ritual culture, and Kelting (2001: 142–52) for another analysis of it in Tapa ¯ Gaccha ritual culture. 45. See Babb (1996: 69–70) and Lalitprabhsa ¯ gar (1994) on Devcandra.

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46. Devcandra, Sna ¯ tra Pu ¯ ja ¯ , p. 57. 47. P. 58. 48. Vı¯rvijay, Sna¯ tra Pu ¯ ja¯ , p. 18. 49. Scholars traditionally have translated jambu ¯ as the rose apple tree. Dominik Wujastyk (2003, 2004) has recently shown convincingly that this is a mistranslation, and the jambu ¯ of classical India is the black plum tree. 50. Information on the five Merus comes from Amar (1974–75: 521–25), Caillat and Kumar (1981), Kirfel (1967: 229–30), Shah (1955c: 117–18, and 1987: 2122), and Varn.¯ı (1970–95: 3: 448–51). My discussion here is based on Amar, who in turn bases his discussion on Tiloya Pan.n.attı¯ 4.1780–1936. 51. See the maps in Caillat and Kumar (1981: 121 and 123). 52. See also Nagarajaiah (2002) for a study of Indra in the Jain visual traditions, with a focus on Karnataka. 53. In addition to the texts cited, see Kirfel (1967: 214–15) and Varn.¯ı (1970–95: IV: 444). A shorter description of the four gateways is first found in S´veta ¯ mbara texts in the canonical Exposition on Black Plum Continent ( Jambu ¯ dvı¯pa Prajñapti), which Ohira (1994a: 35) dates to the latter half of the fourth century C.E. 54. The relevant portion of the text is found on pages 246–53 of Muni Dı¯pratnasa ¯ gar’s edition. 55. See the many medieval illustrations of Black Plum Continent in Caillat and Kumar (1981), Pal (1994), and Van Alphen (2000). See also the detailed plan of Black Plum Island inserted into Varn.¯ı (1970–95: III between pages 444 and 445). 56. Tiloya Pan.n.attı¯ 4.41–49. 57. His discussion was based mostly on the fifth century Exposition on the Three Worlds (Tiloya Pan.n.attı¯) of Yativr.s.abha, supplemented where necessary by the tenth century Essence of the Three Worlds (Trilokasa ¯ ra) of Nemicandra Siddha ¯ ntacakravarti. 58. See also Kirfel (1967: 249–59). 59. Shah gives the date as VS 1513. In Gujarat this corresponds to CE 1457, not CE 1456 as he has it. He also published this image in 1955: fig. 78, where he labelled it as a Five Meru. Subsequently Amar (1974–75: 525n1) pointed out that it was only a single Meru, but with five levels, and so had been mislabeled by Shah, a correction the latter author incorporated when he published it a second time. 60. The placement of the four icons on the top tier is rotated 45° from that of the other icons, a feature for which I cannot account. 61. See also Hegewald (2005: 491–93 and 2007: 132–34). 62. Pan.d.it T.ekcand lived primarily in Jaipur, and died sometime after CE 1782 (Ka ¯ slı¯va ¯ l 1989: 237). He composed a number of devotional and narrative texts in Hindi, including the Pañca Meru Jinapu ¯ ja¯ Vidha ¯ n and the Nandı¯s´ var Dvı¯p Jinapu ¯ ja¯ Vidha¯ n. 63. See Shântâ (1985: 513–16) and Wiley (2004: 113) on Jña ¯ nmati (b. 1934). 64. V. P. Johra ¯ pu ¯ rka ¯ r (1965: 106–08) gives portions of another liturgical text dedicated to the uncreated temples, the sixty-two-verse Akr. trim Caitya¯ lay Jayma¯ la¯ , composed in poor Sanskrit in 1837 by Pan.d.it Dilsukh in Nagaur. 65. Jinvar Arcana¯ , p. 69. 66. Trilokasa¯ ra 1015.

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67. See Dundas (2002: 249–50) and Folkert (1993: 49n15). Dundas follows Jña ¯ nsundar (1936b: 63–5; see also 1936a: 28–33) in arguing that the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ list of thirty-two texts derives from those on which the sixteenth-century Pa ¯ rs´vacandrasu ¯ ri, founder of the still extant albeit shrinking lineage named after him, wrote Gujarati paraphrases (t.abba¯ ). Jña ¯ nsundar (1936a: 31) further asserted that Dharmsim . h ([1599–1671]; see Wiley [2004: 76] and Flügel [2000: 61–68]), the founder of the Dariya ¯ purı¯ branch of the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ movement, changed Pa ¯ rs´vacandrasu ¯ ri’s .tabba¯ s to omit all references to icons, and spread them under his own name as the Dariya ¯ purı¯ T.abba ¯. 68. See Dundas (1996: 78 and 95n39) for a discussion of the semantic range of the term rahasya, which can mean “secret” or “esoteric,” but also, as I have translated it here, more simply “inner essence.” Dundas further notes that another translation of the term sometimes found in contemporary writings, as “mystical,” is often inappropriate. . . 69. Jña ¯ nsundar spells his name S´¯la ı ¯ nga; the more common spelling is S´¯la ı ¯ nka. 70. It is not clear why Jña ¯ nsundar felt it necessary to add this commentary, written in 1525, to his discussion, as it is not very well known, and is just one among dozens of additional commentaries on Shvetambara canonical texts (Maheta ¯ 1967: 452–67). I can only surmise that he had a copy of this commentary at hand, and so felt a need to include it in his history. 71. See note 67 on the texts of Pa ¯ rs´vacandrasu ¯ ri (1481–1556); for more on him, see Ba ¯ lcandra (1941). 72. Jña ¯ nsundar here wrote bha ¯ s.ya; but from the context I think he meant the bha¯s.a¯ level of commentaries, what I have termed the Expositions. 73. Dundas (1996, 2007: 73–102) has provided detailed studies of attitudes to and practices of textual exegesis in the S´veta ¯ mbara Tapa ¯ Gaccha; my entire discussion of scripture and commentary is deeply indebted to his discussions. ¯ nandghan was the nom de plume of a Tapa¯ Gaccha monk initiated as Muni 74. A La ¯ bha ¯ nand. Wiley (2004: 34) gives his dates as 1603–73. Motı¯cand Girdharla ¯ l Ka ¯ pad.¯ya ı¯ (1982: 27) estimated his dates to be 1606–1674 CE. Muni Sahaja ¯ nandghan, on page ¯ nandghan’s Twenty-Four, estimated xxxxvii of his introduction to the 1989 edition of A the year of his birth at about VS 1660 (1603 or 1604 CE), the year of his mendicant initiation as about VS 1679 or 1680 (between 1622 and 1624 CE), and the year of his death as VS 1731 (1674 or 1675 CE). This variation is indicative of just how little is known with any certainty about this poet-saint, who exemplified a style of Jain mendicant renunciation and practice that stayed at the margins of the institutions of Jain mendicancy. The ¯ nandghan is Bangha and Fynes (forthcoming); best English-language introduction to A they simply conclude, “he lived in the seventeenth century,” and that he died before 1694. 75. Text at page 406 of Desa ¯¯’s ı edition and 149 of Na ¯ ht.¯a’s edition. See also Dundas ¯ nandghan’s assertion that splitting asunder these (1996: 73). To give the full force of A six authoritative limbs of the doctrine (samaya), I was tempted to translate what I have presented here literally as “will attain a bad rebirth” (te dur-bhav re) as “will go to hell.” 76. Maha¯ vı¯ravijñaptidva¯ trim . s.ika¯ 25, as given at Dundas (1996: 84). 77. Dundas (2007: 95), paraphrasing Mahopa ¯ dhya ¯ ya Dharmasa ¯ gara, Pravacana Parı¯ks.a 1.53–56.

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78. As Flügel (2008b: 210) points out, the term “Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯” did not become common as a moniker for the various iconoclastic lineages and communities loosely grouped together under this term until the twentieth century (although the lateeighteenth-century Tapa ¯ Gaccha author Padmavijay used the term extensively in one of his texts; see Cort [forthcoming b]). The sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka . . authors referred instead to the “Lon ka ¯ Mata,” i.e., the sect of Lon ka ¯ [S´¯ah], although it . is not always clear to what extent they refer to the teachings of Lonka ¯ S´¯ah himself, the . Lonka ¯ Gaccha which claimed to have been founded by him, or the various mendicant . orders known as D.hu ¯ n.d.hiya ¯ that split off from the Lonka ¯ Gaccha, in part over the issue of severity of iconoclasm, and that later emerged as the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s. On all of this see the writings of Peter Flügel, as well as Jain and Kuma ¯ r (2003). 79. See also Flügel (2008b: 228–29). 80. One exception to this is Jña ¯ nsundar (1936a), who in many places points out Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ authors’ dependence upon the commentaries. He posits that they claim to reject them totally but then are dependent upon them, and so he puts forward the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ use of commentaries as an example of Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ inconsistency and hypocrisy. 81. The Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ emphasis on the Scriptures and rejection of the subsequent commentaries bears obvious and striking similarities to the Protestant emphasis, starting with Luther and continuing until the present, on sola scriptura—“scripture alone.” Protestants, like Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s, reject the entire commentarial tradition as flawed. This means they have rejected both the centuries of commentarial texts and the ongoing lineage of teachers, two of the bulwarks of the Catholic tradition. Equally noteworthy is that both the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s and Protestants have coupled a rejection of the commentarial tradition with a rejection of the ritual use of icons. Further, both have also rejected, although to varying degrees, what we might term a “polytheistic” understanding of divinity, which allows room in the spiritual life of the community for an array of intercessory saints (Catholic) and nonliberated deities (Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka). Still further, there are interesting parallels in the Catholic and Tapa ¯ Gaccha conjoining of textual commentaries, historically rooted teaching community and the need for a fully developed ritual culture (Dundas 2007: 101–02). This web of close connections among understandings and uses of scripture, commentary, icons, divinity, and ritual warrants further exploration—an exploration that I will not attempt here. 82. On Amolak R.s.i, see Wiley (2004: 33) and Flügel (2000: 70–71n62). 83. See note 67. 84. The clear implication here is that Amolak R.s.i was illiterate in Sanskrit. This was the norm for Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ mendicants until well into the twentieth century (Flügel 2008b: 213), as they were forbidden to learn Sanskrit lest they read the many clear references in the Sanskrit commentaries to icon worship and other practices deemed illegitimate by the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s. The relative rarity of a Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ mendicant knowing Sanskrit as late as the early 1970s is seen in the honorary title given to the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ Muni Kanhaiya ¯ la ¯ l of “Sam ¯ kr. t-jña,” “Learned in Sanskrit and Prakrit.” . skr. t-Pra 85. Jña ¯ nsundar here echoed the well-known critique by Dharmasa ¯ gara of the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s and others that he viewed as heretics in his Sun in the Eyes of Owlish Heretics (Kupaks.akaus´ika ¯ ditya), better known by the more irenic title of the Examination

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of the Doctrine (Pravacana Parı¯ks.a¯ ). See Dundas (1993: 241–42). In most parts of India the owl is a highly inauspicious bird. 86. Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9.4; pages 2488–89 of Amolak R.s.i’s translation. 87. See Cort (2001b: 116) for a description of the Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka funeral ritual of the gun.a¯ nuva¯ d sabha ¯ , in which the assembled mendicants and laity “translate” the virtues of a deceased mendicant into their own spiritual lives. 88. In a 2006 e-mail to the author, Flügel said that he was born in 1895, and belonged to the Na ¯ thura ¯ m Jı¯vra ¯ j Samprada ¯ y. 89. Puppha Bhikhu, “Prasta ¯ vna ¯ ” to Sutta¯ game (vol. 1, p. 23). . 90. He referred here to the editions edited by several Lon ka ¯ Gaccha mendicants ¯ gamodaya and published by Ra ¯ y Dhanpatsim . h between 1874 and about 1900, and the A ¯ Samiti edition under the direction of the Tapa ¯ Gaccha mendicant Aca ¯ rya Sa ¯ gara ¯ nandsu ¯ ri between the 1910s and 1930s (Wiles 1997: 1–8). 91. He said that these editions placed undue reliance upon the Maha ¯ ra ¯ s.t. rı¯ linguistic forms that crept into the manuscript tradition over the centuries, and which obscured the original Ardha-Ma ¯ gadhı¯ forms. More recently the late K. R. Chandra raised the same criticism of the extant Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka textual tradition, and argued for the need to restore the original texts on the basis of detailed philological analysis. See Chandra (1994, 2001). 92. I surmise that he omitted these passages, as they are found in all other editions, including those of other Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ editors. He provides no critical apparatus for his edition, other than saying in the introduction to each volume that the edition was based upon good manuscripts (s´ uddh prati). See also the comment of Gustav Roth (1989: 132), who wrote that Puppha Bhikkhu replaced the word caitya by other terms on a regular basis. 93. . . . bitien.am ¯ en.am . uppa . nam . dissaravare dı¯ve samosaran.am kareti nam . di. ka. 2 tahim cetiya ¯ im vam dati tahim vam . 2 tao pad iniyattati . . . Bhagavatı ¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9.4; Dos´ı¯ . . . . . . edition (vol. 2, p. 880). Incidently, although he worked as a scholar for Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka organizations, Dos´ı¯ was largely sympathetic to the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ position on mu ¯ rtipu ¯ ja¯ . See in particular his controversial Jain Sa¯ hityama¯ m . Vika¯ r thava¯ thı¯ thayelı¯ Ha¯ nı¯ (The Harm from the Deformation of Jain Literature), originally delivered as a set of lectures in Bombay in January 1919, and then published in expanded form by the author (Dos´ı¯ n.d.). The response to his lectures was so harsh that for many years he was formally shunned by the Gujarati Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka community. One of the topics he addressed in his lectures was the meaning of caitya, although this was not what created the most furor. His criticisms of the current practices concerning the money (often in substantial amounts) raised in the context of various rituals, and known as dev dravya (“God’s goods”) were of more concern to the Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka orthodoxy than his comments on the meaning of caitya. 94. biien.am ¯ en.am . uppa . nam . dı¯saravare dı¯ve samosaran.am karei karetta tao pad.iniyattaï . . . Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9; Puppha Bhikku edition (vol. 1, p. 805). 95. Flügel (2009). I have not been able to find information concerning Muni Kanhaiya ¯ la ¯ l. 96. “tahim ¯ pita s´ruta¯ dijña ¯ na ¯ ni . . . . ceiya¯ im . vam . dai” tatra caitya¯ ni bhagavatpraru Gha ¯ sı¯la ¯ l, Mameyacandrika¯ khya¯ on Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9.1 (vol. 4, p. 91).

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97. Kanhaiya ¯ la ¯ l on Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9.1 (vol. 4, p. 92). The Hindi and Gujarati translations are for all practical purposes identical. 98. Information on Mis´rı¯mal comes from a 2006 e-mail to the author from Peter Flügel. 99. Amar Muni and S´rı¯cand Sura ¯ na ¯ , vivecan on Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9.4 (vol. 4, pp. 68–69). 100. Vı¯rputra, vivecan on Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 20.9.4 (vol. 6, p. 29). CHAPTER

3

1. See Cort (1995b) for a fuller discussion of the Jain universal history, as well as the various Jain localized histories. 2. U. P. Shah (1955c: 93n) has suggestively written: “The square or circular Samavasaran.a has for its prototype the square or circular funeral mounds (or structures) referred to in the S´atapatha Bra ¯ hman.a, or the Ed.u ¯ ka-Aid.uka of Maha ¯ bha ¯ rata, Vis.n.udharmottara and other texts.” This indicates a possible connection between the samavasaran.a and the stu ¯ pa, and therefore architectural similarities between preaching halls and memorial tumuli, and between the two auspicious moments of the enlightenment of a Jina (symbolized by the samavasaran.a) and his liberation (symbolized by the ¯ dina stu ¯ pa). We will return to the stu ¯ pa below, also in connection with A ¯ tha’s career. Note, however, the comments of Johannes Bronkhorst (2007: 4–6). He argues, following many earlier scholars, that for the ancient period one must distinguish between the square tumuli of the Vedic Bra ¯ hman.as and the round tumuli of the nonVedic, non-Bra ¯ hman.a inhabitants of what he calls “Greater Magadha,” in the eastern part of the Gangetic plain. He also calls attention to the same passages in the S´atapatha Bra¯ hman.a and Maha¯ bha¯ rata as Shah. That we find both square and round samavasaran.as would seem to indicate that the later Jain tradition absorbed architectural elements from what had originally been two distinct traditions of tumuli. 3. Many examples of illustrated Kalpa Su ¯ tra manuscripts have been published; see, among others sources, Beach (1988), Brown (1934), Chandra (1949), Coomaraswamy (2003), Doshi (1985), Fischer and Jain (1978) and Giri (2004). Illustrations of the samavasaran.a are found accompanying other texts as well. Chandra and Shah (1975: plate IIC) illustrate a painting of the samavasaran.a of the ¯ tha Caritra. Pal (1994: catalogue 90A) and sixteenth Jina S´¯antina ¯ tha from the S´a¯ ntina Van Alphen (2000: catalogue 95) illustrate painted samavasaran.as from manuscripts . of a S´veta ¯ mbara cosmographical Sangrahan.¯ı Su ¯ tra. Caillat and Kumar (1981: 46–47) illustrate a samavasaran.a on a loose folio that is remarkably similar to the one pub. lished by Van Alphen, and may also have come from a now dispersed Sangrahan.¯ı Su ¯ tra. Samavasaran.as were also painted in other formats: Van Alphen (2000: catalogue 96) illustrates a samavasaran.a painted on a bookcover; Van Alphen (2000: catalogue 94), Pal (1994: catalogue 105), and Caillat and Kumar (1981: 44–45) all illustrate large samavasaran.a pat..tas; and Coomaraswamy (1994: illustration 54) presents a schematic drawing of a samavasaran.a, without any icons. While less common than the S´veta ¯ mbara depictions, there are also Digambara illustrations of the samavasaran.a to accompany manuscripts of the Sanskrit biography

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¯ dina of A ¯ tha by Jinasena and the Apabhramsha biography by Pus.padanta; see Doshi ¯ di Pura¯ n.a of Pus.padanta. (1985: 94), Ghosh (1974–75: color plate 36B), and A Balbir (1994: 68n6) gives a fuller bibliography of published illustrations of samavasaran.as. 4. See Fischer and Jain (1978: II: 7–8), and Shah (1955c: 65–76, 1974–5d: 479–87, 1987: 13–14) for discussions of the caitya vr.ks.a. Fischer and Jain write: Maha ¯ vı¯ra renounced the world under an as´ oka tree and obtained enlightenment under a s´a¯ la tree. Often at the bottom of the tree sacred objects were placed for worship and thus the tree came to be known as a caityavr.ks.a [caitya tree]. . . . [J]ina images were placed in all four directions at the bottom of a tree. The concept of samavasaran.a and the quadruple image may have developed from this. 5. Tris.as..tis´ala ¯ ka¯ purus.acaritra (vol. I, pp. 188–99). For other accounts of the samavasaran.a, see the following: Balbir (1994), Bhandarkar (1911), Fischer and Jain (1978: I: 12–13), Norton (1981), and Ramachandran (1934: 104–16). The most recent scholarship on the subject is Owen (2006a: 130–59, 2006b). There are several extended descriptions of the samavasaran.a by southern Digambara authors: Yativr. s.abha in his sixth-century Exposition of the Triple World (Tiloya Pan.n.attı¯), 4.710–933 (M. A. Dhaky [1994: 296n7] avers that this is the oldest southern Digambara text extant); and Jinasena in his ninth-century Lorebook of the Beginnings (A¯di Pura¯ n.a), chapters 22–23. The Jain description of the samavasaran.a, in this case atop the mountain also known as Kaila ¯ sa, bears similarity to the S´aiva depictions of S´iva seated atop the very same mountain and preaching to the assembled deities and sages in the authoritative texts of the S´aiva Siddha ¯ nta tradition. See Davis (1991: 11, 61) for translations of the descriptions of this event from two medieval S´aiva Siddha ¯ nta texts, the Scripture of Desired Results (Ka¯ mika¯ gama) and the Undefeatable Scripture (Ajita¯ gama). 6. See also Owen (2006b: 48–49). 7. See also Schopen (1997: 268–71). Schopen’s stringent criticism of Strong (284–85n60) does not affect my comparative point. 8. See Fischer and Jain (1978: I: Plate XXXIIIA) for a modern metal samavasaran.a in a Ka ¯ njı¯ Sva ¯ mı¯ Digambara temple in Songadh, Gujarat; Shah (1955c: fig. 76; cf. 1987: 25) for a large brass samavasaran.a from ca. 1065 originally in Sirohi and now in Surat; and Shah (1978: fig. 170) for a brass samavasaran.a from 1478 now in the collection of the L. D. Museum, Ahmedabad. 9. Some of the most beautiful of these are from the eleventh-century S´veta ¯ mbara temples at Kumbhariya. See Dhaky and Moorthy (2001: plates 58, 107–19). Similar ceilings are found at Abu as well (Jayantvijay 1954: figs. 27, 30, 48). C. Sivaramamurti (1983: figs. 382–83, 413) and T. N. Ramachandran (1934: plates. 36, 62–64) have published wall paintings of samavasaran.as from between the seventh and eleventh centuries in Digambara temples in Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. 10. See Balbir (1994: 96), Bhandarkar (1911), and Shah (1987: fig. 182) for Abu; and Dhaky and Moorthy (2001: plate 73) for Kumbhariya.

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11. See Nya ¯ yatı¯rth (1990: 10–11) on this temple. In addition to the unnumbered illustration in his book, see Asher (1999: plate 12 and 2003: plate 11) for another illustration of the samavasaran.a altar and icon. She says that these samavasaran.a altars are more common in Delhi than Jaipur. She cites three in Delhi, one of which she illustrates (2003: plate 1). Following an informant, she writes that the altar represents Mount Meru (2003: 368); but Nya ¯ yatı¯rth (1990: 10) says that the altar is a samavasaran.a. It is easy to mistake the two, but the altar is clearly a samavasaran.a, not Mount Meru; and the Tera ¯ Pantha critique of lustration of Jina icons would further argue against a Tera ¯ Pantha use of Mount Meru for a central altar. I return to the similarities in the iconographies of the samavasaran.a and Mount Meru below. 12. From Bhandarkar’s description it is not possible to tell if the temple was S´veta ¯ mbara or Digambara. Its layout sounds similar to the later Digambara temples in Jaipur and Delhi. On the other hand, he cites Colonel James Tod as saying that he was told that the temple was one of the many established by King Samprati; as we will see, this is a distinctly S´veta ¯ mbara historical reference. ¯ s´a 13. Pan.d.ita A ¯ dhara, Sa¯ ga¯ ra Dharma ¯ mr. ta 6.10. See also Owen (2006b: 52). . 14. Yas´ovijaya, Vr. tti on Ma ¯ navijaya Dharma Sangraha 2.61 (vol. 2, p. 40–41). 15. As we will see below, S´veta ¯ mbara Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka Jains have long believed that one earns great merit from constructing a temple atop S´atruñjaya. If they were given free reign to do so, the many wealthy contemporary Jains would cover the top of the mountain with temples. To prevent this, the trust that manages the mountain, S´et. h ¯ n.andjı¯ Kalya A ¯ n.jı¯, has closed the mountain itself to any further construction. First it closed the older southern summit to new temples in 1811 (Desa ¯¯ı 1983–86: II: 132; Kim 2007: 76–77). More recently it closed the rest of the mountain. This has not, however, stemmed the tide of desire among patrons (both mendicant and lay) to build new temples at S´atruñjaya. The many eager patrons, therefore, have to be satisfied with the next best thing, building temples at the foot of the mountain, or on other surrounding mountains. There are many such modern temples, and their numbers are steadily increasing. This does not mean, however, that they are often visited (see also Kim [2007: ¯ dina 63]). The central temple with its icon of A ¯ tha remains the goal, and oftentime the only goal, of almost all pilgrims. 16. I have put these terms in quotation marks to indicate that pilgrimage has always contained an element of tourism, and most tourists approach their goals with a quasi-religious attitude. 17. Inside the temple there is also a set of 108 Pa ¯ rs´vana ¯ tha icons, that parallels the 108 shrines in its all-India emphasis, while at the same time indicating the continuing role of Pa ¯ rs´vana ¯ tha in Jain spirituality as the Jina most closely connected with wellbeing. Information on this temple is found in S´rı¯ 108 Jain Tı¯rth Dars´an Bhavan (1986), . Vis´ es.a¯ nk (1986), and Kus´al.candravijay (1990). 18. My telling is adapted from Helen M. Johnson’s translation: Tris.as..tis´ala ¯ ka¯ purus.a caritra (vol. I, pp. 358–70). I have quoted her translation verbatim in many places, altered it in others, and greatly shortened it. Jinaprabhasu ¯ ri gives a very similar, although somewhat more abbreviated, account in chapter 49 of his Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Places; see Chojnacki (1995: 93–106) and Cort (1990b: 269–73). Nalini Balbir (1993:

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133) indicates that Hemacandra in his telling was very faithful to that in the Dispersion on the Obligations (A¯vas´yaka Cu ¯ rn.i), an account that draws together material from two distinct canonical sources: the Exposition on Black Plum Continent ( Jambu ¯ dvı¯pa Prajñapti) ¯ dina for the description of A ¯ tha’s death, and the Scripture on Classification of the Animate and Inanimate ( Jı¯va¯ jı¯va¯ bhigama Su ¯ tra) for the description of the post mortum rites and relics. (See also Shah 1955c: 58–60.) The overlap between the accounts of Hemacandra and Jinaprabhasu ¯ ri indicates again either that the latter author borrowed from the former, or they both were working from the Dispersion on the Obligations. 19. The shape and location of these three fires would seem to echo the three fires in the S´rauta rites, the Vedic rites performed by priests and using Vedic mantras. But the three Vedic fires were circular in the west, square in the east, and semicircular in the south (Hopkins 1971: 18), so there is no exact correspondence. Hemacandra’s accounting for the origin of Vedic Bra ¯ hman.as through the distribution of the ashes from these three fires (see later) further underscores the connection between the three funeral pyres on As.t.¯apada and the three Vedic fires. 20. The goose (ham . sa) is a common symbol in Indic religions for the liberated soul. In the words of Heinrich Zimmer, “it is a symbol of sovereign freedom through stainless spirituality” (1946: 48). 21. Hemacandra calls these pillars ma¯ n.ava stambhas (“human pillars”). As ma¯ na stambhas (“pillars of pride”) they are more commonly associated with Digambara temples, especially in south India (Settar 1971; Nagarajaiah 2000), although the similar and famous Digambara kı¯rti stambha from Chittorgadh (Nath 1994), dated to about 1300, indicates that they are not unique to the south. . 22. On the as..tamangalas, see Shah (1955c: 109–12). 23. Each Jina was a distinctive height and color. See the foldout chart between pages 4 and 5 of J. L. Jaini (1979). . 24. See Wiley (2000: 195–230) on tı¯rthankara na¯ ma karma. The generation of this wonderous karma bears striking bears striking similarity to the arising of resolve for buddhahood on the part of the eventual Buddha S´¯akyamuni during his previous . life as Sumedha in the presence of the Buddha Dı¯pankara (Strong 2001: 19–27). It also bears similarity to the central event in the life of any eventual bodhisattva in the Maha ¯ ya ¯ na Buddhist traditions, the arising of bodhicitta, the “thought of enlightenment.” See Matics (1970: 31–39) for a discussion of this latter event, based on its locus classicus in Maha ¯ ya ¯ na thought, the eighth-century Bodhicarya¯ vata¯ ra (Entering the Path of Enlightenment) of S´¯antideva. 25. See Shah (1987: 101–2) for a brief discussion and the S´veta ¯ mbara and Digambara lists of the twenty-four future Jinas. He says that stone slabs with representations of the twenty-four future Jinas, along with the twenty-four each of the past and present cycles, are found in some temples. Their names are also found in various hymns and liturgies. However, Jainism never developed any significant cult of the future Jinas, in contrast to the widespread Buddhist cult of the future Buddha Maitreya (Sponberg and Hardacre 1988; Jaini 2001b). To the best of my knowledge, the only significant temple to a future Jina is the relatively recent temple in Udaipur of Padmana ¯ bha, the first Jina of the next cycle. A similar story of the consecration of an icon of a future Jina is told of the . important north Gujarati S´veta ¯ mbar Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jak pilgrimage shrine of S´ankhes´vara

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Pa ¯ rs´vana ¯ tha, which was installed thousands of years before the life of the twentythird Pa ¯ rs´vana ¯ tha by Kr.s.n.a, the cousin of the twenty-second Jina Nemina ¯ tha (Cort 1988). 26. An important exception is the recent scholarship by Peter Flügel (2008b, forthcoming) on relic veneration by contemporary Jains. There is a rich, recent literature on relics in the Buddhist tradition. See Germano and Trainor (2004), Strong (2004), and Trainor (1997). See the work of Patrick J. Geary (1978, 1994) for excellent introductions to the extensive worship of relics in medieval Western Christianity. For a good overview of “relic” as a category in the study of religion, see Schopen (1998). Pagel (2007) provides a good discussion of the ritual use of stu ¯ pas according to early Buddhist literature. 27. The Buddhists, of course, also developed an equally rich and widespread ritual culture of icons and temples. John Strong (2004: 18–20) has noted the inextricable connection between relics and icons in Buddhist history and practice. While there has been extensive scholarship on the origins and histories of Buddhist icon worship, they have not received the same concentrated scholarly attention as have relics in recent years. A comprehensive study of Buddhist icon worship remains to be written. 28. The passage is in Bhagavatı¯ Su ¯ tra 10.5. See vol. 4, p. 144, of Lalwani’s translation for an English version of the passage. 29. Shah (1955c: 59n4) gives the relevant passage from the Jambu ¯ dvı¯pa Prajñapti, ¯ vas´yaka Cu where he also calls attention to the similar, later passage in the A ¯ rn.i (pp. 221–23). See Jambu ¯ dvı¯pa Prajñapti, pp. 130–32 for the full text of the relevant passage, and pp. 136–38 for the extensive commentary on the passage by the sixteenthcentury Mahopa ¯ dhya ¯ ya Dharmasa ¯ gara. See also Sa ¯ garmal Jain (1987: 132n5). 30. Haribhadra, T.¯ı ka¯ on Bhadraba ¯ hu, A¯vas´ yaka Niryukti 949–51 (p. 291). 31. See Smith (1901) on the Mathura stu ¯ pa. For discussions of the problems raised both by the stu ¯ pa itself and the problematic ways in which it was excavated and the remains published, see Folkert (1993: 95–112). See also Dundas (2002: 113–15 and 291n4, 2006b: 400). 32. Senapras´na, p. 75. Vijayasenasu ¯ ri mentioned this in a longer answer to a question concerning the textual evidence for stu ¯ pas. Vijayasenasu ¯ ri cited and in several cases gave lengthy quotations from the Explanation of the Obligations (A¯vas´yaka Niryukti) along with the Dispersion (Cu ¯ rn.i) and Haribhadra’s Commentary (T.¯ı ka¯ ) on it, the Classification of the Animate and Inanimate ( Jı¯va¯ jı¯va ¯ bhigama Su ¯ tra), the Exposition on Black Plum ¯ dina Continent ( Jambu ¯ dvı¯pa Prajñapti), Hemacandra’s biography of A ¯ tha in his Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons (Tris.as..tis´ ala ¯ ka¯ purus.acaritra), and Devendrasu ¯ ri’s Commentary on the Scripture on the Rite of Confession by Laity (S´ra¯ vaka Pratikraman.a Su ¯ tra T.¯ı Ka¯ ) (pp. 73–75). . ¯ ca 33. These are the Scripture on Behavior (A ¯ ra ¯ n ga Su ¯ tra), Scripture of Categories . (Stha¯ na ¯ n ga Su ¯ tra), Scripture of Questions and Answers (Pras´navya¯ karan.a Su ¯ tra), Scripture of Classification of Animate and Inanimate ( Jı¯va¯ jı¯va¯ bhigama Su ¯ tra), and the Exposition on Black Plum Continent ( Jambu ¯ dvı¯pa Prajñapti). 34. These are the Explanation (Niryukti) and Dispersion (Cu ¯ rn.i) on the Obligations ¯ (Avas´ yaka), the Dispersion (Cu ¯ rn.i) on the Proceedings (Vyavaha¯ ra), as well as the . Commentaries (T.¯ı ka¯ ) on the Scripture on Behavior (A¯ca ¯ ra ¯ n ga Su ¯ tra), Scripture of Categories . (Stha¯ na ¯ n ga Su ¯ tra), “and other scriptures” (1987: 132–33).

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35. W. J. Johnson (2003: 224n2) has asked whether or not the Jain story that the Jina’s relics were taken by the Indras to heaven, where they are no longer accessible to humans, was intended to explain “not the impossibility of relic worship in Jainism, but its historical ending?” 36. This could equally indicate that later Jains had lost an adequately detailed understanding on an earlier Jain cult of relics and stu ¯ pas. See Leoshko (1999: 333–34) on this phrase. 37. See also the brief discussion of this subject by Johannes Bronkhorst (2007: 5), who argues, “round sepulchral mounds were a feature of the culture of Greater Magadha, presumably already before these three religions” (i.e., Buddhism, Jainism, ¯ jı¯vikism). He gives further references to Jain stu and A ¯ pas from several Buddhist sources. Bronkhorst’s thesis implies that a cult of stu ¯ pas and relics did not enter Jainism from elsewhere—either Buddhism, or a regional tradition of Mathura to which the Jains responded when Jainism entered that area from its Magadhan homeland further east— but that it was a local tradition in eastern India that preceded the rise of Jainism as a distinct religious tradition, and gradually disappeared over time as Jainism moved out of its homeland. In his report on the excavations at the ancient Gandharan site of Taxila, in what is now northern Pakistan, John Marshall speculated that several of the ruined stu ¯ pas there had belonged to the Jains (1951: 6, 140, 145, 463). While there is mention of Jains living in Taxila in S´veta ¯ mbara texts, these are all much later, medieval references, and the texts themselves say that the Jain presence there was of relatively short duration (1951: 65). Marshall’s speculations have not been confirmed (or, for that matter, even mentioned) by subsequent scholarship on Taxila (see Erdosy [1990], Callieri [2006: 74–76], Kuwayama [2007], and their bibliographies). The only material evidence he provides for a Jain presence consists of eleven small terracotta votive tanks (463–68; figs. 153–63). There is nothing distinctly Jain about these objects, however, and they bear strong resemblance to terracotta votive tanks from the ancient site of Sonkh, near Mathura. Herbert Härtel (1993: 195–203, 2007: 325–26) sensibly makes no mention of the Jains in his discussion of them. 38. See Dundas (2007: 198–99n6) and Laughlin (2003) on medieval S´veta ¯ mbara memorial shrines, and Settar (1989) on medieval Digambara ones. ¯ ca¯ radinakara) by A ¯ ca 39. Senasu ¯ ri cited the Sun of Conduct (A ¯ rya Vardhama ¯ nasu ¯ ri of the Kharatara Gaccha as his source, indicating that the ritual culture of worshipping deceased monks was more fully developed in the Kharatara Gaccha than in the Tapa ¯ Gaccha. On this, see also Babb (1996: 102–36), Laidlaw (1985, 1995: 65–80), and Laughlin (2003, 2005). 40. Krishna Deva (1974–75: 182) mistakenly wrote that Uddyotanasu ¯ ri composed ¯ dina his text in a temple of A ¯ tha called the As.t.¯apada Viha ¯ ra. But the text itself merely compares the town and the mountain. 41. I noted above the visual similarities between the samavasaran.a and Mount Meru, such that scholars and Jains can confuse them. To this we need to add threedimensional depictions of As.t.¯apada as well. The descriptions of the As.t.¯apada pavilion by James Tod, who visited the Jain temples on Girnar in 1822, and following him the British scholar and administrator James Burgess who visited in 1869, indicate how

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easy it is to conflate all three of these sacred towers. Tod (1839: 388) said the icon was of Sumeru, not As.t.¯apada, and Burgess (1977: 44) wrote that in each of the two pavilions is “a remarkable pile of masonry” called a samavasaran.a, and went on to write that the northern one—As.t.¯apada—is called Sumeru. Rather than criticize Tod and Burgess for their faulty identifications, I propose that we see their conflation of these three three-dimensional man.d.alas as evidence of the ways that they iconographically inform each other, and together point to a larger Jain vision of the place of icons in an ideal universe. 42. Information from the May 2003 issue of the online magazine Ahimsa Times (www.jainsamaj.org/magazines). 43. See the Web site of the organization that is funding the temple, the Sukhi Parivar (“Family of Happiness”): www.sukhiparivar.com. 44. Shah (1987: fig. 181) has published an icon of As.t.¯apada, consecrated in 1495, in a shrine attached to the temple at Ranakpur. It is much more complex in its conception than the one from Kumbhariya. 45. See Ratna Prabha Vijaya (1950: 201–6) and K. Desa ¯¯ı (1993) on this important monk. 46. On La ¯ van.yasamay, who was born in 1465 and whose death date is unknown, but who was active until at least 1533, see S´¯ah (1993). He was promoted to the post of pan.d.it in 1499; since he signs his Pañca Tı¯rth Stavan as simply muni, it is possible that he composed it before 1499. 47. Chandra’s is the much more informed discussion. As of 1949, it was in the manuscript library in Patan (Chandra 1949: 164). It is now in the L. D. Museum in Ahmedabad (Andhare 1992, where it is mislabeled as being from Palanpur). 48. Both authors translate the date of the inscription, VS 1490, to 1433 CE. This should be 1434, assuming that the donors were using the Gujarati version of the Vikrama calendar. Since the date is listed as 1433 in all subsequent scholarship, I have kept it here for consistency’s sake. 49. See also the Pa¯rs´vana¯tha scroll from the collection of Alvin O. Bellak (and now in the Philadelphia Museum of Art) that bears striking similarities of layout to the Coomaraswamy scroll; Pal (1994: 226–27). 50. Chandra dates this scroll, then in the collection of Muni Amarvijay, as no later than the mid-fourteenth century in his text (1949: 53), but as early-sixteenth century in his description of the plates (1949: 164). Given that his descriptions in his text are in chronological order, I assume that the later date is his more settled one. 51. Information from Ahimsa Times (December 2005). 52. at.ht.ha¯ vayammi usaho. Nirva¯n.a Bhakti 1. 53. kaila¯ s.as´ailas´ikhare parinivr. to’sau s´ailes´ibha ¯ vamupapadya vr..so maha ¯ tma ¯ . Nirva ¯ n.a Bhakti 22a. 54. Information comes from the following, all accessed August 7, 2008: “Shri Ashtäpad Mahä-Tirth Temple,” on the Web page of the education committee of the Federation of Jain Associations in North America (www.jaina.org/education committee); and “Ashtapad” and Kumarpal Desai, “Shri Ashtapada Mahatirth,” both on the Web page of the New York Jain Center (www.nyjaincenter.org). The article “Ashtapad” is also found in the December 2005 issue of Ahimsa Times.

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55. A photograph was published in India Today; unfortunately I no longer have the clipping. See also “Shri Ashtäpad Mahä-Tirth Temple,” p. 19; and Kumarpal Desai, “Shri Ashtapada Mahatirth,” who says the photographs are from 1993 (see note 3). 56. Slightly adapted from the translation at Cort (1990b: 271–72). 57. On the As´okan model of Buddhist kingship, see Strong (1983: 49–56), Swearer (1995: 64–77), and Tambiah (1976: 54–72). 58. This became a charter in medieval Japan, starting in the late twelfth century, for the practice of donating 84,000 miniature stu ¯ pas to a temple in imitation of As´oka’s act (Ruppert 2000: 236–54, Fowler 2005: 27–34). Fowler (fig. 1.9) provides an illustration of a bundle of small fifteenth-century wooden stu ¯ pas in which were inserted a Sanskrit spell (darani; Sanskrit dha¯ran.¯) ı written on a slip of paper, as well as one or two rice grains as imitation relics. 59. Maha¯ vam . sa, XI–XV. 60. Maha¯ vam . sa XVIII.9–18. 61. Maha¯ vam . sa XII. See Lamotte (1988: 292–310) for a discussion of the missions and the lands they reached. 62. While there is ample supporting historical evidence for many of the deeds credited to As´oka in Buddhist sources, there is no inscriptional evidence to support the Jain stories of Samprati (Thapar 1963: 187). 63. Translation adapted from that of Bollée, p. xxiv. See also Schubring’s translation, p. 261. Schubring glosses Aryan as “the land of the pious,” and expands upon Dharma to indicate that it encompasses Jain “knowledge, belief and custom.” A third translation is found in J. Jain (1981: 155). A very similar verse occurs at Nis´¯ıtha Bha ¯ s. ya 5733. 64. See Cort (2001c: 137). On Jain rituals of mendicant food gathering more generally, see Laidlaw (1995: 289–345), as well as Cort (2001c: 106–8) and the sources listed there. 65. See Nityodaysa ¯ gar and Maha ¯ yas´sa ¯ gar (1974) for an example of one such mendicant atlas. This handbook assumes that the mendicants are from Gujarat, and so includes transcriptions into Gujarati script of important phrases in other languages. For example, it instructs the mendicants how to ask in Bengali, “Which is the road to Kolkata?” and in Kannada and Tamil, “What is the name of this village?” 66. Malvania (1959: 37) gives a list of the equivalent verses in the two texts. There is scholarly disagreement, which is summarized by Sen (1975: 3–4n4), concerning the author of the Nis´¯tha ı Bha ¯ s.ya. Muni Pun.yavijay argued that the extensive overlap between the Nis´¯tha ı Bha ¯ s.ya and the Bha ¯ s.yas on the Br.hat Kalpa Su ¯ tra and the Vyavaha ¯ ra . Su ¯ tra indicated that all three were composed by Sanghada ¯ sagan.i. Dalsukh Malvania (1959: 40–45) disagreed with Pun.yavijay, and credited the text to Siddhasena Ks.ama ¯ s´raman.a. Muni Kalya ¯ n.vijay (1966b: 16–19) in turn disagreed with Malvania, saying that Siddhasena lived later than the composition of the Bha ¯ s.ya, for which he does not assign an author. 67. “Sampratinr. pa ¯ khya ¯ naka,” pp. 95–110. H. C. Bhayani in his preface to the Mu ¯ las´ uddhiprakaran.a (p. 7) says that Devacandrasu ¯ ri’s commentary was composed in 1089–90 CE, while Hı¯ra ¯ la ¯ l Ka ¯ par.iya ¯ (1968: 282) dates the text to 1160 VS, or 1103 CE. ¯ mradevasu 68. “Sampratira ¯ ja ¯ khya ¯ naka,” pp. 123–25. A ¯ ri tells the story in the context of the fruits of the practice of sa¯ ma¯ yika, a Jain form of equanimous meditation (Cort ¯ mradevasu 2001c: 122–23). A ¯ ri directly cites the Nis´¯ı tha Su ¯ tra.

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69. Hemacandra, Sthavira¯ valı¯ 11.99. Compare Bhadraba ¯ hu, Br.hat-Kalpa-Niryukti 3289, and Nis´¯ı tha Bha ¯ ya 5758. On Samprati’s missions, see also Dundas’s insightful discussion (2002: 115–16). 70. Jinada ¯ sagan.i lists these four in his Cu ¯ rn.i, composed in the last quarter of the seventh century (Sen 1975: 9), on the Nis´¯tha ı Bha ¯ s.ya 5756. Jagdishchandra Jain (1981: 155-56, 1984: 24n2) gives the list of twenty-five. His source for this is Br.hat Kalpa Bha ¯ s.ya 3263 and commentary. As Willem Bollée (p. 3) observes, Jain inadequately distinguishes among the different commentarial layers. Jain probably refers here to Malayagiri’s twelfth-century Vr. tti. Sen (1975: 74n3) gives the same list, citing Jain and the Br.hat Kalpa Vr. tti. 71. See also Jña ¯ nsundar (1936a: 157), who, in a lengthy discussion of the historical evidence for the authenticity of Jain icons, wrote, “A farmer in the village of Budapest in the district of Hungary in the country of Austria unearthed an icon of Lord Maha ¯ vı¯ra while plowing. It is said that this icon is approximately from the time of King Candragupta or Emperor Samprati.” 72. The Vaita ¯ d.hya mountains divide the continent of Bharata from east to west according to Jain cosmography (Caillat and Kumar 1981: 28); here they most likely simply refer to the Vindhya mountains of central India. 73. Strong (1983: 109–19). Maha¯ vam . sa V.78–80 says the 84,000 structures were monasteries (viha ¯ ra). 74. Anonymous Gurupat..ta¯ valı¯, p. 165. 75. See Shah (1987: 33) and von Glasenapp (1925: 37) for almost identical statements. 76. See also Chojnacki (1995: 113–45), Granoff (1999), and S´ivprasa ¯ d (1991b: 252–56). 77. This is denied by Digambaras, who hold that a soul cannot attain liberation from a female body (Jaini 1991). 78. M. A. Dhaky (2002: I: 85–102) has convincingly argued that the extant text of the Nirva ¯ n.a Ka¯ lika¯ dates from around 975 CE. 79. See Cort (1990b: 275) and the sources I cite there for these famous people. 80. Slightly modified from Cort (1990b: 248). 81. Phyllis Granoff (1992: 304–11) narrates this story, based largely on the telling by Kakkasu ¯ ri in his 1336 Na¯ bhinandana Jinoddha¯ ra Prabandha. 82. Jinaprabhasu ¯ ri tells the story of this local protector in chapter 30 of the Vividha Tı¯rtha Kalpa. For translations of this chapter, see Chojnacki (pp. 512–16), and Granoff (1990). 83. Tod (1839: 281) said that Ja ¯ vad.a S´¯aha was from Kashmir. 84. See also Dundas (2002: 222–23) on the history of S´atruñjaya. 85. Compare Kuvalayama¯ la¯ , p. 80, line 18, with Kuvalayama¯ la¯ Katha¯ Sam . ks.epa 2.162–72, and Upadhye’s comment on these passages on p. 94 of his introduction. 86. See Kim (2007: 207–9) and Memorial (1925: 19–20). 87. On the nineteenth-century developments see Kim’s comprehensive 2007 dissertation, and also Jyotindra Jain (1980). Luithle-Hardenberg’s equally comprehensive 2006 dissertation provides extensive information on contemporary ritual use of S´atruñjaya. 88. On this text, written by the caityava ¯ sı¯ monk Dhanes´varasu ¯ ri sometime between 1329 and 1455, see Dhaky (2002: I: 120n13) and Weber (1858, 1901).

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89. While the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ authors do not say why they claim that the S´atruñjaya Ma¯ ha¯ tmya is a fiction composed solely to justify the false cult of icons, it is striking that modern scholarship holds the text in no greater respect as a historical document. It is quite likely that a Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ ideologue, in response to a Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka citing it as a proof text in defense of icons, read it through and noted the obvious inconsistencies. 90. See Kanchansagarsuri (1982: 17–21) and Kim (2007: 206) for English presentations of the standard list, which is repeated in many vernacular pilgrim guidebooks. 91. See Cort (1993) on the twelve Jain cakravartins. 92. See Cort (1993) and Jaini (2000: 375–428) for introductions to the vast Jain literature on Ra ¯ ma, Kr.s.n.a, and the Pa ¯ n.d.avas. 93. Dhaky (2002: I: 117–18) points out that Dhanes´varasu ¯ ri describes Ja ¯ vad.a S´¯aha as being of the Porva ¯ l or Pra ¯ gva ¯ t.a caste. Since there is no evidence of Porva ¯ ls coming into Gujarat from Rajasthan before the tenth century, Ja ¯ vad.a must have been a medieval person. Dhaky estimates that Ja ¯ vad.a S´¯aha built a temple sometime around 970. 94. See also Granoff (1992: 315). 95. See also Granoff (1992: 311–12). ¯ dina 96. Na ¯ bhinandana, “the Joy of Nabhi,” is an epithet of A ¯ tha, whose father was Nabhi. 97. The incription of the event simply gives the name of the consecrating monk as the blessed su ¯ ri. In the inscription this renovation is listed as only the seventh. Kanchansagarsuri (1982: 92–3); Bühler (1894b: 47–48). 98. For example, the list was repeated Colonel James Tod in his account of his 1822 visit (Tod 1839: 280–1, and then by James Burgess several decades later in 1869 (1976: 26). 99. Sandesara (1953: 35) gives the date as 1221, while Sadgun.su ¯ ri (1984: 53–54) gives it as 1231. 100. See, for example, my discussion of the ten-verse Gujarati “Hymn on Establishing the Jina Icon during the Renovation of S´atruñjaya” (S´atruñjay Uddha¯ r Jin Bimb Stha¯ pan Stavan) composed by Yas´ovijaya in 1662, in which he summarized the renovations from Bharata through Karama S´¯aha (Cort forthcoming b). 101. On this trope see Granoff (1991, 1998b), as well as Davis (1997). CHAPTER

4

1. According to Jain traditions, Maha ¯ vı¯ra lived for seventy-two years, from either ´ 599 BCE to 527 BCE (Sveta ¯ mbara) or 582 BCE to 510 BCE (Digambara). Scholarly estimations of the dates of Maha ¯ vı¯ra and the Buddha are intertwined, for scholars accept that the former was a slightly older contemporary of the latter. Recent reevaluations of the date of the Buddha, which have moved the dates of the death of Maha ¯ vı¯ra’s younger contemporary from the sixth century BCE to a period between 411 BCE and 400 BCE, logically entail a similar redating of Maha ¯ vı¯ra’s life to the first three-quarters of the fifth century BCE, and his death to sometime around 425 BCE. Dundas has noted, “[t]he Jain community . . . has not so far proved susceptible to such arguments” and continues to employ its traditional dates (Dundas 2002: 24). 2. Nalini Balbir (1993: 81) points out that while the tradition attributes the ¯ vas´ yaka Cu A ¯ rn.i to Jinada ¯ sagan.i, there is no mention of an author in the text itself. She

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prefers to refer to the text alone, without the problematic authorial attribution. This text has been published only once, and that was an uncritical edition based on a single manuscript copied in 1718 CE. 3. Summarized from the translation by Granoff (2003: 443–46). The original is at ¯ vas´ yaka Niryukti (vol. 1, pp. 198–200). Granoff stops her telling Haribhadra, T.¯ka ı ¯ on A before the war; I have filled in this information from Haribhadra’s original. Although Haribhadra’s text is in Prakrit, I have Sanskritized all the names. Shah (1951: 73–74) ¯ vas´yaka Cu summarizes the version of the story in Jinada ¯ sagan.i’s A ¯ rn.i. Jinada ¯ sagan.i’s telling of the story of the Living Lord image in the Nis´¯ı tha Cu ¯ rn.i is in vol. 3, pp. 140–47. The edition of this text was published after Shah’s initial discussions of the Living Lord icon and tradition, and he did not incorporate it in his later discussions. 4. Granoff (2003: 446–47) notes that Hemacandra narrates the sequence of events slightly differently. The non-Jains did not try to make icons from the wood, but instead simply tried to open the box to reveal the icon therein. Since they mistakenly considered the deities they worshiped to be the God of Gods, instead of the Jina, and therefore expected to find an icon of one or the other of these deities in the box, they were unable to open it. In this Hemacandra followed Nemicandrasu ¯ ri. 5. I assume that Prabha ¯ vatı¯ felt that auspicious red clothes, symbolic of marriage, fertility, and general well-being, were inappropriate for worshipping a Jina icon, which should be done in a more renunciatory mood. But many contemporary S´veta ¯ mbara Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka women, especially those of younger, child-bearing years, wear an auspicious red saree to worship in a temple so long as the saree is ritually pure. On the purity of body and clothes required to worship a Jina image, see (Cort 2001b: 221n22) and Kelting (2001: 127). 6. This is the first time the icon is actually called Living Lord (Jiyasa ¯ mi); hitherto Haribhadra merely referred to it as a Jina icon (Jin.a pad.ima¯ ). Nemicandrasu ¯ ri follows Haribhadra in this. 7. Hemacandra, Tris.as..tis´ ala ¯ ka¯ purus.acaritra (vol. 6, pp. 285–312). In several places Hemacandra followed Nemicandrasu ¯ ri’s telling. For example, whereas Haribhadra and Jinada ¯ sagan.i said that the demigod who had been Kuma ¯ ranandin was told to make an icon simply because to do so would generate right faith (samyaktva), Nemicandrasu ¯ ri and Hemacandra gave nearly identical verses extolling the merit that accrues in both this life and the future from commissioning an icon (Hemacandra, vol. 6, p. 288; Meyer, pp. 102–103). 8. A central part of the consecration of S´veta ¯ mbara Jain icons still today is the sprinkling of va¯ saks.epa (Gujarati va¯ skep) over them by a senior monk. The contrast between the Jain consecration of an icon using dry powder, and the more widespread Hindu practice of consecrating an image through lustration (abhis.eka) with various liquids, reflects a broader Jain concern for the ethics involved in dry and liquid lustration. This contrast is also seen in Jain and Bra ¯ hman.ical practices of lustration to consecrate a king (Cort 1998: 94–95). Phyllis Granoff observes that Hemacandra’s addition of the consecration of the icon by Kapila runs counter to the evidence in the earlier tellings that the icon was in fact only a copy that was not suitable for worship, as seen in the withering of the flowers with which Udayana worshiped it (2003: 447).

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9. Jain (1977: 27–28) dates this text to before the end of the third century CE. But this dating is linked to that of Vimalasu ¯ ri’s Paümacariya (The Deeds of Padma). While Jain says that this date has been “fixed” as the end of the third century, there is no clear scholarly consensus accepting this date, and we can only say that the Paümacariya was composed sometime in the first five centuries CE (Cort 1993: 15). In general, many Jain scholars show a predilection to date Jain texts and events as early as possible, whereas I would prefer to err on the side of them being somewhat later. U. P. Shah has described the Vasudevahin.d.i as being of the fourth or fifth century CE (1974–75a: 86), or “c. early fifth century A.D. or a little earlier” (1987: 34), while M. N. P. Tiwari said that it is a text of ca. mid-sixth century (1994: 586). K. R. Chandra (1970: 1–17) argued that the year 530 given by the author for the composition of the text refers not to the Vı¯ra Nirva ¯ n.a calendar (in which case it would date to the first century CE) but to the Vikrama calendar, or 473 CE. This date was also accepted by M. A. Dhaky (1994: 296n.5). The only thing we can say with certainty about the date of the Vasudevahin.d.i is that it was composed before 610 CE, for in that year Jinabhadragan.i Ks.ama ¯ s´raman.a referred to it in his Vis´es.an.avatı¯ (Jain 1977: 25). 10. Shah (1987: 39n23) gave a slightly different reading of the same passage, as quoted from Muni Kalya ¯ n.vijay, Vı¯r Nirva ¯ n. Sam . vat aur Jain Ka¯ lgan.ana¯ . The passage provided by Kalya ¯ n.vijay makes no mention of Vidis´a ¯ , and the fuller reading in Amarmuni and Kanhaiya ¯ la ¯ l’s edition (vol. II, p. 362) makes clear that the meeting of Samprati and Suhastin took place in Ujjain: ujjen.i se kuma ¯ rabhottı¯ din.n.a¯ /ten.a surat..thavisao andha ¯ damila¯ ya uyaviya¯ /an.n.aya¯ a¯ yariya¯ patı¯disam . (?) jiyapad.imam. vandium . gata¯ o /. 11. Shah (1987: 35). His sources for the image being in Vidis´a ¯ are the late¯ vas´yaka Cu seventh century A ¯ rn.i and Nis´¯ı tha Cu ¯ rn.i of Jinada ¯ sagan.i, as well as ¯ vas´ yaka T.¯ı ka¯ . As noted above, Shah Haribhadra’s late-eighth or early-ninth century A was mistaken concerning the Nis´¯ı tha Cu ¯ rn.i reference. It appears that Shah in fact relied solely upon Haribhadra’s text. Haribhadra’s reference was clearly to Vidis´a ¯, ¯ vas´ yaka Niryukti of Bhadraba although the verse from the earlier A ¯ hu on which Haribhadra commented is less clear on the matter. Bhadraba ¯ hu’s verse (1283) is a simple list that requires elaboration: pa ¯ daliputta maha¯ giri ajjasuhatthı¯ ya set..thi vasubhu ¯ tı¯/ ¯ rya Suhastin and vaïdisa ujjen.¯ı e jiyapad.ima¯ elakaccham ¯ taliputra Maha ¯ giri A . ca //. “Pa merchant Vasubhu ¯ ti, Vidis´a ¯ Ujjain Living-Icon and Elakaccha.” This would appear to indicate that the Living Lord icon visited by the monk brothers Mahagiri and Suhastin was in Ujjain. (While Jain tradition has identified the Bhadraba ¯ hu who authored this and other Niryuktis with the third-century-BCE patriarch Bhadraba ¯ hu, the scholarly consensus is that these two are not the same. Maheta ¯ [1967: 70] dated the composition of the Niryuktis to between 500 and 600 VS, or roughly 450 and 550 CE. M. A. Dhaky recently proposed a similarly late date for the Niryuktis, saying that they “seemingly are as late as early sixth century C.E., of course based partly on earlier material” [2004: 138].) Haribhadra in his extensive commentary made no reference to Ujjain, saying that the two brothers went to Vidis´a ¯ and venerated the Living Lord icon there, before Maha ¯ giri proceeded to Elakaccha (Ed.akaks.a, which Shah, apparently following Mehta and Chandra [1970–72: I: 137], said is the same as Das´a ¯ rn.apura): dovi jan.a¯ vatidisam . [Sanskrit Vides´am ¯ ] gaya ¯ tattha jiyapad.imam . , i.e., Vidis´a . vanditta¯ ajjamaha¯ girı¯ elakaccham .

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¯ vas´yaka Niryukti, vol. 2, p. 119). “The two went to Vidis´a gaya ¯ (T.¯ı ka¯ on A ¯ , and there venerated the Living-[Lord] icon, [then] Maha ¯ giri went to Elakaccha.” 12. I borrow this concept from McCallum’s studies of Japanese Buddhist icons (McCallum 1994, 1998). See also Tambiah (1984: 240). 13. M. A. Dhaky (1994: 295n1) cited the Scripture of Combinations (Samava¯ ya¯ n˙ga Su ¯ tra) that the dharmacakra “moves or stays in the air before the Jina.” U. P. Shah ¯ dina (1955c: 10n1) discusses a tradition that A ¯ tha’s son Ba ¯ hubali installed a dhar¯ dina macakra at the spot in Taxila where A ¯ tha had stood. This may be the pilgrimage icon to which Jinada ¯ sagan.i referred. The dharmacakra obviously stands for the very presence of the Jina, in much the same way as do icons and stu ¯ pas. Dhaky argued that the dharmacakra emblem was borrowed from Buddhist iconography. See also (Shah 1987: 20). 14. n.ikka¯ ran.iya ¯ asiva¯ divajjita¯ uttara¯ vahe dhammacakkam . , madhura¯ e devan.immiya thu ¯ bho, kosala¯ e jiyantapad.ima¯ titthaka¯ ran.a va¯ jammabhu ¯ mı¯o, evama¯ dika¯ ran.ehim . gac¯ rn.i, vol. 3, p. 79). On the deva-nirmita stu ¯ pa at Mathura, chato n.ikka¯ ran.igo (Nis´¯ı tha Cu see Smith (1901), as well as Folkert (1993: 95–112), and my discussion in chapter 2. On possible alternate meanings for the phrase deva-nirmita, see Leoshko (1999: 333–34). On the dharmacakra, see Shah (1955c: 10 and fig. 10, 13, 15). Kosala was the kingdom centered on Ayodhya, in what is now east-central Uttar Pradesh. 15. Jagdishchandra Jain in one place refers to this icon in Kalinga (1984: 254), and in another in the city of Puriya or Purı¯ (405). In both cases he cites as his source Dron.¯aca ¯ rya’s Vr. tti on Oghaniryukti 119. Dron.¯aca ¯ rya lived in the eleventh or twelfth century VS, but after Abhayadevasu ¯ ri, who lived until about 1080 CE (Maheta ¯ 1967: 44). 16. U. P. Shah dated what he judged to be the older of the two to about 500 CE, and the other to the middle of the sixth century (1959: 26–28). Shah has discussed these icons in many places: Shah (1951, 1955a, 1955c: 4–5, 1959, 1974–75a: 86–87, 1974–75b: 136–37, 1987: 33–41). He clearly viewed his analysis of these icons as an emblematic highpoint of his career, as illustrations of the older Living Lord image grace the dust jackets of both his 1955 and 1987 books. (I have not seen the dust jacket of his 1959 book.) Karl J. Khandalawala (1956–57: 127–28) disputed these datings, and argued that each image is from roughly a century later than Shah’s estimate. Shah replied to Khandalawala’s criticism of his dating, and reaffirmed his confidence in his earlier dates, in Shah (1960: 8–10). See my comments in chapter 1 about Shah’s tendency to date objects, texts, and events as early as possible, and so not being wholly reliable. A metallurgical analysis, however, concurred with Shah’s dating; Swarnkamal ([1995: 122, 130]; see also [1980: 89–117]) has dated the older icon to ca. 500 CE and the other to ca. 550 CE. Most recently Lalit Kumar (2004: 25–26) has dated the earlier of the two to about 470 CE on the basis of his chronology of the crowns on western Indian icons. The details of dating of these images do not, however, affect my argument. 17. om ¯ yam ¯ mı¯ /pratima ¯ cadra kulikasya / na ¯ gı¯svarı¯ s´ra ¯ vikasya ¯ h.//. . devadharma . jivantasa “Om . This is the divine gift, the Living Lord image, of the laywoman Na ¯ gı ¯svarı ¯ of the Candra . Kula.” Text in Shah (1959: 28), with my translation adapted from Shah’s. The Candra Kula was one of the four ancient S´veta ¯ mbara mendicant orders. See Dundas (2007: 12–13).

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18. My discussion of the icons is taken from Shah (1974–75b: 136–37); see also his descriptions in 1951: 76–77 and 1959: 26–28. 19. See also Kumar (2004) for an extended discussion on the evolution of this crown on western Indian Vis.n.u and Jina icons. 20. koran.t.aï jı¯vı¯tasa¯ mı¯ vı¯ra. Jña ¯ navimalasu ¯ ri, Tı¯rthama ¯ la¯ , cited in Nya ¯ yavijay (1949: 345). Another modern source (Tı¯rth Dars´an 1980: 227) credits this reference to a poem with the same title composed by the Tapa ¯ Gaccha poet Megh (or Meh), who composed it in 1442. Nya ¯ yavijay says that Megh in his poem simply refers to Korta, so the anonymous author in Tı¯rth Dars´an presumably conflated the two texts. A third Tı¯rthama ¯ la¯ , composed in 1690 by the Tapa ¯ Gaccha monk S´¯lvijay, ı also simply mentions Korta ¯ , with no mention of the icon (Nya ¯ yavijay 1949: 345). The dates of the poems are according to Des´a ¯¯ı 1986–97: 4: 394 for Jña ¯ nvimalsu ¯ ri; 1986–97: 1: 65 for Megh; and 1986–97: 5: 55 for S´¯lvijay. ı 21. According to the anonymous entry in Tı¯rth Dars´an, the ancient icon was “renovated” ( jı¯rn.oddha¯ r; i.e., replaced) in 1671 at the instruction of Vijaygan.i. This second icon in turn became broken and hence less than fully suitable for worship, and so was “renovated” in 1902. 22. The influence of the strongly classicist preferences of M. A. Dhaky on both the art and archaeological histories of western India, and also on the policies of Jain trusts that oversee the many medieval Jain temples in the region, is a topic that needs analysis. 23. For published examples of this iconography from Kumbhariya from the early eleventh century through 1287 CE, see Dhaky and Moorthy (2001: figs. 218–20, 243); and Dhaky (2002: II: illus. 3 to article 17). Dhaky (2002: II: illus. 4 to article 4) has also published a standing Jina icon with the kat.imekhala¯ from Jaisalmer dated 1462 CE, and the cover of Andhare 1992 illustrates such an icon from Nadol in southern Gujarat dated 1269 CE. ¯ dina 24. These A ¯ tha icons have been well documented: see Banerjee (1974–75: plates 83a, 88), Saraswati (1974–75: plates 158a, 160b), Mitra (1975: plates XVIIA, XVIIB), and Pal (1995: figs. 40, 42). 25. Njammasch (2001) is a very good study of Buddhism in early Gujarat. It is unfortunate that she leaves the Jains out of her discussion. 26. For illustrations of this icon see M.R. Majmudar (1960: plate XLII); Shah (1960: fig. 10); Williams (1982: plate 222); and Schastok (1985: fig. 79). 27. For the Tennaji Vis.n.u see Majmudar (1960: 209, plate XLIVb). For the Mandasor Vis.n.u see Williams (1982: 142, fig. 218); and Schastok (1985: 37–38, fig. 80). For the Prakasa Vis.n.u see the plate accompanying Desa ¯¯ı (1956). On all of these see Kumar (2004). 28. While Shah ambitiously dated the Bhinmal Vis.n.u to the fourth century, Williams and Schastok more conservatively dated it to about 500. Williams dated the Mandasor Vis.n.u to ca. 510–20. Shah (1960: 79–80) dated the Shamlaji sculptures equally ambitiously to the fifth century; Williams (1982: 143–44) said that none were from before 500 CE, while Schastok (1985: 5), in a comprehensive study of all the sculptures from this site in northeastern Gujarat, said that they are all the work of a single

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workshop, and were executed between 520 and 550. In the absence of firm inscriptional evidence in support of earlier dates, I am inclined to agree with the more conservative later dates of these and other images from western India. Again, see my comments above (chapter 1) on Shah’s tendency to date icons and texts earlier than other scholars. 29. See Kumar (2004), Czuma (1985: 130–34), and Ghosh (2006: 58–61). 30. See also Quintanilla (1999: 3): “A comprehensive view of all the earliest stone sculptural remains from Mathura reveals that this region was one of—if not the single most—prominent centers of artistic production in the Indian subcontinent from as early as the mid-second century B.C., and it seems to have remained so until at least the sixth century A.D., without hiatus.” In addition to their being prestigious and influential sources in terms of style, the workshops at Mathura also provided icons that were sent elsewhere in north India. Asher (1980: 10) documents icons carved in Mathura of local stone that were then transported and installed for worship in Chandraketugarh in West Bengal, and Rajgir, Kumrahar, Bodhgaya and Nonagarh in Bihar. See also Schopen (1997: 244), who discusses Buddha images carved in Mathura and then installed by the monk Bhiks.u Bala in Sarnath and Sravasti toward the end of the first century CE. For good overviews of the cultural and religious importance of Mathura in the early centuries CE see Basu (2001), and Srinivasan (1989, 1997: 305–24). 31. On Devni Mori see also Schastok (1985: 27–32). 32. The interactions between Vais.n.ava and Saurya traditions in terms of theology, mythology, and iconography are too complex to enter into here. Suffice it to say that Su ¯ rya worship gradually merged into the more popular worship of Vis.n.u although it has never totally disappeared as an independent tradition in India, especially western India. 33. See Cummins (2001) for the most recent overview of the cult of Su ¯ rya, combining art historical, archaeological, and ethnographic evidence. 34. See Cort (2001c) for a fuller articulation of the need to pay closer attention to the historically and socially relevant ideologies of kingship when discussing the trope of god-as-king. 35. The yaks.a and yaks.¯ı technically should not appear with a Living Lord icon, since it depicts the future Jina before he has has attained enlightenment. 36. I have found no evidence of a Digambara cult of a Living Lord icon. In large part this is simply because of the Digambara ideological insistence on icons clearly depicting the Jina as nude, something not possible on a Living Lord icon. The only time I have seen a Living Lord icon in a Digambara context is a modern color painting in a volume commemorating the thousandth anniversary of the Maha ¯ vı¯rjı¯, the most important Digambara pilgrimage shrine in north India (Baj 1998: facing 24). This painting, of Maha ¯ vı¯ra in his state as a prince, standing in meditation while wearing royal finery, is clearly modeled on the older of the two Akota bronzes. 37. See also the periodization of Jain iconography, especially of Jina and equivalent icons, outlined by Klaus Bruhn (1985: 152–54), although his lack of attention to sectarian differences obscures some of his findings. In northern India before 1000 CE there were only occasional icons of Ba ¯ hubali and the Living Lord, while these icons became

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more frequent after 1000. Icons of Ba ¯ hubali were more frequently found in the Deccan from early times onward. 38. See Balbir (1991), and Jaini (2001: 481). 39. Nya ¯ yavijay (1949: 373), Kus´al.candravijay (1990: 204–5). 40. See Dundas (2002: 265–71), R. K. Jain (1999: 100–17), and Wiley (2004: 116–18) on Ka ¯ njı¯ Sva ¯ mı¯ and the Ka ¯ njı¯ Sva ¯ mı¯ Panth. . 41. om ¯ jita¯ ya s´rı¯-s´ankhes´vara-pa ¯ rs´vana¯ tha¯ ya . hrı¯m . s´rı¯m . dharan. endra-padma¯ vatı¯-pu namah.. 42. For information on these and the many other place-specific icons and their replication cults, see Nya ¯ yavijay (1949), Tı¯rth Dars´an (1980), and Kus´al.candravijay (1990). 43. See McCallum on the similar relationship between original and replica in Japan, a relationship he describes as “mysterious and somewhat ambiguous” (1998: 220): The most difficult question is how the replications were conceptualized. Clearly, the copies were not entirely equivalent to the original, but, on the other hand, all had to participate in the power of the originals if they were to function effectively as the Main icons of their own temples. It is my impression that there is some ambiguity in the conceptualization of the prime object– replication relationship, a vagueness that was perhaps purposely designed to direct attention away from the somewhat problematic status of the copies. McCallum goes on to say, in an analysis that could apply equally to Jain replication icons, Only the most uninformed visitor would not have known the relationship between the local replication and the Main Icon . . . at Shinano Zenjoki or Seiryoji. This relationship was frankly acknowledged—in fact, it was the raison d’être for the temple enshrining the replication. And yet, these replicated icons do not seem to have been thought of as somehow inferior or ineffective; quite the opposite, for within their own temples and local communities, they were very much venerated. 44. Granoff (2003: 445). See Cort (2001b: 152) on Udayana as a musician in contemporary S´veta ¯ mbara devotional culture. 45. See Adaval (1970), J. Jain (1977), Vijayalakshmi (1981), and Johnson (1946). 46. See Mehta and Chandra (1970–72: 122), Adaval (1970: 68–134), and Vijayalakshmi (1981: 140–42). 47. Of course neither Siddha ¯ rtha Gautama the Buddha, nor Vardhama ¯ na the Maha ¯ vı¯ra, was strictly speaking the “founder” of a religious tradition. Buddhist and Jain histories understand them to be the latest in a long series of enlightened teachers. But both are credited with founding the contemporary community, and even though they are not unique founders, they do function in many ways as founders of their respective religions, especially in the contexts of the narratives at hand.

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48. See in particular Soper (1959) and Carter (1970) for analyses of these texts. Carter also discussed the Pali narratives of Udayana, which do not refer to the lifetime icon of the Buddha. See further Swearer (2004: 20–22), McCallum (1996, 1998). 49. Soper (1959: 260) dated the translation betwen 398 and 421, and Carter (1970: 7) between 410 and 420. 50. See also Legge (1965: 55–63, 96). 51. See Reynolds (1977) and Gajin (1973), and the sources they cite, for more on the bodies of the Buddha. 52. On this icon, in addition to the works of Carter and McCallum, see Henderson and Hurvitz (1956). 53. Soper (1959: 259); Carter (1970: 6); Swearer (2004: 21). 54. Beal (1957–58: 498–99), Watters (1961: II: 298). 55. On the connection between Hemacandra and Kashmir, see Qvarnström (1998: 40–43) and Tubb (1998: 64n18). 56. He is also important in Jain circles as Paesi. See Bollée (2002). 57. The Sri Lankan version is the Kosala Bimba Van.n.ana¯ , translated by Richard . F. Gombrich (1978), while the Thai version is the Vat.t.angulira¯ ja Ja¯ taka, translated by Padmanabh S. Jaini (1985). See also Jaini (2001: 183–88) and Swearer (2004: 15). 58. The first step in the consecration of an icon was for monks to recite the Kosala Bimba Varn.ana ¯ va, a Sinhala text of the sixteenth or seventeenth century (Coomaraswamy 1956a: 71). 59. Such icons in Latin were known as non manufactum, and in Russian as ne-rukotvorenii (Belting 1994: 49). 60. See also Freedberg (1989: 205–10). 61. Barber (2002: 25) spells it Camouliana. 62. See Clark (2007) and her bibliography for the scholarship on this icon. 63. The Shroud is the subject of a vast literature, much of it more enthusiastic than reliable. Wilson (1979, 1998) is a good representative of this literature. I have relied on Cameron (1981). Vignon (1938) remains a valuable source of documentation. 64. See Scott (2003) for excellent photographs of the Shroud in both color and black-and-white. 65. That some of its most fervent supporters are Protestant further shows how the logic of lifetime portrait icons and relics can overcome theology. John Calvin, for example, derided the Shroud in his inventory of relics as Catholic superstition (Scott 2003: 54); but his words seem to have little impact on the enthusiasm of modern Protestants for the relic. 66. Wilson (1979) presents a map of its travels, both his hypothesis of early travels and those documented after the fourteenth century. 67. Scott (2003) is particularly useful on the role of the Shroud in the politics of north Italy. 68. See also Morgan (2005: 13–14). 69. The Lukan “portraits” raise another important interpretive frame, that of portraiture and representation. The concept of the portrait as verisimilitude is not universal, but has arisen in several specific cultural, historical, and technological settings.

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I mentioned above the S´veta ¯ mbara tradition of icons of deceased monks. For many centuries such icons followed a standard iconography, closely based on the iconography of the seated Jina, that avoided any attempt at representing an identifiable individual (Figure 4.22). In the past century, however, there has developed a counter trend, of icons of monks that intend to be lifelike representations of the person portrayed (Figure 4.23). These modern portraits are often carved from photographs. They also represent a new form of replication cult, as icons of a particular mendicant are largely identical from one temple to another, and so serve as both the focus for devotion to a deceased charismatic mendicant and to a specific iconography. The frame of portraiture for the Jina icon is well worth further exploration, but one that I defer from pursuing in this book. For more on portraiture in general, see Brilliant (1991) and West (2004); for discussions of portraiture in South Asia, see Granoff (2001), Kaimal (1999), Laughlin (2003), and Pinney (1997). 70. Of course, Luke could have painted the portrait by having a mother and child pose for him. But this would undercut the theological power of the story of Luke painting the portrait of the actual mother and child, and the painting therefore being a “real” portrait, and so embodying some form of “real presence.” 71. See Eichiner Ferro-Luzzi (1987) for an extended analysis of this motif. 72 See Grabar (1987) on Islamic attitudes generally toward representation. See Surty (1982) and Gimaret (1996) for discussions of the Islamic concept of shirk, pagan polytheistic association of non-divine objects, and by extension idols, with the one God. 73. I here need to use diacritical marks to distinguish easily between Devadatta (male) and Devadatta ¯ (female). 74. On Na ¯ ndiya ¯ (or Na ¯ ndı¯ya ¯ ) see Nya ¯ yavijay (1949: 330–31) and Tı¯rth Dars´an (1980: I: 260–61). The latter source includes a photograph of the icon. . . 75. na ¯ na¯ diya¯ na¯ na¯ ndiya ¯ jı¯vit sva¯ mı¯ va¯ ndiya ¯ (Tı¯rth Dars´an 1980: 260); na ¯ n.a¯ dı¯ya ¯ n.a¯ne na¯ndı¯ya¯ jivı¯t sva¯ mı¯ vandı¯ya¯ (Nya ¯ yavijay 1949: 330). 76. Nya¯ yavijay (1949: 331) reports that one icon in the temple has an inscription written in Kharoshthi, a script derived from Aramaic that was used for many As´okan inscriptions and other early inscriptions and documents, but that disappeared from use in India proper by about 300 (Basham 1954: 398). I have not seen the existence or identification of this inscription confirmed in any other source. The icon also has an attendant yaks.a and yaks.¯ı seated beneath the Jina; according to U. P. Shah (1987: 214), the introduction of these pairs in Jain iconography began around the sixth century CE. 77. Candraka¯ nt Kad.iya¯ (2000b: 203) writes of this icon, “a 53-inch high extraordinary icon of Maha ¯ vı¯ra is enthroned here as the main icon. The icon is from the time of the emperor Samprati.” We see how the narratives of the Living Lord icon and the icons established by Samprati intersect and inform each other. See also my discussion above of the Tinvari icon of the Living Lord, on a temple said to have been erected by Samprati. 78. Jan Gonda (1976: 51–2) has noted that these four come from an earlier list of five Vr. s.n.¯ı heroes worshipped as forms of the supreme lord, Bhagava ¯ n, by the early Bha ¯ gavata tradition, from which the Pa ¯ ñcara ¯ tra liturgical school developed. The five were Va ¯ sudeva, Sam ¯ mba. Sa ¯ mba receded . kars.an.a, Pradyumna, Aniruddha, and Sa

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from importance as the theology of the four Emanations was systematized. The Mora Well Inscription from Mathura, which probably dates from the first century CE, makes explicit reference to icons (pratima¯ ) of the five Vr.s.n.i heroes (Lüders 1961: 154; Gonda 1976: 165n241). 79. Charlotte Schmid (1997a: 239, 1997b: 61) also warns against reading the more developed Pa ¯ ñcara ¯ tra theology onto icons before the fifth century. ¯ dina 80. Some of these lists include R.s. abhana ¯ tha or A ¯ tha, the first Jina of this cycle of time, giving evidence of complex interactions between Jain and Hindu lists of multiple deities. See Jaini (2000: 325–49). 81. The term for this identifying mark, la¯ ñchana, also bears connotations of “stain” or “disfigurement,” indicating that attaching these identifying marks to the images in some way mars the depiction and instantiation of that perfect state of enlightenment and liberation that transcends all identifying differences. 82. On Jains in the Hoysal.a empire, see Saletore (1938), Derrett (1957), and Sreenivasa Murthy (1972). CHAPTER

5

1. Constantine V (r. 741–775) was the son and successor of Emperor Leo III, who initiated the Byzantine iconoclastic controversy. Leo’s actions (and possibly motivations) were more political in nature, and to the extent that they were theological seem to have been motivated by a simple reading of the second commandment. Constantine, on the other hand, was himself also a theologian. He wrote (or at least promulgated) a series of anti-icon tracts and convened the iconoclastic council of 754 at Chalcedon (Sahas 1986: 24–33). Because of his staunch attack on icons and persecution of iconophiles, he was nicknamed Copronymous or “Dung-maker” by the later victorious iconophilic historians of the iconoclastic controversy (McClanan and Johnson 2005: 10n7). Andreas Karlstadt (1480–1541) and John Calvin (1509–64) were the most vociferous iconoclastic theologians and activists in the first and second generation of the Protestant Reformation (Eire 1986). 2. For studies of the Stha¯nakava¯sı¯s, whose history has only recently begun to come into focus, see Flügel (2000, 2003, 2007, 2008b, 2009); Jain and Kuma ¯ r (2003); and the many sources in their bibliographies. For shorter English summaries, see Dundas (2002: 211–18), as well as the relevant entries in Wiley (2004). 3. For one example, the Tapa ¯ Gaccha author Muni Padmavijay uses the term extensively in his Gujarati Ba¯ la¯ vabodhak commentary on Yas´ovijaya’s Vı¯r Stuti Ru ¯p Hun.d.¯ı num . Stavan. Padmavijay composed his commentary in 1793 in Radhanpur, north Gujarat. 4. The Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ attitude toward the various layers of commentary is complex at best. While many Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ ideologues have denied authority to the commentaries, other Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ authors have leaned heavily upon them. For example, the ¯ ca Tera ¯ panthı¯ A ¯ rya Jaya (1803–81), fourth leader of this group that broke away from the broader Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ community but which maintains certain ritual continuities with it, incorporated large amounts of the commentaries directly into his Bhagavatı¯

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Jor. (Conjoined Meaning of the Blessed Scripture), a Hindi translation of the Blessed Scripture. Jña ¯ nsundar (1936a: 34–36) shows other instances of Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ and Tera ¯ panthı¯ reliance upon the commentaries. 5. See Cort (1995c) on the traditional Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka libraries. 6. See also Flügel (2008b: 194), who writes that the earliest Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ published works in the nineteenth century consisted of notes from sermons, collected by lay followers and then published under the name of the monk. Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ mendicants also eschewed publishing because of the harm (him sa ¯ ) associated with the mechanized . printing press. 7. We can, of course, deduce much of the earlier critiques of idols, by both the . iconoclastic branches of the Lonka ¯ Gaccha and the new mendicant lineages known as D.hu ¯ n.d.hiya that later became the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s, from the vigorous defense of icons mounted by Sveta ¯ mbara intellectuals such as Dharmasa ¯ gara and Yas´ovijaya in the the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. I plan to return to a fuller study of the S´veta ¯ mbara arguments pro and con images on another occasion. I have discussed this material preliminarily in Cort (2000b, forthcoming b). 8. On the pat.t.a¯ valı¯ more generally as an important S´veta ¯ mbara genre, intentionally modelled on royal lineage texts, see Dundas (2007: 23–26). 9. Kalya ¯ n.vijaygan.i (1966c: 406–49) devoted a lengthy study to six Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ pat.t.a¯ valı¯s. He showed that the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ authors copied the first part of their lineage from the fifth-century canonical Auspicious Scripture (Nandı¯ Su ¯ tra) of Devava ¯ caka. Some of the pat.t.a¯ valı¯s then rely upon a lineage given in a pat.t.a¯ valı¯ of the Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka Vr. ddhapaus.¯alika (also Br. hadpaus.¯alika) Gaccha, a domesticated branch of the Tapa ¯ Gaccha. . 10. Hastı¯mal also included seven pat.t.a¯ valı¯s from the Lonka ¯ Gaccha, a cluster of monastic lineages that intersects with Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s and Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jakas in both history and practice. While these texts are important for reconstructing the history of medieval and late premodern S´veta ¯ mbara Jainism, I do not discuss them here, as they have little bearing on my particular focus on Jain narratives about images. 11. See Bha ¯ na ¯ vat (1992) and Wiley (2004: 94–5). 12. See also Dundas (2007: 119–20) and Flügel (2008b: 199–200) on this malevolent astrological event. 13. Kalpa Su ¯ tra, sections 128–30, pp. 195–97. 14. The seven (or eight) heresies (nihnava, literally “concealments”) are the subject of extensive S´veta ¯ mbara discussion, for it is in their context that basic matters of Jain practice and doctrine were clarified and elaborated. See Dundas (2002: 46–7, 2006a); see also Ratna Prabha Vijaya (1947) for an extensive English summary of them based upon a translation of the c. 600 CE Special Exposition on the Obligations (Vis´es.a¯ vas´yaka Bha¯ s.ya) of Jinabhadragan.i Ks.ama ¯ s´raman.a. 15. Several of the pat.t.a¯ valı¯s date the commencement of the drought to 980 years after the liberation of Maha ¯ vı¯ra. 16. See among many other sources Cort (2001b: 43–46) and Premı¯ (1956: 478–95). 17. On sa¯ ma¯ yika, see Shântâ (1985: 244–46) and Wiley (2004: 184–85). 18. See Babb (2004), for an extended study of this theme.

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19. These are among the eleven annual duties prescribed for laity by medieval Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka intellectuals; see Cort (2001b: 150–51). 20. Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jakas have long been concerned to distinguish between the worship of the enlightened and liberated Jinas and unenlightened, unliberated beings such as gods, goddesses, and mendicants. See Cort (2001b: 90–91, 114). 21. Hastı¯mal’s comments were directed at the valorization of pilgrimage shrines by Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka authors such as Jña ¯ nsundar; see chapter 3 on the connection between the histories of pilgrimage shrines such as s´atruñjaya and the history of icons. 22. The Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s also, of course, portray their movement as a return to original and true Jainism. We see that what original and true Jainism was is a matter of sharp contention. 23. See Cort (2000a) for a discussion of the concept of kriyoddha ¯ ra in S´veta ¯ mbara discourse. See also Dundas (2007: 168–69). 24. See Wiley (2004: 27) and S´ivprasa ¯ d (1991a) on this lineage. 25. Several of the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ texts name the monk as Ratansu ¯ ri. We have already encountered this name, for one of the monks who introduced idolatry was also named Ratan. But no important monk by this name is known from Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka sources, especially not from the fifteenth century. It is possible that the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ texts refer to a later head (s´rı¯pu ¯ jya, bhat.t.¯a rak) of the ¯ ca main domesticated line of the Tapa ¯ Gaccha named A ¯ rya Vijaya Ratnasu ¯ ri. According to Muni Dars´anvijay (1950: 259–60; this account is roughly translated without attribution by Ratna Prabha Vijaya [1950: 184–86]), he was born in Palanpur in north Gujarat in 1655 as Jeho, youngest son of Hı¯ra ¯ S´¯aha. In 1661, his widowed mother took initiation ¯ ca as a nun at Girnar from A ¯ rya Vijaya Prabhasu ¯ ri, then head of the domesticated branch of the Tapa ¯ Gaccha. Her three sons took initiation with her. The youngest, Jı¯tavijaya, was . promoted to the post of pannya ¯ sa at the age of 15 in recognition of his intellectual prowess, and he became an ¯a ca ¯ rya six years later in 1676 at the age of 21. He became head of the order in 1694 upon Vijaya Prabhasu ¯ ri’s death. During his travels, he represented the Jain interests in the royal courts of Kacch, Mewar, Marwar, and Merta, as well as before the Mughal governor of Ahmedabad. He died in Udaipur in 1717, where the local Jain congregation erected a stu ¯ pa for him. See also S´ivprasa ¯ d (2000: 208, 211). Ratnasu ¯ ri traveled extensively in areas where the new Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ orders were spreading, and it is quite likely that there was extensive interaction, probably antagonistic, between him and the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s. It is therefore possible, although this is only a suggestion, that the later Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ lineage texts retained a memory of his name and transferred it onto earlier monks in their reconstruction of Jain history. 26. Several of the lineage texts add that he worked for the “government” (sı¯rka ¯ r). If he lived in Ahmedabad, this would mean he worked for the government of the Muslim . sultan of Gujarat. This has been used by Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka authors to indicate that Lonka ¯ ’s iconoclasm may have been due to his association with Muslims. . ´ The texts give a wide array of spellings of Lonka ¯ S¯aha’s name. Vinaycandra spells it . ´ . Lunko S¯aha. The Ancient Lineage (Pra ¯ cı¯n Pat..ta¯ valı¯) spells it Lunko Mahato. The Bhudhar . Lineage (Bhu ¯ dharjı¯ kı¯ Pat..ta¯ valı¯) spells it Lonka ¯ Mu ¯ hatau. The Cambay Lineage (Khambha ¯t Pat..ta¯ valı¯) spells it Lu ¯ ku Mehetu. The Lineage of the Kota Tradition (Kota ¯ Parampara ¯ kı¯

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Pat..ta¯ valı¯) spells it Lhuko and Lu ¯ hako. The Marwar Lineage (Marudhar Pat..ta¯ valı¯) spells it Luka ¯ Sa ¯ ha. Only the Mewar Lineage (Meva¯ .r Pat..ta¯ valı¯) and Hastı¯mal in his Garland of Biographies of the Acharyas ( Jain A¯ca¯ rya Carita ¯ valı¯) give the currently accepted spell. ing of Lonka ¯ S´¯aha. “Shah” (S´a¯ ha) is a common name among merchants in Gujarat, and simply means “respectable person.” Flügel (2008b: 185n8) says that the earliest evidence of his family name being “S´¯aha” is from 1543/44. “Mehta” (Maheta¯ ), which is spelled in various ways, is a title—often then adopted as what nowadays is a surname— given to someone who works as a clerk. The growth of surnames in modern India was largely a result of British rule, in particular the census. 27. My translation. See also the translations by Schubring (p. 199) and Lalwani (p. 1), as well as that by Krause (1999b: 82). The original is: dhammo mam . galamukkit..tha ahim . sa¯ sam . jamo tavo / deva¯ vi tam . namam . sam . ti jassa dhammo saya¯ man.o. 28. See chapter 2, for a discussion of the disagreement between the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ canon of thirty-two (or thirty-one) texts and the Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka canon of forty-five. 29. Some of the other Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ texts say that the effects of the asterism came to an end before these events, and it was due to the absence of its baleful influence that . the monk called on Lonka ¯ to begin copying the manuscripts in the first place. 30. Different locations are given for this event. Vinaycandra says it was in Patan. The Mewar Lineage says it was in Karkund (where the earlier events had also happened, . as according to this text Lonka ¯ was a government minister there). The Marwar Lineage locates it in Ahmedabad. Others simply say that the congregational pilgrimage came to . the town where Lonka ¯ lived. 31. This is an overly simplified version of one of the main planks of the Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka defense of icon worship (Cort forthcoming b). 32. Vinaycandra and the other Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ authors here adopt an important moment in Tapa ¯ Gaccha self-understanding to their own ends. Tapa ¯ Gaccha lineage texts ¯ agree that Anandavimalasu ¯ ri performed the rite of kriyoddha ¯ r, although they date this event to 1526 (Ratna Prabha Vijaya 1950: 134–43; Tripuı¯ 1964: 866–67). What is meant ¯ nandavimalasu by this event differs, however. According to Tapa ¯ Gaccha authors, A ¯ ri’s reform was focused on mendicant conduct, and did not involve a rejection of icon worship. In fact, according to Dharmasa ¯ gara, writing not long after the event, one of the signs ¯ nandavimalasu of laxity to which A ¯ ri reacted was that monks were preaching against icon worship (Tapa ¯ gaccha Pat..t¯a valı¯, p. 69). The Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ authors, on the other hand, interpret any real act of kriyoddha ¯ r as inevitably involving the rejection of idolatry. The Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ texts might also retain memories of other contacts between . ¯ nandavimalasu A ¯ ri and followers of Lonka ¯ . Triput.¯ı (1964: 867) write that among the ¯ nandavimalasu mendicants in A ¯ ri’s immediate group (pariva ¯ ra, literally “family”; see . Cort [1991: 662]) were many who had formerly been in the Lonka ¯ Gaccha and then ¯ nandavimalasu joined A ¯ ri’s reform. These mendicants had the lineage name .rs.i. There ¯ nandavimalasu were so many of them that A ¯ ri’s group informally was known as the “R. s.i Party” (r.s.imata). 33. Muni Kala ¯ prabhsa ¯ gar (1980: 127) records that fifty-two monks and forty nuns formally reformed their conduct in 1558 at the instruction of the then head of the Añcala ¯ ca Gaccha, A ¯ rya Dharmamu ¯ rtisu ¯ ri. According to Vinayasa ¯ gar (2004: 221), many monks

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of the Kharatara Gaccha became lax in their conduct. In response, the more orthoprax monks began a movement of reform (kriyoddha ¯ r). In 1549, Kanakatilaka Upa ¯ dhya ¯ ya formally adopted the full monastic vows in an act of reform. Neither account, however, makes any mention of the reforming mendicants renouncing icon worship. Kala ¯ prabhsa ¯ gar says that the reform involved a more rigorous practice of asceticism (tap), renunciation (tya¯ g), and celibacy (brahmacarya) on the part of the mendicants. 34. a¯ rambhe natthi daya¯ . The term Hastı¯mal uses here for harm, a¯ rambha, refers specifically to harm that arises as a result of occupations and similar activities, and therefore according to Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka interpretation needs to be distinguished from willful harm (Williams 1963: 66). 35. See Cort (2008a). 36. This applies equally to his partisan advocacy of the historicity of his own adopted Upakes´a Gaccha, which claimed to have descended not from the congregation founded by Maha ¯ vı¯ra, but from the one founded two-and-a-half centuries earlier by Pa ¯ rs´vana ¯ tha, and which, according to Upakes´a Gaccha accounts, in its early years was led by wizards whose magical powers included that of flight. 37. See, for example, the extent to which both Dundas (2002: 246–51) and Flügel (2008b) rely upon Jña ¯ nsundar in their discussions of Loka ¯. 38. See Flügel’s comments (2008b: 192) on the twentieth-century sectarian histories as a whole, which apply particularly to the writings of both Hastı¯mal and Jña ¯ nsundar. These writings profess to be interested in history and often use a scientific idiom. This does not mean that the texts are products of a scientific attitude, in the sense of Max Weber’s Wissenschaft als Beruf, with at least a notional commitment toward objectivity. Most vernacular histories to date are partisan and often polemical works which explicitly aim at influencing the present through the one-sided reconstruction and reinterpretation of the past. To its credit, the new Jaina historiography has unearthed numerous important historical documents. The authors also reflect on the method of writing history itself, but often only to discredit the work of opponents as “unreliable.” 39. Jña ¯ nsundar published a number of previously unavailable texts on the life and . doctrines of Lonka ¯ which he collected from libraries in Marwar. In the decades subsequent to his writing other texts have also been discovered in libraries in Gujarat and . Rajasthan, some of which appear to date to Lonka ¯ ’s time, and may even have been authored by him. See Flügel (2008b) for a good summary and analysis of these texts. 40. Jña ¯ nsundar’s argument here was based on the formulation of the seventeenthcentury Yas´ovijaya (Cort forthcoming b). 41. A canard about Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ and Tera ¯ panthı¯ mendicants sometimes heard from other sources is that they never bathe and so noticeably smell. 42. Again, the Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s’ actual attitudes toward the various layers of commentary over the centuries are not at issue here. Historical scholarship has shown that . Lonka ¯ and many of his followers have been quite conversant with the commentaries, and have not rejected them so much as denied them the same authority as the Prakrit

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root texts. Neither the Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka nor Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ narratives give evidence of such a nuanced approach to scripture and commentary on the part of Lon.ka ¯. 43. Vı¯r Stutiru ¯ p Hun.d.¯ı num . Stavan (Hymn of a Bill of Exchange in the Form of a Hymn to Maha¯ vı¯ra), 6.18. 44. The sources on the Protestant Reformation are vast and, as Madeleine Gray (2003: viii) notes in her preface justifying why she wrote yet another book on the topic, scholarly disagreements on how to interpret and understand the many events gathered together under the rubric of the Reformation (or Reformations) continue apace. My discussion is based largely on Gray (2003), Cameron (1991), and Tracy (1999), although also informed by works such as Fernández-Armesto and Wilson (1996), McCulloch (2003), and Ozment (1980). There is also an extensive literature specifically devoted to Protestant iconoclasm and the contested understandings of images and visual culture. In particular, I have found the following helpful: Aston (1988), Christensen (1979), Duffy (2005), Eire (1986), Garside (1966), Koerner (2004), Mangrum and Scavizzi (1991), Michalski (1993), Miles (1985: 95–125), Parish (2005: 71–91), Scribner (1987: 103–22), and Wandel (1995). 45. Some Protestant churches reinforced their affirmation of the primacy of the Biblical word by prominently featuring on the walls scriptural writings such as the Ten Commandments (Mochizuki 2005). 46. The best source on the Radical Reformation remains Williams (1962). . 47. Whether or not Lonka ¯ became a monk, and if so when, remains a matter of both scholarly and intra-Jain disagreement. 48. See in particular Ka ¯ njı¯ Sva ¯ mı¯ (Dundas 2002: 265–71), and also S´rı¯mad Ra ¯ jacandra (Salter 2006) and Da ¯ da ¯ Bhagva ¯ n (Flügel 2005a, b.). 49. The Latin title is Expostulatio Iesu cum homine suapte culpa pereunte (Miller and Vredeveld 1993: 84–89, 497–501; Reedijk 1956: 291–96,). 50. See Garside (1966: 93–98), for further discussion of Zwingli’s rejection of saints as mediators. 51. Weber (1946: 51) in turn borrowed the phrase “disenchantment of the world” from the German Romantic poet Friedrich Schiller. 52. See Cort (2008b: 103–06) for a discussion of Tera ¯ panthı¯ adoration of the goddess Sacciya ¯ at Osian. 53. I have heard stories of Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ monks urging their lay followers to abandon the worship of their familial goddesses (kul-devı¯) and throw their icons in wells. This is an area of Jain doctrine and practice in need of further research. 54. See in particular Michalski (1993: 6–7, 15–16, 55, 68–69). 55. Michalski (1993: 169–80) gives a good summary of the issues here. 56. On what we might call Jain sacramental theology, see Babb (1996) and Cort (2001b: 91–99). One must be careful, however, not to overinterpret the Jain philosophical argument of divine absence in the icon, as other literary and performance genres clearly posit divine presence. On this, see Cort (2006b). 57. Davis also cites Marty and Appleby (1992) on this. 58. In this we see the preference in South Asia for context-sensitive (Ramanujan 1999), ethically particular (Hallisey 1996), or situationally true (Rudolph and Rudolph 2006: 156–61) value systems, as opposed to the Abrahamic and Enlightenment

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preference for context-free systems. In the latter, if something is true it is true for all people everywhere and at all times, and therefore should become the social norm. In the former, dharma does not exist outside of contexts, in particular the three contextualizing frame of person, place and time (Madan 1987: 48–71), and so there was no reason . why Lonka ¯ S´¯ah should expect his message to have relevance for, say, Vais.n.ava Hindus or Bohra ¯ Muslims in Gujarat. CHAPTER

6

1. The role of the printed pamphlet in nineteenth and twentieth century Indian social debates reminds one of the similar role of such literature in sixteenth-century Europe. In particular, we see a significant change in Jain literature in terms of the frameworks within which texts were composed. Earlier texts were composed with the understanding that they would be preserved in hand-copied manuscripts on handmade paper. Texts therefore involved expensive technologies and skilled labor. They were produced largely for private study. Many texts existed as much in oral form as in written form. Devotional hymns, regularly performed ritual liturgies, and the distinctive Jain genre of largely rhymed vernacular literature known as the sajjha ¯ y (from Sanskrit sva ¯ dhya ¯ ya, “study”; see Williams 1963: 237–38) were all widely memorized. After the introduction and the widespread usage of print technologies, which allowed for the easy production of multiple copies at a greatly reduced cost, texts were written with the assumption that they would be inexpensively printed in hundreds and thousands of copies on industrially manufactured paper for reading by a larger “public.” See also C. A. Bayly’s observation (2004: 359), that could equally be applied to Jainism, that the “print revolution” was largely responsible for the creation of unified Hindu and Buddhist doctrine, for whereas “previously, a massively complex and even contradictory bundle of hallowed traditions had existed . . . [p]rint allowed Hinduism to be arrayed in textual form in one single bookcase.” 2. Throughout this passage Jña ¯ nsundar used the alternate spelling mu ¯ rtti (and mu ¯ rtt and mu ¯ rttima ¯ n), although he did not use it in the title of the book. To simplify matters for the non-Hindi reader, I have altered his spelling to the more standard mu ¯ rti (and mu ¯ rt and mu ¯ rtima¯ n). 3. The usual technical term for the substance of matter is pudgala. Jña ¯ nsundar instead used the phrases mu ¯ rt dravya and mu ¯ rtima¯ n dravya, for reasons that quickly become clear. 4. The five immaterial substances are soul ( jı¯va), the principle of motion (dharma), the principle of rest (adharma), space (a ¯ ka ¯ s´a), and time (ka¯ la) (Jaini 1979: 81). 5. Mu ¯ rti, mu ¯ rt and mu ¯ rtima¯ n are all tat-sam Hindi, forms, that is, ones that have come directly from Sanskrit. They are all derivatives of the verbal root ÷murch (also ÷mu ¯ rch), which means “to become solid, thicken, congeal, assume shape or substance or consistency” (Monier-Williams 1899: 823). 6. Information on Buddhisa ¯ garsu ¯ ri comes from Jaybhikkhu and Pa ¯ dra ¯ kar 1950, and Manoharkı¯rtisa ¯ garsu ¯ ri 1992. See also Cort (1997b); Wiley (2004: 61). 7. It is common for a Hindu to view a Jain monk as his or her spiritual preceptor, as part of the broader South Asian religious phenomenon of allegiance to gurus that

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has been widespread for centuries, and in more recent decades has become a hallmark or urban religiosity (Babb 1986). This does not necessarily, however, entail the person considering himself or herself “Jain” in any formal sense, as marked by participation in regular Jain rituals of icon worship and confession (pratikrama). On this topic see Dundas (2003). Becarda ¯ s, however, obviously considered himself formally a Jain. 8. The Yas´ovijay Jain Sanskrit Pa ¯ t.hs´a ¯ l.¯a was founded in 1898 at the urging of Munis Da ¯ nvijay and Ravisa ¯ gar. It was an important institution in the revival of Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka mendicancy and intellectual culture in the twentieth century, and continues to be an important training ground for both Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka monks and Mu ¯ rtipu ¯ jaka lay pan.d.its. See M. J. Gandhi et al. (1980). It is not to be confused with the similarly named but shorter lived Yas´ovijay Jain Pa ¯ t. hs´a ¯ la ¯ in Mandal and Banaras that was founded by ¯ ca A ¯ rya Vijay Dharmsu ¯ ri, on which see Tessitori (2000: 375–76) and, in a passage that almost word-for-word plagiarizes Tessitori, Sunavala (1922: 38–39). 9. See Cort (1998: 103) for a widely distributed painting illustrating this event. 10. These two numbers are suspiciously auspicious, and are probably guesses at the total of the large number of books and pamphlets he produced. 11. The influence of Christian missionaries in western India is well-known; see, for example, M. K. Gandhi’s negative portrayal of them in his Autobiography (Gandhi 1927: 24). ¯ ca 12. On A ¯ rya Ajitsa ¯ garsu ¯ ri (1886–1929) see Ca ¯ ran.raj (1992). ¯ 13. On Aca ¯ rya Kaila ¯ ssa ¯ garsu ¯ ri (1913–1985) see Dharan.endrasa ¯ gar (1992). 14. Peirce (1931–60); for an application of Peirce’s semiotic theories to a South Asian context, see Daniel (1987: 1–57). 15. On Premsu ¯ ri see Anon (1992). 16. The use of parama¯ tma¯ , literally “Supreme Soul,” to refer to the liberated Jina, has been common in Jain writing and devotion for over a millennium. 17. See Cort (2001b: 90) for a slightly different translation of this same passage. 18. On Ra ¯ mcandrasu ¯ ri see Cort (1999); Wiley (2004: 232–33). . 19. Information on Bhadrankarvijaygan.i comes from Ratnasenvijay 1981. See also Wiley (2004: 52). . 20. Bhadrankarvijay (1941: 14–15; cf. 1980a: 11–12, 1991: 12). . 21. Bhadrankarvijay (1941: 19; cf. 1980a: 17, 1991: 18). 22. Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯s have not, however, advanced the argument of some idealists such as Plato and Plotinus (Besançon 2000: 49–52), a position also found in some passages in the Hebrew Bible, that it is impossible to perceive pure spirit. 23. As I have noted earlier, this is the ideological Jain position on icons. In devotional and ritual texts one finds clear evidence that Jains have understood the “real presence” of the Jina to inhabit the icon (Cort 2006b). 24. See also Cort (2001b: 89). . 25. See Davis (1997: 47–49) on S´anka ¯ ra’s ultimate devaluation of icons. 26. My discussion of Dionysus is largely based on that of Moshe Barasch (1992: 158–82). 27. Barasch (1992: 227), Besançon (2000: 127). 28. John of Damascus, On the Divine Images, p. 20, quoted at Barasch (1992: 227). John here paraphrased Gregory the Great, Theological Orations, 2.

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29. John of Damascus, On the Divine Images, p. 76, quoted at Barasch (1992: 227). 30. See Barasch (1992: 254–89) and Roth (1981). 31. Roth here quotes 2 Peter 1.4. See also Ouspensky’s summary (1982: 31–32) of Theodore’s Third Refutation: According to the teaching of the Fathers, it is precisely on the fact that the God-Man, Jesus Christ, had a representable Mother that this image is based. “In so far as He proceeded from a Father Who could not be represented,” says Theodore the Studite [Refutation 3, ch. 2, sec. 3], “Christ, not being representable, cannot have an image made by art. In fact, what image could correspond to the Divinity, the representation of which is absolutely forbidden in divinely-inspired Scripture? But from the moment when Christ was born of a representable Mother, he clearly has a representation which corresponds with the image of His Mother. And if He had no image made by art, that would mean that He was not born of a representable Mother, that He was born only of the Father; but this contradicts His whole economy.” Thus, once the Son of God became Man, it was necessary to represent Him as man. 32. My discussion here is based on Mitchell (1986: 90–94). See most recently Ando (2008) on Plato and the problem of scholarly interpretation of icons in the Roman, Greek, and early Christian worlds. 33. Mitchell locates Plato’s assertion of the necessity and inevitability of mediation in The Republic and his letter to Dion (1986: 92–93 and 93n13). 34. See also Besançon (2000: 36) for a discussion of Plato as the “father of iconophilia” in the Western philosophical, and therefore theological, tradition. 35. See Hakeda (1972: 145–46) and Yamasaki (1988: 123) for alternate translations of this passage. 36. Arguments for knowledge as embodied, rather than solely ideational, and for the spiritual life as involving matter and therefore the body, rather than only soul, have resurfaced most recently in feminist critiques of Greek and Enlightenment epistemology. See, for example, the following comments of the American ecofeminist writer Susan Griffin (1995: 83–4), who locates the roots of the diminishment and oppression of both women and nature in a rejection of embodied knowledge: with the concealment of nature the full dimension of human intelligence is also sacrificed. Those forms of human knowledge associated with materiality suffer invisibility and marginalization. It is thus not only the natural world that is mechanized but one’s own experience of the natural world. Sensual knowledge, seeing, tasting, smelling, feeling, hearing, crucial abilities through which the human species has survived for millenia in balance with other life forms, have been made subject to distrust, given a lower value, and hence, outside of a handful of artists and healers who are also marginalized, these capacities have been left under-developed in Western culture.

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37. Freedberg viewed this as a universal fallacy, and so underplayed the extent to which this judgment on the part of European and American art historians is equally likely to be evidence of unquestioned Protestant presuppositions that underlie their very understandings of art and religion and the relationships between the two. See Ando (2008: 21–42) for a discussion of some of the ways that the ancient and medieval pagan and Christian philosophizing about icons has overly shaped modern scholarly presentations of those icons themselves. 38. See Halbertal and Margalit (1992). 39. Many scholars have criticized Freedberg for being inadequately sensitive to the ways in which responses to images (and other objects) are conditioned by cultural, historical, and other contexts. See Maniura and Shepherd (2006a: 5), and the sources cited there, as well as Davis (1997: 265n5) and Dean (2006: 105–6 and 114), for some of these criticisms. 40. Information on his life comes from Ga ¯ ndhı¯ (1987); see also Wiley [2004: 116]. 41. For example, he argued that the ubiquitous contemporary S´veta ¯ mbara practice of daily lustration (abhis.eka) of consecrated Jina icons was not part of the original cult of icons, and therefore convinced the laity in his base of Jalor to discontinue this practice. 42. The term Kalya ¯ n.vijay uses for “world,” sam . sa¯ r, is theologically charged. In both Jain ideological discourse and everyday conversation its primary meaning is the world as a place of endless suffering, in contrast to the infinite bliss of liberation. 43. Translated from Kalya ¯ n.vijay (1957: 24–25; cf. 1966a: 77–78). 44. “Aitiha ¯ sik Ks.etra mem ¯ rtiyom ¯ Stha ¯ n.” . Mu . ka 45. This was picked upon and favorably commented upon by another of the important Tapa ¯ Gaccha scholar-monks of the twentieth century, Muni Dars´anvijay, in his introduction (1936: 50) to Jña ¯ nsundar’s book. He wrote, “It is the nature of the times that some people don’t even look at the scriptures, for they believe that only history is authoritative. . . . [Jña ¯ nsundar] has made a great effort to collect the historical evidence, so that his name will be written in gold letters among the ranks of historians.” See also Cort (1995b: 490–94) for a discussion of some of the ways that Jain intellectuals in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries adopted the new episteme of “history” in their writing, as well as Flügel (2008b: 192). . 46. For example, both Bhadrankarvijay (1991: 43) and Jhaverı¯ (1940: 330–36) discussed the very same examples. In several cases Jña ¯ nsundar referred to articles in contemporary Bombay newspapers. 47. This reference gives one pause as to the accuracy of Jña ¯ nsundar’s scholarship. He wrote (1936a: 157), “In the village Budapest in the province of Hungary in the country of Austria a farmer was digging in the ground and found an icon of Maha ¯ vı¯ra. It is said that this icon is possibly from the time of either Emperor Candragupta or Emperor Samprati.” He includes a photograph of the icon, seated in a pavilion in a garden, with an elegantly dressed bearded man standing next to it. (The caption to the photograph creatively misspells the name of the city as Buddhaprest.) This is clearly the Jina icon that is still located in the same pavilion in the garden of the Ferenc Hopp Museum of Eastern Asiatic Arts in Budapest, and the man standing next to the icon is Hopp (1833–1919) himself, the museum’s founder. (See

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www.hoppmuzeum.hu.; and Fajcsák and Renner 2008) I assume that the photograph appeared in an Indian newspaper, but cannot account for Jña ¯ nsundar’s version of the icon’s discovery, accept to say that the trope of a farmer unearthing an ancient icon is widespread in South Asia, as we saw in chapter 4. Jña ¯ nsundar’s reference was picked . up by Bhadrankarvijay (1991: 43), except he relocated the icon to the similar sounding Australia. Ervin Baktay (1963: 278) has dated this Digambar icon from western India to the fourteenth or fifteenth centuries. (He says it is sandstone, but it is marble.) According to the director of the museum, Györgyi Fajcsák (e-mail to the author, September 2008), Hopp probably bought the icon sometime in the 1880s. Hopp traveled in India in 1882– 83, while the pavilion in which it is located was purchased in 1885, and the other Asian sculptures in the garden were purchased between 1885 and 1895. The nose and left ear of the icon are damaged, and there are abrasions across the torso. The la ¯ ñchana or distinguishing symbol was not carved in the cartouche at the base of the icon, so it is not possible to identify which Jina it is intended to be. The lack of a lañchana indicates either that the icon was unfinished, or an unconsecrated icon located on the outer wall of a temple. 48. This is a two-dimensional plaque with an icon of the Jina in the center surrounded by the four other venerable figures of the Jain mendicant hierarchy, and the four principles of Jain practice. See Cort (2001b: 118–19) and Figure 5.1. . 49. He repeated this list at 1936b: 115. Bhadrankarvijay (1991: 43) added to this list a Jain temple in Mecca–Medina, “which now has been converted.” 50. Other iconoclastic groups he named were Christians, Parsis, and two Jain . sects, the Digambara Ta ¯ ran.a Pantha and the S´veta ¯ mbara followers of Lonka¯ . The phrase used by Jña ¯ nsundar that I translate as iconoclast—there is no single word for this in any Indic language—is mu ¯ rti nahı¯m ¯ le, literally “those who do not believe in . ma¯ nane va (or adhere to) icons.” 51. See Dundas (1999b) for a study of some of the complex, multiple Jain understandings of Islam. . 52. Bhadrankarvijay’s argument is found at 1941: 218–22; cf. 1980a: 42–47 and 1991: 42–47. 53. The trope of Islam as “the religion of the sword” is an old one in European and Christian rhetoric. I am unable to say if this was also an indigenous Indian trope, or one that entered India with European colonization and Christian missions. 54. Dharma¯ ndhata ¯ , literally “religious darkness.” 55. A very similar cast is advanced by iconoclastic Jains as evidence of a worldwide revolution against icons in the sixteenth century. See Cort (2006a: 295) for a list provided by an iconoclastic member of the Digambara Ta ¯ ran.a Pantha. The Stha ¯ nakava ¯ sı¯ . ¯ ca A ¯ rya Hastı¯mal (1971: 85) favorably compared Lonka ¯ to Kabı¯r, saying, “Just like Kabı¯r, he removed the growing corruption of idolatry among the people of his day.” 56. The same material is also analyzed by Romila Thapar (2004). 57. See Davis (1997: 186–221) for an analysis of Munshi’s pivotal role in the rebuilding of a grand temple at Somanatha in the early years after Indian independence. 58. See also Phyllis Granoff’s insightful analyses (1991, 1998b) of the role of Jinaprabhasu ¯ ri and his text in creating a medieval S´veta ¯ mbara sense of the continued greatness of Jainism despite the material evidence of Muslim iconoclasm.

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59. See also Kamdar (2002: 11–12). 60. See also Dundas (1999b: 46n38). 61. Dundas (1999b: 38–39) cites the early seventeenth-century Tapa ¯ Gaccha author Devavimalagan.i, who “characterises Islam and Jainism as being at variance with one another through their involving violence and compassion respectively … with the former leading only to hell and the latter leading to heaven and ultimate spiritual release.” 62. At the same time I must stress that throughout the Jain history of the past millennium there have been many instances of serious engagement with and participation in Islamic and Islamicate culture. Jinaprabhasu ¯ ri, who was one of the principle authors of the narratives of loss of Jain shrines and icons to Muslim iconoclasts, was also an important member of the court of the Tughlak Sultan Mahammad Shah in the early fourteenth century, and composed at least one hymn in Persian (B. D. Jain 1950). A number of important Jain mendicants were active in the Mughal court in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Desai 1941; Findly 1987; Smith 1917). Paul Dundas (1999b: 40) has observed that while most Jain normative accounts of Islam in recent centuries have been negative, due to the judgement that Islam is shaped by a commitment to violence (him . sa¯ ), “there are occasional hints … that not all Jains perceived Islam exclusively as a religion of him . sa¯ .” See also Dundas (2000). 63. The attitudes toward icons in the many and varied sant traditions of northern India are another topic in need of further research. See the short discussions in Hawley and Juergensmeyer (988: 18–23 and 46–49). 64. As I mentioned in note 50, Jña ¯ nsundar included Parsis and the Ta ¯ ran.a Pantha in his roster of iconoclasts, but devotes no time to attacking them.

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Glossary

abhisheka (abhis.eka) ritual lustration acharya (a¯ca¯rya) initiated leader of a group of mendicants; su¯ri Adinatha (Adinatha) first Jina of this era; also R.s.abha, Adıs´vara, Ades´vara Advaita “Non-Dual” school of Hindu philosophy and theology ahimsa (ahim . sa¯) non-harm arhat Jina; Buddhist enlightened monk ashtahnika (as..ta¯hnika¯) thrice-annual “eight-day” observance Ashtapada (As.t.apada) mountain atop which Adinatha attained enlightenment and liberation; Kailasa akritrima (akr.trima) uncreated, used of icons alamban (a¯lamban) material support for spiritual practice ayagapata (a¯ya¯gapat.a) stone tablet of veneration bhandara (bhan.d.a¯ra) manuscript library Bharata first cakravartin of this era; son of Adinatha bhava puja (bha¯va pu¯ja¯) worship not using any physical substances chaitya (caitya) Jina image (according to Murtipujakas) chaitya vandana (caitya vandana) rite of veneration of a Jina icon chaitya-vasi (caitya-va¯sı¯) “temple-dweller,” i.e., domesticated Jain mendicant chakravartin (cakravartin) universal emperor; there are twelve in each half-cycle of time

334

GLOSSARY

Chandranana (Candranana) one of four eternal Jinas darshan (dars´an) auspicious viewing daya (daya¯) compassion devadhideva (deva¯dhideva) “God of Gods,” term for the supreme deity dharma norm, ethical code; Jain teachings; Jainism itself Digambara “Sky-Clad” sect of Jains, whose monks are nude dravya physical matter; six eternal substances of Jain metaphysics dravya puja (dravya pu¯ja¯) worship with physical substances gaccha S´vetambara mendicant lineage ganadhara (ganadhara) the eleven chief disciples of Mahavıra gani (gan.i) intermediate rank of Murtipujaka monk, often simultaneous with pan˙nya¯sa himsa (him . sa¯) harm Indra unliberated deity who rules a heavenly realm Indrani (Indran.ı) wife and queen of an Indra Jina “Conqueror,” the twenty-four enlightened and liberated teachers of each time period; also Tırthan·kara Jivantasvami (Jıvantasvamı) “Living Lord,” icon of Mahavıra made during his lifetime Kailasa (Kailasa) alternate name for As.t.apada kalyanaka (kalya¯n.aka) five auspicious and beneficial events in the life of each Jina katimekhala (kat.imekhala¯) ornamented girdle and lower wrap kayotsarga (ka¯yotsarga) “abandonment of the body,” the Jain posture of standing meditation Kharatara Gaccha major Murtipujaka mendicant lineage kriyoddhara (kriyoddha¯ra) reform of conduct mahavrata (maha¯vrata) five great vows of a Jain mendicant Mahayana (Mahayana) “Great Vehicle” branch of Buddhism, now largely in Central and East Asia mandala (man.d.ala) abstract and geometric depicition of the ultimate order of the cosmos mithyatva (mithya¯tva) wrong faith moksha (moks.a) liberation; nirva¯n.a muhpatti (muhpattı¯) cloth tied to cover the mouth Murtipujaka (Murtipujaka) icon-worshipping S´vetambara sect Meru cosmic axial mountain murti (mu¯rti) image, icon Nandishvara Dvipa (Nandıs´vara Dvıpa) Continent of Rejoicing

GLOSSARY

335

nikshepa (niks.epa) hermeneutical tool to analyze anything within certain contextualizing frames nirakar (nira¯ka¯r) God as “without form” nirvana (nirva¯n.a) liberation; moksa paduka (paduka¯) footprint icon pannyasa (pan·nya¯sa) intermediate rank of Murtipujaka monk, often simultaneous with gan.i paramatma (parama¯tma¯) “Supreme Soul,” i.e., the Jina parikara carved surround of an icon pattavali (pat..ta¯valı¯) “row of seats,” a genre of lineage history pratikramana (pratikraman.a) rite by which a person ritually negates the karmic impact of previous words, thoughts and deeds pratima (pratima¯) image, icon prem desireless and egoless love puja (pu¯ja¯) worship Rishabha (R.s.abha) one of four eternal Jinas; first Jina of this era sakar (sa¯ka¯r) God as “with form” sallekhana (sallekhana¯) rite of voluntarily ceasing all food and drink to end one’s life in a state of meditative equanimity; also santhara¯ samavasarana (samavasaran.a) universal preaching assembly, in which each Jina preaches samyaktva (samyaktva) right faith samayika (sa¯ma¯yika) meditative equipose samsara (sam . sa¯ra) world of rebirth and suffering santhara (santha¯ra¯) sallekhana¯ saraga (sara¯ga) “passionate”; a Jain characterization of deities other than the Jina shasana (s´a¯sana) traditional teachings of Jainism shasana-devata (s´a¯sana-devata¯) deity who attends a Jina and protects his teachings shashvata (s´a¯s´vata) eternal, used of icons shilpa shastra (s´ilpa s´a¯stra) craftsman’s manual Shingon school of esoteric Japanese Buddhism shithila-achara (s´ithila-a¯ca¯ra) lax mendicant conduct Shvetambara (S´vetambara) “White-Clad” sect of Jains, whose monks wear white robes siddha liberated and perfected soul Sthanakavasi (Sthanakavası) S´vetambara sect that eschews worship of Jina images stupa (stu¯pa) memorial tumulus; reliquary mound

336

GLOSSARY

suri (su¯ri) initiated leader of a group of mendicants; a¯ca¯rya sutra (su¯tra) earliest level of Jain scripture svarupa (svaru¯pa) “innate form” Hindu icons svayambhu (svayambhu¯) “self-born” Hindu icons Tapa Gaccha (Tapa Gaccha) major Murtipujaka mendicant lineage Terapantha (Terapantha) S´vetambara sect that broke off from Sthanakavasıs and eschews worship of Jina images tirtha (tı¯rtha) 1. pilgrimage shrine; 2. any Jain temple; 3. Jain community Tirthankara (Tırthan·kara) “Ford-Maker” or “Congregation-Founder,” the twentyfour enlightened and liberated teachers of each time period; also Jina upadhyaya (upa¯dhya¯ya) mendicant teacher vana-vasi (vana-va¯sı¯) “forest-dwelling,” i.e., orthoprax Jain mendicant Vardhamana (Vardhamana) one of four eternal Jinas Varishena (Varis.en.a) one of four eternal Jinas vasakshepa (va¯saks. epa) consecrated sandalwood powder vitaraga (vı¯tara¯ga) “passionless”; a characterization of the Jina vyuha (vyu¯ha) Vais.n.ava term for an Emanation of Vis.n.u yaksha (yaks.a) male deity who attends a Jina yakshi (yaks.¯) ı female deity who attends a Jina yati domesticated S´vetambara monk yojana a distance of roughly eight miles

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Index

Page numbers in italic type refer to Figures. Adeshvara. See also Adinatha icon, 19 Adinatha, 132, 182 in Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative, 114, 115, 116–17, 121–26, 128, 134 Digambara temples and, 129 Jain temples and, 130, 307n40 relics, 126 Rishabha as, 115 samavasarana and, 115–21 Shvetambara temples and, 131 Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative, 304n18, 305nn19–21. See also Jina icon/ temple narratives Adinatha in, 114, 115, 116–17, 121–26, 128, 134 Bharata in, 113, 114, 121–26, 128, 135, 136 Jain icon worship and, 136 Jain relic worship and, 126–27, 128, 129, 307n35 Jain temples and, 136 Jain universal history and, 113–14, 115 Jina icons in, 123–24, 125–26, 136 as Jina icon/temple narrative, 113–14, 129, 136, 151–52, 153 Mount Ashtapada in, 113, 114, 115, 121–26, 129, 134, 135 Mount Ashtapada temple in, 113, 123, 124, 125, 135 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 144, 145, 148, 153 Adinatha icons Digambara, 171, 172 Jina icon replication cult, 171–73

Akota, 161, 162, 163, 314nn16–17 Amar Muni, 107–8 Amolak Rishi, 105–6, 107, 300n84 Anandghan, 102, 103, 299nn74–75 Anchala Gaccha, 218 ancient India narratives. See also Buddhist narratives; Udayana narratives Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative and, 190 Udayana narratives and, 190, 192–93 aniconism. See also Jain aniconism myth of, 261–62, 329n37, 329n39 archaeology. See also Jina image archaeology Jain history and, 17 art. See also minimalism context and, 13, 14–15 frame and, 15 art historians Jina image and, 54, 55, 59, 60 religion and, 55 Asher, Frederick, 35–36, 37, 43, 45, 176 Ashoka, 137–38, 141, 142, 309n62 Ashtapada temple. See Mount Ashtapada temple atishayas (characteristics, eminences) Jina image, 21–22, 60–61 kevalin, 21–22 Atmaram, 5, 9, 106, 287n7 as Anandvijay, 7 on Jain icons, 6–7 Jainism and, 7–8 ayagapatas (elaborate carved stone plaques) Buddhist image, 29 Jain image, 28–29, 30, 291n21

380

INDEX

ayagapatas (continued) Jain stupas and, 29 Jina image, 28, 29, 30, 52 Ayodhya, 38, 39, 50 samavasarana, 116 Ayodhya terracotta image, 38–39, 291nn30–31, 292nn32–34 Babb, Lawrence A., 63, 64, 91–92, 113, 127 Bahubali, Gommateshvara, 182, 184 Bahubali cult, 182, 183, 186 Bahubali iconography, 184, 190 Bahubali icons, 182, 316n37 Shravana Belgola, 183 Bal, Mieke, 13, 14 Barua, B. M., 40–41, 292n38 Belting, Hans, 199, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205 Bhadrankarvijay Shvetambara icon, 191 Shvetambara icon debate and, 252–54, 255, 266–67, 270, 329n46 Bhadrankarvijaygani, Pannyas. See Bhadrankarvijay Bhandara Basati temple Digambara Jina icon, 57–58, 59 Nandishvara Dvipa Digambara icon, 82 Bhandarkar, D. R., 118–19, 304n12 Bharata, 50. See also Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative in Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative, 113, 114, 121–26, 128, 135, 136 Bharata region, 91, 93, 141, 310n72 Bhayala Svami, 158–59, 160, 181 Bihar, 40, 42, 43, 52 Black Plum Continent (Jambu Dvipa) Bharata region and India, 91, 93, 141, 310n72 four gateways, 92–94 India and, 91, 93, 94 in Jain cosmology, 90, 91, 92–94, 298n49 Jina eternal icons and, 92, 93, 94 Jina eternal temples and, 92, 93–94 mandalas and, 93, 94 Sudarshana and, 91 Blessed Lonka Shah (Shriman Launka Shah) (Jnansundar), 229–34, 324n36, 324nn38–41 Blessed Scripture (Bhagavati Sutra), 69, 104–5, 127 Murtipujaka edition/translation of, 106, 301n93 Nandishvara Dvipa in, 104, 106–7, 108, 109 Sthanakavasi editions/translations of, 106–9, 302n97 Bodhisattva, 174 Bodhisattva icons, 23 Mathura, 174

Bodhisattva iconography, 23. See also Buddha iconography Buddha iconography vs., 174–75 Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 175 Bombay bronzes image dating controversies, 43–45 Jina image archaeology, 42, 43–45 Parshvanatha, 43, 44, 45 Brauen, Martin, 74, 75 bronze images. See also Bombay bronzes; Chausa bronzes India, 42, 43, 45 Bryson, Norman, 13–14 Buddha, 21, 111, 174 Mahavira and, 155, 311n1, 317n47 twenty-four, 211, 214, 215 Buddha icon. See Buddha lifetime icon Buddha iconography. See also Bodhisattva iconography Bodhisattva iconography vs., 174–75 Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 155, 173, 175, 181, 208 restricted, 23 Buddha image, 290n19 Jain images and, 46 Jina images and, 26–28, 36, 52 king images and, 47 origin, 52 pre-stone sculpture, 46–47 stone sculpture, 46 yaksha images and, 47 Buddha lifetime icon, 190, 193, 208 sandalwood, 155, 195–96, 199 Buddha lifetime icon narratives, 193 Buddhist narratives and, 193–94 China and, 195, 196 Japan and, 196, 199 Kosala icon and, 196, 198, 199, 318n58 Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative and, 155, 194, 208 Prasenajit and, 195, 196, 197, 198 Seiryoji Shaka icon and, 196, 197, 199 Udayana narratives and, 194, 195, 196–97, 208 Buddhisagarsuri, Acharya, 326n7, 327n8, 327nn10–11 Shvetambara icon debate and, 250–52, 254, 264, 326n16 Buddhism, 48, 174, 317n47. See also Japanese Shingon Buddhism; Tibetan Buddhism Ashoka and, 137–38, 141, 142, 309n62 Jainism and, 53, 63, 68, 73 Samprati narrative and, 137–38, 141, 142 stupas in, 111, 126, 128, 138, 307n37, 309n58

INDEX

Buddhist cosmology, 110–11 enlightenment, 305n24 gandhakuti vs. Jain samavasarana, 117 icon defense, 260–61 image history, 18, 35, 36 in India, 175 mandala, 74–76, 77, 78, 80 temples, 306n27 Buddhist icons. See also Buddha lifetime icon; Kosala icon; Seiryoji Shaka icon Buddhist relics and, 306n27 Buddhist ritual culture and, 306n27 China and, 199 depiction, 24–25 icon use anxiety, 68, 199, 294n1 Jain icons vs., 24 Buddhist image ayagapatas, 29 Great Person depiction, 21 Jina image and, 21, 22, 23, 27, 53, 289n8 pre-stone sculpture and, 47 stone sculpture, 46 Buddhist narratives. See also Buddha lifetime icon narratives Buddha lifetime icon narratives and, 193–94 Udayana narratives and, 193 Buddhist relics, 126 Buddhist icons and, 306n27 worship, 127 Buddhist ritual culture, 53, 111 Buddhist icons and, 306n27 Buddhist temples and, 306n27 The Bud of Kalyan (Kalyan Kalika) (Kalyanvijaygani), 20–21 Bühler, Georg, 31, 32 Buteray, 7, 288n8 Caillat, Colette, 68, 81, 94, 294n2 Catholic Church. See Protestant Reformation chaitya tree, 116, 117, 303n4 Chandra, Moti, 133, 134, 308n50 Chandranana, 69, 71, 93 Chaubis Maharaj Digambara temple, 57, 58 Chausa bronzes, 36 image dating controversies, 42–43, 45 Jina image archaeology, 42–43, 45, 52 Parshvanatha, 42, 43 China Buddha lifetime icon narratives and, 195, 196 Buddhist icons and, 199 Christ, 200, 201, 202–3 Christian icon defense, 255–60, 328n31 iconography, 200 replication cults, 202, 205

381

Christian icons. See also Christ icons authentication/defense of, 200, 201, 203, 204 human painted, 200, 203–5, 208 icon use anxiety, 200, 203 Lukan, 200, 203–5, 318n69 “not made by human hand” divinely made, 199–202, 208, 318n59 Virgin Mary, 200, 203, 204–5, 319n70 Christian icon narratives, 156 Jain icon narratives and, 155 Mandylion icon, 200–201, 202 Christian iconoclasm, 200, 203. See also Iconoclastic Controversy Jain iconoclasm vs., 11, 218 Christianity icons and, 12 idols and, 12 mandalas, 79 Christ icons, 208 Kamuliana, 201–2 Lukan, 200, 203–5, 318n69 Mandylion, 200, 201, 202 Shroud of Turin, 202–3, 318n65 Veronica, 202 Virgin Mary with, 200, 203, 204–5, 319n70 Christ images, 12, 200, 201 clay sculpture. See pre-stone sculpture The Compendium of Jaya (Jaya Samhita), 20–21, 289n7 Constantine V, 218, 320n1 context art and, 13, 14–15 frame vs., 13–15, 288n16 meaning/critiques of, 13–14, 15 text and, 13–14 cosmography. See Jain cosmography cosmology. See also Jain cosmology Buddhist, 110–11 cosmos. See also Jain cosmos structure and mandalas, 80, 94 Culler, Norman, 14, 15, 288n16 cult. See Jina cults; replication cults culture. See also material culture; ritual culture; visual culture image history and theological, 18 dating controversies. See image dating controversies; text dating controversies Davis, Richard, 267, 272 Deeds of Padma (Paumachariya) (Vimalasuri), 50–51, 65, 312n9 deity in icons, 78 in mandalas, 78, 296n26 Devadatta, 157, 158, 159, 193, 209 Devchandra, 88–89

382

INDEX

Dhaky, M. A., 34, 35, 169, 291n25, 292n39, 311n93, 315n22 Dhaneshvarasuri, 147, 148, 149, 311n93 dharma, Jain, 125 dharmachakra (wheel of the teachings), 160, 314n13 Didarganj chowrie-bearer, 35, 36, 291n25, 291n29 Digambaras aniconism, 11, 66 cult of Bahubali, 182, 183 Jain cosmography and, 109 Jain icon history and, 67 Jain monk icon worship and, 188–89 Jina eternal icons and, 67 Living Lord icons and, 316n36 mendicants, 86 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 147 Nandishvara Dvipa sculptures, 71, 81, 82, 296n33 Digambara cosmology, 94, 294n2 Jain icon history and, 67 Digambara icons. See also Digambara Jina icon Adinatha, 171, 172 Bhandara Basati temple Nandishvara Dvipa, 82 Mudbidri Nandishvara Dvipa, 71 Simandhara Svami, 185 Digambara Jina icon Bhandara Basati temple, 57–58, 59 in Chaubis Maharaj temple, 57, 58 Jain ritual, 23–24 multiplying single, 63 in Neminatha temple, 20 Shvetambara Jina icon vs., 24 siddha pratima, 24 in 24 Tirthankara Basati temple, 63 Digambara Jina image image, 22 maleness, 19, 289n5 in Neminatha temple, 20 Shvetambara Jina image vs., 19–20 Digambara ritual culture Digambara texts and, 96, 98 Jina eternal icons in, 96, 98 Jina eternal temples in, 98, 298n64 Merus in, 95–96, 97, 98 Mount Ashtapada in, 134–35 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal icons in, 85, 86–87, 98, 297nn37–41 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal temples in, 85, 86, 98 Digambara temples. See also Divan Badhichandji temple Adinatha and, 129 Chaubis Maharaj, 57, 58

Meru icons in, 95–96, 97, 298nn59–60 Mount Ashtapada and, 129, 134 Nandishvara Dvipa, 84, 85, 297n36 samavasarana in, 118 24 Tirthankara Basati, 63 Digambara texts Digambara ritual culture and, 96, 98 Jina icons and, 98 Merus in, 96, 98 Nandishvara Dvipa in, 69, 294n8 Dionysus Areopagite, 256–57 Divan Badhichandji temple, 118 Doshi, Pandit Bechardas, 106, 301n93 Dundas, Paul, 100, 102, 103, 146, 299n68, 299n73 Dyanatray, 96 Edessa, Syria, 200, 201 eternal icons. See also Jina eternal icons in Jain cosmography, 109 Jain ritual culture and, 94 on Meru, 91, 99 eternal Jinas. See also Chandranana; Jina eternal icons; Rishabha; Vardhamana; Varishena four, 69, 71–72, 73, 84, 92, 93, 99 eternal temples. See also Jina eternal temples on Meru, 91, 98 Mount Meru, 135 Folkert, Kendall, 32, 66 footprint icons Digambara Bhadrabahu, 191 Digambara Bhattaraka, 192 Jain monk worship of monk, 188, 189 Shvetambara monk icon and, 191 stupas and Jain mendicant, 128, 129 frame art and, 15 context vs., 13–15, 288n16 history and ideological, 17 of Jainism, 16 Jina image, 15–16, 273–80 meaning of, 13–15, 288n16 framer, 15, 16 Freedberg, David, 261–62, 329n37, 329n39 fundamentalism, 245–56, 325n58 Gandhara, 52, 157 Gandhi, 9 Gautama Svami, 133, 188 Mount Ashtapada and, 131, 136 Shvetambara icon, 187 Ghose, Madhuvanti, 37, 48, 292n34 Glory of Shatrunjaya (Shatrunjaya Mahatmya) (Dhaneshvarasuri)

INDEX

Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 147, 311n89 Sthanakavasis and, 147, 311n89 gods. See also Indras Jain cosmology, 94 Granoff, Phyllis, 127, 312n8, 312nn3–4 Greater Scripture of Rules (Brihat Kalpa Sutra), 138–39, 140, 309n63 Great Person, 21, 22 Buddhist image depiction, 21 Jina as, 21 Jina image depiction, 21, 22 Grotenhuis, Elizabeth ten, 75, 80 Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Places (Vividha Tirtha Kalpa) (Jinaprabhasuri), 39, 69–73, 133, 143, 149 Gupta, S. P., 36, 37, 38 Haribhadra, 48, 156, 158, 159, 193, 312n3, 312n6, 312n7, 313n11 Harinegameshin, 38–39, 292n33 Hastimal, Acharya, 220–29, 321n10 Hathigumpha (Elephant Cave), 39 Hathigumpha inscription of King Kharavela. See King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription Hemachandra, 69–70, 116, 121–24, 127, 140, 141, 156, 158, 159, 181, 304n18, 305n19, 312n4, 312n7, 312n8 Himalayas, 135–36 Hindu. See also Vaishnavas icon defense, 255–56 iconoclasts, 271, 272, 331n63 visual culture, 155 Hindu icons. See also Surya icons; Vaishnava icons; Vishnu icons icon use anxiety, 68, 294n1 narratives, 156 self-born, 205–6 Hindu iconography, 23. See also Surya iconography; Vaishnava iconography; Vishnu iconography Jain iconography and, 155 Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 155, 208 Hindu image history, 18 Jina image vs., 21, 22–23 Hinduism, 18, 289n2 Jainism and, 63, 64, 68, 155, 213, 312n8, 320n80 mandala, 74, 76, 77, 79–80, 296n25, 296n30 Muslim iconoclasm vs., 267–69 historical/metrical time, 137 history. See also art historians; image history; Jain history; South Asia history iconoclasm global, 265–67

383

of icons, 17 icons/myth and, 151–53 ideological frameworks of, 17 Jain intellectuals and academic, 17–18 Jain narratives and, 12–13, 66 icons. See also Buddha lifetime icon; Christian icons; Jain icons; Jina icons; replication icons; Surya icons; Vishnu icons Christianity and, 12 deities in, 78 history of, 17 image and, 12, 17 in Jain history, 10–11 Jainism and, 12, 16, 93, 280–81 Japanese Seiryoji Shaka, 196, 197, 199 mandalas and, 74–80, 93, 296nn24–25 meaning of, 11–12, 288nn13–14 Muslim self-born, 207 myth/history and, 151–53 natural theology of, 247–72 self-born, 205–7 icon debate. See also Shvetambara icon debate Protestant Reformation and, 259–60, 271 icon defense, 261, 328n36 Buddhist, 260–61 Christian, 255–60, 328n31 Hindu, 255–56 Jain, 247–55, 262–65, 327n23, 329nn41–42, 329nn45–47, 330n48, 330n50 in Jain icon narratives, 208, 247 Murtipujaka, 247–54, 255, 262–65, 329nn41–42, 329nn45–47, 330n48, 330n50 icon narratives. See also Buddha lifetime icon narratives; Christian icon narratives; Jain icon narratives Hindu, 156 Muslim, 156 iconoclasm. See also Christian iconoclasm; Jain iconoclasm; Muslim iconoclasm global history of, 265–67 icon worship vs., 271 idolatry/tradition/fundamentalism and, 245–56, 325n58 ritual/theology reform and, 234–45, 324n42, 325n47, 325n51, 325n53, 325n56, 325nn44–45 iconoclasts. See also Jain iconoclasts Hindu, 271, 272, 331n63 Iconoclastic Controversy, 11, 200, 203, 257, 258, 259, 271, 320n1 iconoclastic movements. See Protestant Reformation; Shvetambara iconoclastic movement; Sthanakavasi iconoclastic movement

384

INDEX

iconography. See also Buddha iconography; Hindu iconography; Jain iconography Christian, 200 iconophiles. See Jain iconophiles icon use anxiety, 155, 207 Buddhist, 68, 199, 294n1 Christian, 200, 203 Hindu, 68, 294n1 Jain, 67–68, 199, 294n1 Shvetambara, 218 icon worship. See also Jain icon worship iconoclasm vs., 271 idol. See also Jain idol Christianity and, 12 false, 12 image and, 12 Jainism and, 12, 16 meaning of, 12, 288nn13–14 idolatry. See also Jain idolatry iconoclasm/tradition/fundamentalism and, 245–56, 325n58 images. See also bronze images; Buddhist image; Christ images; Hindu image; Jain image; Maurya images Buddha images and king, 47 icon and, 12, 17 idol and, 12 India ritual culture of, 53 India sculpture evidence of, 53 in India texts, 53 Jainism and, 11, 17 meaning/connotation of, 11, 12, 288nn13–14 questions about, 13 in South Asia history, 18, 19 image dating controversies Bombay bronzes, 43–45 Chausa bronzes, 42–43, 45 image history, 35–37, 291n29 India and, 36, 291n29 Jina image history, 35–37 King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription, 41 Lohanipur torsos, 35–37 Mahavira Living Lord icon, 314n16 stone sculpture and, 46 Vishnu icons, 315n28 image history, 17, 18. See also Jain image history Buddhist, 18, 35, 36 Hindu, 18 image dating controversies, 35–37, 291n29 ritual culture in, 18, 289n3 theological culture in, 18 India Black Plum Continent and, 91, 93, 94 Black Plum Continent Bharata region and, 91, 93, 141, 310n72 bronze images, 42, 43, 45

Buddhists in, 175 divine material culture, 54 image dating controversies and, 36, 291n29 in Jain cosmology, 91 Jains, 247 Jina icons in, 113 Jina image archaeology, 52 Jina temples, 113–14 Mauryan Empire and, 137 ritual culture of images, 53 Samprati narrative and, 138, 140, 142 sculptors, 57 sculpture image evidence, 53 terracotta, 38, 39, 292n33 texts, 53 visual culture, 208 Indras (gods), 25, 72, 91 in Jain cosmology, 94, 110 Jain worship and, 92, 111 Jina image worship and, 92, 111 Mount Meru and, 92 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal icons worship and, 80, 88, 89, 92, 96 Indranis (goddesses), 87, 91 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal icons worship and, 92 inscription. See King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription Islam, 207, 266, 267, 330n53 Jainism and, 270–71, 331nn61–62 Jains dharma, 125 icon defense, 247–55, 262–65, 327n23, 329nn41–42, 329nn45–47, 330n48, 330n50 India, 247 intellectuals and academic history, 17–18 meditation poses, 19 mythic time, 113–14, 137 relics and Jain icons, 126, 127 Jain aniconism, 66, 218. See also Jain iconoclasm; Shvetambara aniconism Digambara, 11, 66 Jain community. See tirtha Jain cosmographical texts Jain narratives and, 13 Shvetambara, 94 Jain cosmography, 113. See also Jain cosmology Digambaras and, 109 eternal icons in, 109 Jain cosmos in, 111 samavasarana in, 117 Shvetambaras and, 109

INDEX

Jain cosmology, 10, 294n2. See also Black Plum Continent; Digambara cosmology; Indras; Merus; Mount Meru; Nandishvara Dvipa; Shvetambara cosmology; Sudarshana; Tirthankaras Black Plum Continent/Jambu Dvipa in, 90, 91, 92–94, 298n49 continents, 68, 90, 92–94 fives in, 133 gods, 94 human realms/continents, 90, 91 iconoclastic Sthanakavasi, 99–109 India in, 91 Indras in, 94, 110 Jain cosmos in, 110 Jina eternal icons in, 68, 93, 94, 99, 110, 111 Jina eternal temples in, 92, 93, 94 Jinas in, 110, 111 mandalas in, 93, 94 Merus in, 90, 91, 99, 109, 110 Mount Meru in, 90, 91, 110 multiplicity in, 90 Nandishvara Dvipa as eighth continent in, 68, 70, 90, 109–10 texts, 13 Tirthankaras in, 110 universe, 68, 69, 90 The Jain Cosmology (Caillat and Kumar), 81 Jain cosmos in Jain cosmography, 111 in Jain cosmology, 110 Jina eternal icons in, 80, 90, 94, 99, 111 Jina eternal temples in, 80, 94, 99 Jina icons in, 99 Jina images in, 66 Jina shrines in, 94 Merus in, 95, 110 Jain culture. See Jain ritual culture; Jain visual culture Jain history, 48. See also Jain icon history; Jain image history; Jain universal history; Samprati narrative; Sthanakavasi history archaeology and, 17 icons in, 10–11 Jain iconoclasm in, 10, 11 Jain iconoclasts and, 18 Jain iconophiles and, 18 Jina image and, 16, 18, 66 Jina image archaeology and, 25–54 philology and, 17 Shvetambara localized, 137 temples in, 17 Jaini, Padmanabh S., 41, 119 Jain icons, 3, 208. See also Adinatha icons; Bahubali icons; Digambara icons; footprint icons; Jain image; Jain monk

385

icon worship; Jina icons; Meru icons; Mount Ashtapada icons; samavasarana icons; Shvetambara icons Atmaram on, 6–7 Buddhist icons vs., 24 creation/restoration in Mount Shatrunjaya narrative, 145, 149 icon use anxiety, 67–68, 199, 294n1 Jain relics and, 126, 127 Jain ritual consecration, 23–24 in Jain scriptures, 100 kalyanaka, 23–24 King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription of, 38 monotheism/polytheism and, 60 Samprati narrative and, 140, 141, 142, 310n71 sarvatobhadra, 61 self-born, 206 Shvetambara texts and, 136–37 universality of, 262–65 Jain icon criticism Jain icon narratives and, 217 Shvetambara, 217, 218 Shvetambara monks and, 217–18 Jain icon history Digambara cosmology and, 67 Digambaras and, 67 Jina eternal icons and, 67 Jina eternal temples and, 67 Shvetambara cosmology and, 67 Shvetambaras and, 67 Jain icon narratives, 17, 272. See also Jain image narratives; Jina icon/temple narratives; Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative Christian icon narratives and, 155 icon defense in, 208, 247 Jain icon criticism and, 217 Jina icons in, 17 Mahavira Living Lord icon and, 155 Shvetambaras and, 99 Sthanakavasis and, 99–100, 104–5, 106 Jain iconoclasm. See also Jain aniconism Christian iconoclasm vs., 11, 218 in Jain history, 10, 11 Jnansundar alternative history of, 229–34, 324n36, 324nn38–41 Murtipujaka narratives on Lonka Shah and, 229–36, 324n36, 324nn38–42 Shvetambara scriptures/Murtipujaka narratives and, 229, 232, 233, 234–36 Jain iconoclasts, 3, 330n55. See also Shvetambara iconoclasts Jain history and, 18 Jain iconography, 208. See also Bahubali iconography; Jina iconography

386

INDEX

Jain iconography Hindu iconography and, 155 Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 155 Vaishnava iconography and, 211 Jain iconophiles, 3 Jain history and, 18 Jain icon worship. See also Jain iconophiles; Jain monk icon worship; Jina image worship Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative and, 136 Jain relic worship and, 126–27 Jina icon in, 92, 96, 119, 120, 125–26, 127 Muslim iconoclasm vs., 269–70, 271, 272, 330n58, 331n62 universality of, 262–65 Jain idol, 3. See also Jain image critiques and Sthanakavasi texts, 219, 321n7 Jain idolatry reform and Lonka Shah, 226–29, 232nn29–32, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34 Shvetambara scriptures/Sthanakavasi narratives and, 219, 220, 221, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 234–36 Sthanakavasi history of, 221–29, 232nn29–32, 321n14, 322nn19–22, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34 Sthanakavasi narratives on Lonka Shah and, 221–29, 232nn29–32, 234–36, 321n14, 322nn19–22, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34, 324n42 Jain images, 8, 12, 21. See also Jain icon; Jain idol; Jina image ayagapatas, 28–29, 30, 291n21 Buddha image and, 46 Jain ritual and, 3, 26 Jain ritual culture and, 29, 53 Jain stupa and, 29 Jain texts on, 48, 292n42 Jain visual culture and, 3 Mathura, 48 metal sculpture, 39, 46, 293n54 pre-stone sculpture, 45–48, 292n42 Sthanakavasi history of, 220 stone sculpture, 39, 45–46, 293n54 terracotta, 38–39, 46, 291n31 Jain image history, 10–11, 17, 18. See also Jina image history Buddhist image history and, 18, 35, 36 Hindu image history and, 18 Jain image narratives, 3, 8, 12, 13. See also Jain icon narratives by Jain monks, 3 Jain image, people who reject, 3, 8. See also Jain iconoclasts

Jain image, people who worship, 3, 8. See also Jain iconophiles Jainism, 198. See also Jain cosmology ascending/descending cycles in, 9–10 Atmaram and, 7–8 Buddhism and, 53, 63, 68, 73 frames of, 16 Hinduism and, 63, 64, 68, 155, 213, 312n8, 320n80 icons and, 12, 16, 280–81 idols and, 12, 16 images and, 11, 17 Islam and, 270–71, 331nn61–62 Jain temple and, 65 Jina and, 9–10, 63 Jina image and, 9, 10, 12, 63 Lonka Shah and, 3–5 Mahavira Living Lord icon in contemporary, 208–11, 319nn76–77 mandalas and, 74, 80, 93 material culture, 10 monotheism/polytheism, 60 religion, 10, 60 Samprati narrative and, 138, 140, 141, 142, 144 spiritual perfection, 54–55, 80 undifferentiated spiritual perfection representation of, 54 Vaishnavism and, 213 veneration, 62–66, 294n62 Jain, Jyotindra, 81, 303n4 Jain mendicants, 35, 66, 99. See also Jain monks; Shvetambara mendicants; Sthanakavasi mendicants footprint icons and stupas, 128, 129 modern, 108 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 143 Nandishvara Dvipa and, 69, 104, 106–7, 108, 109 Samprati narrative and, 139–40, 141, 142, 310n70 scholars, 107 travel rules, 139–40, 141, 309n65 Jain monks. See also Jain mendicants; Shvetambara monks; Sthanakavasi monks Jain image narratives by, 3 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 143–44 Jain monk icons, 318n69. See also Shvetambara monk icons Digambara Bhadrabahu footprint, 191 Digambara Bhattaraka footprint, 192 Jain monk icon worship of deceased Murtipujaka monks, 128–29, 307n39, 318n69 Digambaras and, 188–89 Jain pantheon expansion to, 188–89

INDEX

of monk footprint icons, 188, 189 Shvetambara, 188 Jain narratives. See also Jain icon narratives; Jain image narratives; Jain texts; Shvetambara narratives; Udayana narratives history and, 12–13, 66 Jain cosmographical texts and, 13 Jain cosmological texts and, 13 Jain pantheon expansion. See also Bahubali, Gommateshvara; Gautama Svami; Jain monk icon worship; twenty-four Jina pantheon expansion to Jain monk icon worship, 188–89 to siddhas, 187–88, 190 beyond twenty-four Jina, 182–86, 190 to unliberated deities, 186–87, 190 Jain pilgrimage, Mount Ashtapada and, 136 Jain pilgrimage shrines, 81, 82, 84, 85, 121. See also Shvetambara pilgrimage shrines five principal, 132, 133, 134 Mount Ashtapada and, 132 Mount Shatrunjaya and, 132 painted scrolls of, 133–34, 308n48, 308n50 Jain relic worship, 306n26 Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative and, 126–27, 128, 129, 307n35 Jain icon worship and, 126–27 Jain stupas and, 127–28, 307n36 Jain ritual. See also Jain worship; lustration Digambara Jina icon, 23–24 Jain image and, 3, 26 Jina icon consecration, 23–24 Jina image archaeology and, 26 kalyanaka dramatization, 23–24 Shvetambara Jina icon, 23, 24 Jain ritual culture. See also Digambara ritual culture; Jain pilgrimage shrines; Shvetambara ritual culture eternal icons and, 94 Jain images and, 29, 53 Jain stupas and, 29 Jain temples in, 126 Jain texts and, 48–51, 53 Jina eternal icons and, 67, 92, 95, 96 Jina icons in, 126 mandala and, 124 Merus in, 94–96, 97, 98 Mount Ashtapada in, 129–35 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal icons in, 81–89, 96, 297n43, 297nn37–41 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal temples in, 85, 86 Shvetambara temples and, 87–88 Jain scriptures. See also Shvetambara scriptures Jain icons in, 100 Sthanakavasis and, 100

387

Jain shrine. See also Jain pilgrimage shrines; Jina shrine Mathura, 30 Jain stupa, 127 ayagapatas and, 29 Jain images and, 29 Jain mendicant footprint icons and, 128, 129 Jain relic worship and, 127–28, 307n36 Jain ritual culture and, 29 Jina images and, 29 Mathura, 29–30, 127–28, 307n37 samavasarana and, 302n2 Jain temples. See also Digambara temples; Jina temples; Mount Ashtapada temple; Shvetambara temples Adinatha and, 130, 307n40 Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative and, 136 building/renovations in Mount Shatrunjaya narrative, 143, 144, 145, 146–51, 311n93 Jainism and, 65 in Jain ritual culture, 126 Jain texts and, 50, 51 Jina icons and, 305n25 Jina image archaeology and, 50, 53 Mahavira and, 130 Mathura, 30–31 Mount Ashtapada and, 129–30, 136 Mount Ashtapada icons in, 132 “New Age,” 134 pilgrimage/tourism and, 120, 121 samavasarana and, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 303n9, 304nn11–12 Samprati narrative and, 140, 141–42 Jain temple narratives. See Jina icon/temple narratives Jain terracotta, 38–39. See also Ayodhya terracotta image Jina terracotta vs., 291n31 Jain texts, 13. See also Digambara texts; Jain cosmographical texts; Jain narratives; Jain scriptures; Shvetambara texts cosmological, 13 critiques of Jina eternal icons, 67 evidence and Jina image archaeology, 48–51, 53, 293n46, 293n48, 293n50 on Jain images, 48, 292n42 Jain ritual culture and, 48–51, 53 Jain temples and, 50, 51, 53 Jina eternal icons and, 67, 68 Jina eternal temples and, 67 Nandishvara Dvipa in, 69 Samprati in, 35 Shvetambara, 49–50, 293n48 Shvetambara icon debate and, 248–54, 326nn1–5

388

INDEX

Jain universal history, 137 Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative and, 113–14, 115 Jain visual culture Hindu visual culture and, 155 Jain image and, 3 Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 169 Jain worship, 62–66, 92, 294n62. See also Jain icon worship; Jain relic worship; Jain ritual Indras and, 92, 111 Jain image worshippers, 3, 8 samavasarana and, 119, 120 Jambu Dvipa. See Black Plum Continent Japan asymmetrical aesthetics, 80 Buddha lifetime icon narratives and, 196, 199 mandalas, 80 replication cults, 196, 317n43 replication icons, 317n43 Seiryoji Shaka icon, 196, 197, 199 Japanese Shingon Buddhism, 260–61 mandalas, 75–76, 78 Jayaswal, K. P., 33–34, 35, 37, 40, 41, 292n37 Jesus Christ. See Christ Jinas. See also eternal Jinas; Kalinga Jina; Mahavira; Neminatha; Parshvanatha; Rishabhanatha; Shantinatha; Simandhara Svami; Tirthankaras; twenty-four Jinas characteristics/merits/virtues, 59 enlightenment, 182, 316n35 five most popular, 132l as Great Person, 21 in Jain cosmology, 110, 111 Jainism and, 9–10, 63 kalyanaka, 23, 115 karma, 125, 305n24 lifetimes, 125 lustration of, 92, 110 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 143 paintings, 23 samavasarana and, 115, 116, 117, 119, 120 Shvetambara scriptures and, 100 spiritual perfection, 54 Tirthankaras as, 92, 110, 198 Jina cults. See also Bahubali cult; Jina icon replication cults twenty-four, 182 Jinadasagani, 156, 158, 159, 160, 193, 198, 199, 311n2, 312n7 Jina eternal icons. See also Nandishvara Dvipa eternal icons Black Plum Continent, 92, 93, 94 critiques of, 67 defense of, 67

in Digambara ritual culture, 96, 98 Digambaras and, 67 four, 69, 71–72, 73, 84, 92, 93 in Jain cosmology, 68, 93, 94, 99, 110, 111 in Jain cosmos, 80, 90, 94, 99, 111 Jain icon history and, 67 Jain ritual culture and, 67, 92, 95, 96 Jain text critiques of, 67 Jain texts and, 67, 68 Meru icons and, 95, 96 Mount Meru and, 88, 89, 90–92 in Shvetambara ritual culture, 95, 96, 99 Shvetambaras and, 67 in Shvetambara temples, 95 Jina eternal temples. See also Nandishvara Dvipa eternal temples Black Plum Continent and, 92, 93–94 in Digambara ritual culture, 98, 298n64 in Jain cosmology, 92, 93, 94 in Jain cosmos, 80, 94 Jain icon history and, 67 Jain texts and, 67 in Shvetambara ritual culture, 99 Jina icons, 320n81. See also Digambara Jina icon; Jain icons; Jina eternal icons; Jina image; Mahavira Living Lord icons; Shvetambara Jina icons in Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative, 123–24, 125–26, 136 Digambara texts and, 98 in India, 113 in Jain cosmos, 99 Jain dharma and, 125 in Jain icon narratives, 17 in Jain icon worship, 92, 96, 119, 120, 125–26, 127 in Jain ritual culture, 126 Jain temples and, 305n25 Mount Ashtapada icons and, 130, 131, 132, 135 Mount Ashtapada temple and, 125, 135 origins and Jina icon/temple narratives, 113 Parshvanatha, 27, 42, 61, 64, 121, 304n17 samavasarana and, 119, 120 in Shvetambara scriptures, 100 in Shvetambara temples, 121, 304n17 Vaishnava icons and, 213–14 Vishnu icons and, 213–14 Jina iconography, 318n69. See also Mahavira Living Lord iconography Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 182 restricted, 23 twenty-four, 184 Jina icon replication cults, 318n69. See also Living Lord replication cult Adinatha icon, 171–73

INDEX

Parshvanatha, 186 twenty-four Jina pantheon expansion and, 186 Jina icon/temple narratives. See also Adinatha/ Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative; Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative; Mount Shatrunjaya narrative; Samprati narrative Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative as, 113–14, 129, 136, 151–52, 153 India Jina temples and, 113 Jina icon origins and, 113 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative as, 114, 152, 153 Samprati narrative as, 114, 137, 138, 142, 152, 153 Jina image. See also Digambara Jina image; Jain image; Jina icons; Shvetambara Jina image art historians and, 54, 55, 59, 60 atishayas, 21–22, 60–61 ayagapatas, 28, 29, 30, 52 Buddha images and, 26–28, 36, 52 Buddhist image and, 21, 22, 23, 27, 53, 289n8 four-faced, 60, 61, 293n61 frame, 15–16, 273–80 Great Person depiction, 21, 22 Hindu image vs., 21, 22–23 ideal depiction, 20–21 identicalness, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59 in Jain cosmos, 66 Jain history and, 16, 18, 66 Jainism and, 9, 10, 12, 63 Jain stupa and, 29 Jina temples and, 31, 32, 53 kevalin depiction, 21–22 lustration of, 91 Mahavira, 28, 31 maleness, 19, 289n5 materials, 10 Maurya, 34, 35, 291nn25–27 metal sculpture, 46, 47, 293n54 minimalism and, 55, 58–59 multiplying single, 61, 62, 63 narrative frameworks, 25–26 parikara, 22, 61–62, 64 Parshvanatha, 26, 27, 28, 42, 43, 44, 45, 290n27 pratiharya, 22, 290n12 pre-stone sculpture, 46–47, 48 representation of spiritual ideal, 54, 59–60 Rishabhanatha, 25, 26, 290n15, 290n16 Samprati and, 35 sarvatobhadra, 60, 61 sculptor’s methodology for, 56, 57 seated, 19, 23 spiritual perfection, 54, 80 spiritual virtues embodiment of, 59

389

standing, 19, 23 stone sculpture, 45–46, 47–48, 293n54 symmetry, 22–23 in temples, 10 terracotta, 38, 39, 46, 291n31, 292n32 three-dimensional, 10 Tirthankara, 33, 34 two-dimensional, 10 two poses of, 19, 23 undifferentiated spiritual perfection representation of, 54 Jina image archaeology, 17. See also image dating controversies Ayodhya terracotta image, 38–39, 291nn30–31, 292nn32–34 Chausa/Bombay bronzes, 42–45, 52 India, 52 Jain history and, 25–54 Jain ritual and, 26 Jain temples and, 50, 53 Jain text evidence, 48–51, 53, 293n46, 293n48, 293n50 Jina image origin/early history and, 51–54 Kalinga Jina/King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription, 39–41, 52, 292n38, 292nn35–36 Lohanipur torsos, 32–37, 38, 52, 291nn25–29 Mathura, 25–32, 37, 45, 47, 48, 52, 290nn14–17 pre-stone sculpture, 45–48, 292n42 Jina image history, 19. See also Jina image archaeology change in, 60 image dating controversies, 35–37 Jina image worship, 62–66, 294n62. See also Jain worship Indras and, 92, 111 Meru and, 92 Jinaprabhasuri, 39, 69–73, 133, 136, 143, 144, 145, 147, 148, 149, 330n58, 331n61 Jina shrine. See also Jain shrine in Jain cosmos, 94 Mathura, 31–32 Jina temples. See also Bhandara Basati temple; Chaubis Maharaj Digambara temple; Jain temples; Jina eternal temples; Jina icon/temple narratives; Mount Ashtapada temple India, 113–14 Jina images and, 31, 32, 53 Mathura, 31–32 Neminatha, 20 Jina terracotta, 38, 39, 292n32. See also Ayodhya terracotta image Jain terracotta vs., 291n31

390

INDEX

Jivantasvami. See Mahavira Living Lord icons Jnansundar, Muni, 100, 101–2, 103, 105, 299n72, 300n80, 300n85 alternative history of Jain iconoclasm, 229–34, 324n36, 324nn38–41 Shvetambara icon debate and, 248–50, 254, 255, 264–65, 326nn2–5, 329nn45–47, 330n48, 330n50, 331n64 John of Damascus (saint), 257–58, 259 Jung, Carl Gustav, 76–77 Kalinga, 160, 314n15 Kalinga Jina, 314n14 Jina image archaeology, 39, 40–41, 52, 292n36 King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription, 39, 40–41, 52, 292n36 Kalpa Sutra (Scripture of Rules), 23, 115, 138, 302n3 Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 169, 170, 171 samavasarana in, 116 kalyanaka (beneficial event). See also siddha Jain ritual dramatization, 23–24 Jina, 23, 115 Jina icon, 23–24 samavasarana and, 115 Kalyanvijay, 20–21, 262–64, 265, 289n7, 329nn41–42 Kalyanvijaygani, Pannyas. See Kalyanvijay Kamuliana icon, 201–2 Kapila, 158, 159, 312n8 kevalin (enlightened one) atishayas, 21–22 Jina image depiction, 21–22 Khandalawala, Karl, 43–44, 45 Kharatara Gaccha, 69, 87, 88 Kharatara Gaccha monks, 69, 88, 128, 217, 307n39. See also Devchandra; Jinaprabhasuri Kharavela. See King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription Khimsar, 165, 166 King Kharavela Hathigumpha inscription image dating controversies, 41 Jina icons and, 38 Jina image archaeology, 39–41, 52, 292n38, 292nn35–36 Kalinga Jina, 39, 40–41, 52, 292n36 Koranta, 166, 315nn20–21 Koranta Gaccha monks, 166 Kosala, 160, 314n14 Kosala icon, 196, 198, 199, 318n58 Kumar, Ravi, 68, 81, 94, 294n2 Kumbhariya Shantinatha temple, 131

Lalwani, Ganesh, 208–10 Leoshko, Janice, 54, 55 Lineage Account (Pattavali Prabandh) (Vinaychandra), 220–29, 232nn29–32, 322nn19–22, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34 Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons (Trishashti Shalaka Purusha Charitra) (Hemachandra), 69–70, 116, 158 Living Lord icons, 168–69, 183, 316n37. See also Mahavira Living Lord icons Digambaras and, 316n36 Rishabha, 164 Vardhamana, 156, 157, 158 Living Lord replication cult, 160, 162–73, 186, 190 Shvetambara, 182, 183 Lohanipur torsos, 33, 34 Chausa Jain bronzes and, 36 image dating controversies, 35–37 Jina image archaeology, 32–37, 38, 52, 291nn25–29 Lonka Gaccha Lonka Shah and, 218 Murtipujaka monastic lineages and, 218, 321n10 Sthanakavasis and, 218–19, 321n10 Lonka Shah, 267, 325n47, 330n55. See also Sthanakavasi iconoclastic movement Jain idolatry reform and, 226–29, 232nn29–32, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34 Jainism and, 3–5 Lonka Gaccha and, 218 Murtipujaka narratives on Jain iconoclasm and, 229–36, 324n36, 324nn38–42 revolution and, 9 Santbal narrative of, 3–6, 9, 287n2 Shvetambara aniconism and, 218 Shvetambara iconoclastic movement and, 11, 66, 218 Sthanakavasi iconoclastic movement and, 11, 66, 218, 221–29, 232nn29–32, 234–36, 238, 239, 241, 244, 245–46, 321n14, 322nn19–22, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34, 324n42 Sthanakavasi narratives on Jain idolatry and, 221–29, 232nn29–32, 234–36, 321n14, 322nn19–22, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34, 324n42 Lucknow Museum, 31, 38 Lukan icons, 200, 203–5, 318n69 Luke (apostle), 200, 203–5 lustration (abhiseka), 24, 88, 312n8 of Jina images, 91 of Jinas, 92, 110 Luther, Martin, 238, 240, 242, 243, 244, 258–59

INDEX

Mahagiri, 160, 313n11 Mahavira, 4, 5, 41, 93, 132, 136, 182, 184, 221. See also Lineage Account Buddha and, 155, 311n1, 317n47 Jain temples and, 130 Jina image, 28, 31 samavasarana and, 121 Shvetambara scriptures and, 100, 103, 104, 156 in Shvetambara texts, 69 Mahavira Living Lord icons, 208. See also Living Lord icons Akota, 161, 162, 163, 314nn16–17 bronze, 161, 162 in contemporary Jainism, 208–11, 319nn76–77 image dating controversies, 314n16 Khimsar, 165, 166 Koranta, 166, 315nn20–21 Osian, 160, 163, 164, 165, 166, 177, 182 sandalwood, 155, 156, 161, 199 sandstone, 163 stone, 182 Tinvari, 165, 167 Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative, 199. See also Udayana narratives ancient India narratives and, 190 Buddha lifetime icon narratives and, 155, 194, 208 Samprati and, 160, 165, 313n11 in Shvetambara texts, 156–60, 311n2, 312nn3–8, 313nn9–11, 314nn9–14 Udayana in, 157, 158, 159, 160, 208, 312n8 Udayana narratives and, 192, 193 Mahavira Living Lord iconography, 161–73, 184 Bodhisattva iconography and, 175 Buddha iconography and, 155, 173, 175, 181, 208 Hindu iconography and, 155, 208 Jain iconography and, 155 Jain visual culture and, 169 Jina iconography and, 182 Kalpa Sutra and, 169, 170, 171 Shvetambara Jina icons and, 168–69 Surya iconography, 173, 177, 181–82, 208 Vishnu iconography and, 161, 163, 173, 176, 177, 179, 181–82, 208, 211 mandala architecture and, 76 Black Plum Continent and, 93, 94 Buddhist, 74–76, 77, 78, 80 Christianity, 79 classifications/types, 74 cosmos structure and, 80, 94 deities in, 78, 296n26 description, 74

391

Hindu, 74, 76, 77, 79–80, 296n25, 296n30 icons and, 74–80, 93, 296nn24–25 in Jain cosmology, 93, 94 Jainism and, 74, 80, 93 Jain ritual culture and, 124 Japan, 80 Japanese Shingon, 75–76, 78 meditation and, 76, 78 Mount Ashtapada temple as, 124 Nandishvara Dvipa as, 73, 78–79, 80, 81 samavasarana as, 115 South Asia, 79 spirituality, 76–77, 78, 296n26 temples and, 77–78, 93 three-dimensional, 74–75, 76, 77, 78, 295n22, 295n23, 296n24 Tibetan, 74, 77 two-dimensional, 74, 75, 76, 78, 295n22 Mandylion icon, 200, 201, 202 material culture India and divine, 54 Jainism, 10 Mathura, 181, 291n31 Bodhisattva icon, 174 Jain images, 48 Jain shrines, 30 Jain stupas, 29–30, 127–28, 307n37 Jain temples, 30–31 Jina image archaeology, 25–32, 37, 45, 47, 48, 52, 290nn14–17 Jina shrine, 31–32 Jina temple, 31–32 stone sculpture, 176–77, 316n30 Vishnu icons, 161, 173, 176 Maurya images, 34, 35, 36, 37, 291n29, 291nn25–27 Jina, 34, 35, 291nn25–27 Mauryan Empire Ashoka emperor, 137–38 India and, 137 meditation Jain poses, 19 mandala and, 76, 78 mendicancy. See Shvetambara mendicancy mendicants. See Jain mendicants Merus. See also Mount Meru in Digambara ritual culture, 95–96, 97, 98 in Digambara texts, 96, 98 eternal icons on, 91, 99 eternal temples on, 91, 98 five, 90, 91, 94, 96, 98, 99, 109, 133 human realms/continents and, 91 in Jain cosmology, 90, 91, 99, 109, 110 in Jain cosmos, 95, 110 in Jain ritual culture, 94–96, 97, 98 Jina image worship and, 92

392

INDEX

Merus (continued) multiplicity of, 90, 91 Nandishvara Dvipa and, 98 Shvetambara illustrations, 94, 95 in Shvetambara ritual culture, 95, 96 in Shvetambara texts, 94, 95, 96 Sudarshana, 91, 94 Meru icons. See also Mount Meru icons in Digambara temples, 95–96, 97, 298nn59–60 five, 97 Jina eternal icons and, 95, 96 in Shvetambara temples, 95 metal sculpture Jain image, 39, 46, 293n54 Jina image, 46, 47, 293n54 minimalism, 55 Jina image and, 55, 58–59 Mitra, Debala, 29–30, 31 Mitterwallner, Gritli von, 26, 31 monk. See Jain monks; yati Mount Ashtapada. See also Adinatha/Bharata/ Mount Ashtapada narrative in Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative, 113, 114, 115, 121–26, 129, 134, 135 in Digambara ritual culture, 134–35 Digambara temples and, 129, 134 Gautama Svami and, 131, 136 in Himalayas, 135–36 Jain pilgrimage and, 136 Jain pilgrimage shrines and, 132 in Jain ritual culture, 129–35 Jain temples and, 129–30, 136 Shvetambara painting of, 137 in Shvetambara ritual culture, 132 Shvetambara temples and, 130 Mount Ashtapada icons in Jain temples, 132 Jina icons and, 130, 131, 132, 135 in Kumbhariya Shantinatha temple, 130, 131 Mount Meru icons and, 307n41 samavasarana icons and, 307n41 in Shvetambara temples, 130, 131, 308n44 stele, 129, 130, 132 in United States, 135 Mount Ashtapada temple in Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative, 113, 123, 124, 125, 135 Jina icons and, 125, 135 as mandala, 124 samavasarana and, 124 Mount Kailasha, 115, 134, 135, 136, 303n5. See also Mount Ashtapada Mount Meru. See also Merus eternal temples, 135

Indras and, 92 in Jain cosmology, 90, 91, 110 Jina eternal icons and, 88, 89, 90–92, 98 Mount Meru icons. See also Meru icons Mount Ashtapada icons and, 307n41 samavasarana icons and, 304n11, 307n41 Mount Shatrunjaya, 114 Jain pilgrimage shrines and, 132 Murtipujakas and, 121, 304n15 samavasarana temple, 120 Shvetambara pilgrimage shrines and, 114, 143, 146, 147 Shvetambara temples, 120, 143 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative. See also Glory of Shatrunjaya; Jina icon/temple narratives Adinatha/Bharata/Mount Ashtapada narrative and, 144, 145, 148, 153 Digambaras and, 147 Glory of Shatrunjaya and, 147, 311n89 Jain icon creation/restoration in, 145, 149 Jain mendicants and, 143 Jain monks and, 143–44 Jain temple building/renovations in, 143, 144, 145, 146–51, 311n93 as Jina icon/temple narrative, 114, 152, 153 Jinas and, 143 Pundarika and, 143 samavasarana and, 143 Samprati narrative and, 144, 145 Murtipujakas, 7. See also Anandghan; Jnansundar, Muni Blessed Scripture edition/translation, 106, 301n93 funeral ritual, 301n87 icon defense, 247–54, 255, 262–65, 329nn41–42, 329nn45–47, 330n48, 330n50 icon-worshipping, 5, 6, 100, 109 Mount Shatrunjaya and, 121, 304n15 Shvetambara pilgrimage shrines, 7, 120 Shvetambara scriptures/commentaries and, 100, 101–3, 104, 109, 169 Shvetambara temples and, 120–21, 304n15 Murtipujaka monastic lineages. See also Kharatara Gaccha; Tapa Gaccha Lonka Gaccha and, 218, 321n10 Murtipujaka monks. See also Kalyanvijay; Kharatara Gaccha monks; Tapa Gaccha monks Jain monk icon worship of deceased, 128–29, 307n39, 318n69 Tapa Gaccha lineage, 5, 121

INDEX

Murtipujaka narratives on Jain iconoclasm and Lonka Shah, 229–36, 324n36, 324nn38–42 Shvetambara scriptures/Jain iconoclasm and, 229, 232, 233, 234–36 Murtipujaka/Sthanakavasi icon debate. See Shvetambara icon debate Murtipujaka texts, 100. See also Kalpa Sutra illustrated, 115, 116, 169, 170, 171, 302n3 pattavalis and, 219, 220, 321nn9–10 Muslim icon narratives, 156 self-born icons, 207 Muslim iconoclasm, 270 Hinduism vs., 267–69 Jain icon worship vs., 269–70, 271, 272, 330n58, 331n62 myth of aniconism, 261–62, 329n37, 329n39 icons/history and, 151–53 mythic time, 113–14, 137 Naigamesha, 38–39, 292n33 Nanda kings, 40, 41, 292n37 Nandishvara Dvipa, 91 in Blessed Scripture, 104, 106–7, 108, 109 Digambara icon in Bhandara Basati temple, 82 Digambara sculptures, 71, 81, 82, 296n33 Digambara temples, 84, 85, 297n36 in Digambara texts, 69, 294n8 as eighth continent in Jain cosmology, 68, 70, 90, 109–10 Jain mendicants and, 69, 104, 106–7, 108, 109 in Jain texts, 69 as mandala, 73, 78–79, 80, 81 Merus and, 98 Mudbidri Digambara icon, 71 Shvetambara carved stone plaques, 70, 81 Shvetambara temples, 82, 83, 84, 296nn34–36 in Shvetambara texts, 69–73, 294n8 in Sthanakavasi canon, 104, 106–7, 108, 109 three-dimensional media representations, 81 two-dimensional media representations, 81, 296n31 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal icons, 68, 73, 78, 80, 90, 99, 104, 109–10, 136 in Digambara ritual culture, 85, 86–87, 98, 297nn37–41 four Jina, 69, 71–72, 84 in Jain ritual culture, 81–89, 96, 297n43, 297nn37–41 in Shvetambara ritual culture, 85–86, 87–89, 297n43 worship and Indras/Indranis, 80, 88, 89, 92, 96

393

Nandishvara Dvipa eternal temples, 69, 71, 72, 73, 80, 81, 94, 104, 135, 294n3 in Digambara ritual culture, 85, 86, 98 in Jain ritual culture, 85, 86 in Shvetambara ritual culture, 85, 86 narratives, 3. See also ancient India narratives; Jain narratives; texts frameworks of Jina image, 25–26 meaning of, 12–13 Nemichandrasuri, 156, 158, 312n7 Neminatha, 132 temple, 20 Osian Mahavira Living Lord icons, 160, 163, 164, 165, 166, 177, 182 Surya icons, 180, 181 Surya temples, 178, 180, 181 Vishnu icons, 177, 178 paintings. See also Shvetambara paintings Jain pilgrimage shrines on scroll, 133–34, 308n48, 308n50 Mount Ashtapada Shvetambara, 137 Palitana temple, 120, 121, 304n17 Pancharatra Vaishnavism, 177, 178, 211, 212, 213, 214 Panini, 53 parergon, 288n16 parikara (elaborate carved surrounds), Jina image, 22, 61–62, 64 Parshvanatha, 49, 132 Bombay bronze, 43, 44, 45 Chausa bronze, 42, 43 Jina icon replication cults, 186 Jina icons, 27, 42, 61, 64, 121, 304n17 Jina image, 26, 27, 28, 42, 43, 44, 45, 290n27 Shvetambara Jina icon, 64, 168 Parshvanatha temples Panchasara, 64 Shamlaji, 19 Patan, 178, 179 pattavalis (record of monastic lineage leaders). See also Lineage Account Murtipujaka texts and, 219, 220, 321nn9–10 Shvetambara texts and, 219–20, 321n8–10 Sthanakavasi history and, 220 Sthanakavasi texts and, 219–20, 321nn9–10 pilgrimage. See also Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Places; Jain pilgrimage; tirtha Jain temples and, 120, 121 tourism and, 120, 121, 136, 304n16 pilgrimage shrine. See Jain pilgrimage shrines; tirtha

394

INDEX

Plato, 260, 288n16 Prabhavati, 157, 312n5 Pradyota, 157, 158, 159, 160, 192, 193, 209 Prakrit scriptures, 224, 232, 235 Prakrit texts, 6, 24, 233, 235 Prasenajit, 195, 196, 197, 198 pratiharya (eight miraculous attending features), 22, 290n12 pre-stone sculpture Buddha image, 46–47 Buddhist image and, 47 Jain image, 45–48, 292n42 Jina image, 46–47, 48 Jina image archaeology, 45–48, 292n42 Protestant Reformation, 325n51, 325nn44–45 icon debate and, 259–60, 271 Sthanakavasi iconoclastic movement and, 236–45 Pundarika, 143, 146 Puppha Bhikkhu, 106, 107, 109, 301n88, 301nn91–92 Quintanilla, Sonya, 25, 26, 28, 29, 31, 32, 34, 47, 290n14, 290nn16–17 Rathaur, Gajsingh, 224–25 Ray, Niharranjan, 35, 37, 291n26 relics. See also Buddhist relics; Jain relic worship Adinatha, 126 religion art historians and, 55 Jainism, 10, 60 replication cults. See also Jina icon replication cults Christian, 202, 205 Japan, 196, 317n43 replication icons Japan, 317n43 original icon vs., 186, 317n43 revolution Lonka Shah and, 9 Santbal and, 8 Rishabha, 69, 71, 93. See also Adinatha as Adinatha, 115 Rishabhanatha image, 25, 26, 290n15, 290n16 ritual. See also Jain ritual iconoclasm and reform of theology and, 234–45, 324n42, 325n47, 325n51, 325n53, 325n56, 325nn44–45 ritual culture. See also Buddhist ritual culture; Jain ritual culture in image history, 18, 289n3 of images in India, 53 in India texts, 53 Roth, Gustav, 36, 37

samavasarana, 303n5 Adinatha and, 115–21 Ayodhya, 116 Buddhist gandhakuti vs., 117 in Digambara temples, 118 in Jain cosmography, 117 Jain stupa and, 302n2 Jain temples and, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 303n9, 304nn11–12 Jain worship and, 119, 120 Jina and, 115, 116, 117, 119, 120 Jina icons and, 119, 120 in Kalpa Sutra, 116 kalyanaka and, 115 Mahavira and, 121 as mandala, 115 Mount Ashtapada temple and, 124 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 143 Mount Shatrunjaya temple, 120 shape, 115, 302n2 Shvetambara temples and, 120, 121 samavasarana icons Mount Ashtapada icons and, 307n41 Mount Meru icons and, 304n11, 307n41 Samprati, 34, 137 in Jain texts, 35 Jina images and, 35 Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative and, 160, 165, 313n11 Samprati narrative, 309n62. See also Jina icon/ temple narratives Buddhism and, 137–38, 141, 142 India and, 138, 140, 142 Jain icons and, 140, 141, 142, 310n71 Jainism and, 138, 140, 141, 142, 144 Jain mendicants and, 139–40, 141, 142, 310n70 Jain temples and, 140, 141–42 as Jina icon/temple narrative, 114, 137, 138, 142, 152, 153 Mount Shatrunjaya narrative and, 144, 145 Shvetambara scriptures and, 138–39, 140, 309n66 Shvetambara texts and, 138–39, 140–41, 309n66, 309n68 sandalwood Buddha lifetime icon, 155, 195–96, 199 Mahavira Living Lord icons, 155, 156, 161, 199 Sanghadasagani Vachaka, 160, 312n9 Santbal (Muni Saubhagyachandra) Lonka Shah narrative of, 3–6, 9, 287n2 movement and, 8 revolution and, 8 Saubhagyachandra, Muni. See Santbal Sawa, 76 scripture. See Jain scriptures; Prakrit scriptures

INDEX

Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises (Dashavaikalika Sutra), 226, 227, 234, 235 Scriptures. See also Blessed Scripture; Shvetambara scriptures commentaries and, 101, 102, 103 Nandishvara Dvipa in, 104, 106 Shvetambara scriptures and, 100, 101, 102, 103 Sthanakavasis and, 103–5, 300nn80–81 sculptor India, 57 methodology for Jina image, 56, 57 sculpture. See also metal sculpture; pre-stone sculpture; stone sculpture India image evidence, 53 preliminary Shvetambara Jina icon, 57 Seiryoji Shaka icon, 196, 197, 199 Shah, U. P., 25, 42–43, 44, 45, 95, 159, 161, 176, 290n16, 290n28, 292n39, 292n42, 298n59, 313nn10–11, 314n16, 315n28 Shakra. See Indras Shantinatha, 130, 132 Kumbhariya temple, 131 Shilanga, 101, 299nn69–70 shrine. See Jain shrine; tirtha Shroud of Turin, 202–3, 318n65 Shvetambara aniconism. See also Lonka Shah; Sthanakavasis Lonka Shah and, 218 Terapanthis and, 3, 12, 25 Shvetambaras. See also Murtipujakas; Sthanakavasis carved stone plaques of Nandishvara Dvipa, 70, 81 icon use anxiety, 218 Jain cosmography and, 109 Jain icon criticism, 217, 218 Jain icon history and, 67 Jain icon narratives and, 99 Jina eternal icons and, 67 Living Lord replication cult and, 182, 183 localized history, 137 Meru illustrations, 94, 95 society, 4 Shvetambara cosmology, 294n2 Jain icon history and, 67 Shvetambara icons. See also Shvetambara Jina icons; Shvetambara monk icons Gautama Svami, 187 Jain monk worship, 188 Shvetambara ritual culture and, 218 Shvetambara icon debate, 248, 255, 270–72, 327nn22–23 Bhadrankarvijay and, 252–54, 255, 266–67, 270, 329n46 Buddhisagarsuri, 250–52, 254, 264, 326n16

395

Jain texts and, 248–54, 326nn1–5 Jnansundar and, 248–50, 254, 255, 264–65, 326nn2–5, 329nn45–47, 330n48, 330n50, 331n64 Shvetambara iconoclasts. See also Sthanakavasis; Terapanthis Sthanakavasis as, 3, 4, 6, 11, 12, 66, 99, 100, 103, 109 Terapanthis as, 3, 66 Shvetambara iconoclastic movement. See also Sthanakavasi iconoclastic movement Lonka Shah and, 11, 66, 218 Sthanakavasis and, 11, 66, 218 Terapanthis and, 66 Shvetambara Jina icons Adeshvara, 19 Digambara Jina icon vs., 24 Jain ritual, 23, 24 Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 168–69 multiplying single, 62 Parshvanatha, 64, 168 preliminary carving, 57 in Shvetambara ritual culture, 312n8 Shvetambara Jina image depiction, 22 Digambara Jina image vs., 19–20 Shvetambara mendicancy, 3, 287n5 Shvetambara mendicants, 4 Digambara, 86 Shvetambara monastic lineages. See Anchala Gaccha; Lonka Gaccha; Murtipujaka monastic lineages; Upakesha Gaccha Shvetambara monks, 69–73, 88–89. See also Devchandra; Dhaneshvarasuri; Koranta Gaccha monks; Mahagiri; Murtipujaka monks; Pundarika; Suhastin; Uddyotanasuri Jain icon criticism and, 217–18 Shvetambara monk icons Bhadrankarvijay, 191 Dadaguru Jinadattasuri, 188 Dadaguru Jinakushalasuri, 189 and footprint icon, 191 Kakkasuri/Devachandrasuri/Yashodevasuri, 190 worship, 188 Shvetambara narratives, 114. See also Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative; Mount Shatrunjaya narrative; Murtipujaka narratives; Samprati narrative; Sthanakavasi narratives Mahavira Living Lord icon, 155 Shvetambara paintings Mount Ashtapada, 137 on scrolls of pilgrimage shrines, 133, 308n48

396

INDEX

Shvetambara pilgrimage shrines, 84, 114, 121 Mount Shatrunjaya and, 114, 143, 146, 147 Murtipujaka, 7, 120 painted scroll of, 133, 308n48 Shvetambara ritual culture Jina eternal icons in, 95, 96, 99 Jina eternal temples in, 99 Merus in, 95, 96 Mount Ashtapada in, 132 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal icons in, 85–86, 87–89, 297n43 Nandishvara Dvipa eternal temples in, 85, 86 Shvetambara icons and, 218 Shvetambara Jina icons in, 312n8 Shvetambara temples and, 87–88, 218 Shvetambara texts and, 98–99 Shvetambara scriptures. See also Blessed Scripture; Greater Scripture of Rules; Kalpa Sutra; Scripture of Ten Evening Treatises; Scriptures; Sthanakavasi canon interpretation/commentaries, 100–107, 299n68, 299n70, 299n75, 299nn72–73 Jina icons in, 100 Jinas and, 100 Mahavira and, 100, 103, 104, 156 Murtipujaka narratives/Jain iconoclasm and, 229, 232, 233, 234–36 Murtipujakas and, 100, 101–3, 104, 109, 169 Samprati narrative and, 138–39, 140, 309n66 Scriptures and, 100, 101, 102 Sthanakavasi narratives/Jain idolatry and, 219, 220, 221, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 234–36 Sthanakavasis and, 103–9, 300n84, 300nn80–81 Terapanthis and, 104 Shvetambara temples. See also Kumbhariya Shantinatha temple; Palitana temple; Parshvanatha temples Adinatha and, 131 Jina eternal icons in, 95 Jina icons in, 121, 304n17 Meru icons in, 95 Mount Ashtapada and, 130 Mount Ashtapada icons in, 130, 131, 308n44 Mount Shatrunjaya, 120, 143 Murtipujakas and, 120–21, 304n15 Nandishvara Dvipa, 82, 83, 84, 296nn34–36 samavasarana and, 120, 121 Shvetambara ritual culture and, 87–88, 218 Shvetambara texts, 49–50, 293n48. See also Guidebook to Various Pilgrimage Places; Haribhadra; Hemachandra; Jinadasagani; Lives of the Sixty-three Illustrious Persons; Murtipujaka texts; Nemichandrasuri;

Sanghadasagani Vachaka; Shvetambara scriptures; Sthanakavasi texts cosmographical, 94 Jain icons and, 136–37 Mahavira in, 69 Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative in, 156–60, 311n2, 312nn3–8, 313nn9–11, 314nn9–14 Merus in, 94, 95, 96 Murtipujaka, 100 Nandishvara Dvipa in, 69–73, 294n8 pattavalis and, 219–20, 321n8–10 Samprati narrative and, 138–39, 140–41, 309n66, 309n68 Shvetambara ritual culture and, 98–99 Sthanakavasi, 100, 299n67 text dating controversies and, 312n9 siddha (perfected soul), 80, 188 Jain pantheon expansion to, 187–88, 190 siddha pratima (image of perfected one), 24, 290n13 Digambara Jina icon, 24 Simandhara Svami, 184, 185–86 icon, 185 Sircar, D. C., 40, 41 South Asia history, images in, 18, 19 South Asia mandalas, 79 Spink, Walter, 35–36, 37 spirituality, mandala, 76–77, 78, 296n26 spiritual perfection Jain, 54–55, 80 Jain undifferentiated representation of, 54 Jina, 54 Jina image, 54, 80 Jina image undifferentiated representation of, 54 Srinivasan, Doris, 36 Srivastava, S. K., 38 Sthanakavasis, 6, 7, 12, 300n78, 320n3. See also Amolak Rishi; Surana, Shrichand aniconism, 3, 4, 12, 25, 218, 229 Blessed Scripture/icons and, 104–5, 106, 108 Glory of Shatrunjaya and, 147, 311n89 as iconoclastic, 3, 4, 6, 11, 12, 100, 103, 109 iconoclastic cosmology, 99–109 Jain icon narratives and, 99–100, 104–5, 106 Jain scriptures and, 100 Lonka Gaccha and, 218–19, 321n10 Scriptures/commentaries and, 103–4, 300nn80–81 Shvetambara iconoclastic movement and, 11, 66, 218 as Shvetambara iconoclasts, 3, 4, 6, 11, 12, 66, 99, 100, 103, 109 Shvetambara scriptures and, 103–9, 300n84, 300nn80–81

INDEX

Shvetambara texts, 100, 299n67 Terapanthis and, 104 Sthanakavasi canon Blessed Scripture editions/translations, 106–9, 302n97 editions/translations, 104–9, 301nn91–92, 302n97 Nandishvara Dvipa in, 104, 106–7, 108, 109 Sthanakavasi history of Jain idolatry, 221–29, 232nn29–32, 321n14, 322nn19–22, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34 of Jain images, 220 pattavalis, 220 Sthanakavasi iconoclastic movement, 3, 5, 219, 287n2, 320n4, 325n53, 325n56. See also Lonka Shah Lonka Shah and, 11, 66, 218, 221–29, 232nn29–32, 234–36, 238, 239, 241, 244, 245–46, 321n14, 322nn19–22, 322nn25– 26, 323n33, 324n34, 324n42 Protestant Reformation and, 236–45 Sthanakavasi texts and, 219, 321n6 Sthanakavasi mendicants, 5, 6, 105, 106, 107–8. See also Atmaram; Jnansundar; Virputra Sthanakavasi monks, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 287n7, 288n8, 325n53. See also Amar Muni; Atmaram; Buteray; Murtipujaka monks; Santbal; Tapa Gaccha monks Sthanakavasi/Murtipujaka icon debate. See Shvetambara icon debate Sthanakavasi narratives on Jain idolatry and Lonka Shah, 221–29, 232nn29–32, 234–36, 322nn19–22, 322nn25–26, 323n33, 324n34, 324n42 Shvetambara scriptures/Jain idolatry and, 219, 220, 221, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 234–36 Sthanakavasi texts Jain idol critiques and, 219, 321n7 pattavalis and, 219–20, 321nn9–10 Sthanakavasi iconoclastic movement and, 219, 321n6 stone plaques, carved. See also ayagapatas Shvetambara Nandishvara Dvipa, 70, 81 stone sculpture Buddha image, 46 Buddhist image, 46 image dating controversies and, 46 Jain image, 39, 45–46, 293n54 Jina image, 45–46, 47–48, 293n54 Mahavira Living Lord icon, 182 Mathura, 176–77, 316n30 Stories of Knowledge and Righteousness (Jnatadharmakathah), 49–50, 293n46

397

Strong, John S., 110–11 stupa (reliquary mound), 29. See also Jain stupa in Buddhism, 111, 126, 128, 138, 307n37, 309n58 Sudarshana Meru, 91, 94 Suhastin, 160, 313nn10–11 Surana, Shrichand, 107, 108 Surya (Hindu sun god), 159, 177, 180, 182, 316n32 Osian temples, 178, 180, 181 Surya icons, 180, 181 Surya iconography Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 173, 177, 181–82, 208 Vishnu iconography and, 177, 181–82 Tapa Gaccha, 9, 89, 98, 99, 103, 132. See also Vijayasenasuri, Acharya Tapa Gaccha monks, 5, 6, 7, 9, 87, 89, 99, 128, 132, 166, 307n39, 315n20. See also Atmaram; Bhadrankarvijay; Buddhisagarsuri, Acharya Murtipujaka lineage of, 5, 121 Taran Svami, 11, 66 Tekchand, Pandit, 98, 298n62 temples. See also eternal temples; Jain temples Buddhist, 306n27 in India texts, 53 in Jain history, 17 Jina image in, 10 mandalas and, 77–78, 93 Osian Surya, 178, 180, 181 Terapanthis movement, 3 Shvetambara aniconism and, 3, 12, 25 Shvetambara iconoclastic movement and, 66 as Shvetambara iconoclasts, 3, 12, 66 Shvetambara scriptures/commentaries and, 104 Sthanakavasis and, 104 terracotta, 38. See also Ayodhya terracotta image; Jain terracotta; Jina terracotta India, 38, 39, 292n33 Jain image, 38–39, 46, 291n31 Jina image, 38, 39, 46, 291n31, 292n32 texts. See also Jain texts; narratives; Prakrit texts context and, 13–14 India, 53 Textbook on the Joys of Peace of the Soul (Prashamarati Prakarana) (Umasvati), 51 text dating controversies, Shvetambara texts and, 312n9 Theodore of Studion (saint), 258–59, 328n31 theological culture, in image history, 18

398

INDEX

theology iconoclasm and reform of ritual and, 234–45, 324n42, 325n47, 325n51, 325n53, 325n56, 325nn44–45 of icons, 247–72 Tibetan Buddhism, 74, 77 time historical/metrical, 137 Jain mythic, 113–14, 137 Tinvari, 165, 167 tirtha (Jain community), 9, 110 tirtha (pilgrimage shrine), 121, 143 Tirthankaras Basati temple, 63 in Jain cosmology, 110 Jina image, 33, 34 as Jinas, 92, 110, 198 Tiwari, M. N. P., 182, 183 tourism Jain temples and, 120, 121 pilgrimage and, 120, 121, 136, 304n16 twenty-four Jinas, 125, 211, 214, 215, 305n25 cult, 182 iconography, 184 twenty-four Jina pantheon expansion, 182–85, 190 Jina icon replication cults and, 186 Udayana, 157, 158, 159, 160, 312n8 in Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative, 157, 158, 159, 160, 208, 312n8 Udayana narratives. See also Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative ancient India narratives and, 190, 192–93 Buddha lifetime icon narratives and, 194, 195, 196–97, 208 Buddhist narratives and, 193 Mahavira Living Lord icon narrative and, 192, 193 Uddyotanasuri, 130, 307n40 Ujjain, 157, 158, 159, 160, 193, 313n11 Umasvati, 51, 293n50, 294n2 universal preaching hall. See samavasarana Upakesha Gaccha, 148, 229 Vaishnavas, 155 Vaishnava icons, 177. See also Vishnu icons Jina icons and, 213 Vaishnava iconography, 178, 214. See also Vishnu iconography Jain iconography and, 211

Vaishnavism, 182 Jainism and, 213 Pancharatra, 177, 178, 211, 212, 213, 214 Vallabhsuri, Acharya Vijay, 5, 8, 9 Vardhamana, 69, 71, 93, 156, 158 Vardhamana Mahavira, 157, 193. See also Mahavira Varishena, 69, 71, 93 Vasavadatta, 193 veneration Jainism, 62–66, 294n62 Jina image, 62–66, 294n62 Veronica icon, 202 Vidisha, 160, 313n11 Vijaya, 91, 93 Vijayasenasuri, Acharya, 127–28, 129 Vimalasuri, 50, 65, 312n9 Vinaychandra, 220–29. See also Lineage Account Virgin Mary icons, 200, 203, 204–5, 319n70 Virputra, 108–9 Vishnu, 177, 182, 212, 320n80 emanations, 211–14, 214, 215, 319n78 twenty-four, 211–14, 215 Vishnu icons, 212, 319n78, 319n79. See also Vaishnava icons image dating controversies, 315n28 Jina icons and, 213–14 Mathura, 161, 173, 176 Osian and, 177, 178 Patan Emanations of, 178, 179 Vishnu iconography, 178, 213–14. See also Vaishnava iconography Mahavira Living Lord iconography and, 161, 163, 173, 176, 177, 179, 181–82, 208, 211 Surya iconography, 177, 181–82 visual culture. See also Jain visual culture Hindu, 155 India, 208 Vitabhaya, 157, 158, 159 Williams, R., 48, 86 wood sculpture. See pre-stone sculpture worship. See also icon worship; Jain worship Buddhist relics, 127 Xuanzang, 195, 196, 197, 198 yakshas (unliberated deities), 22, 27, 35, 37 images and Buddha images, 47 yakshis (unliberated deities), 22 yati (monk), 6, 287n5