Pathway to Japanese Literature

Regarding Kōbō Daishi, lectures have been held here annually, and I had the honor of attending Dr. Tanimoto's lecture—which he is delivering today—as well as reviewing the booklet that was subsequently printed afterward.
Therefore, first—if I may call it an overview concerning Kōbō Daishi—in any case, when it comes to comprehensive observations regarding Kōbō Daishi, they have already been exhaustively covered in Dr. Tanimoto’s lecture, so there is nothing new that could possibly be discovered beyond that.
After that, I understand there were also lectures on esoteric Buddhism from colleagues such as Dr. Matsumoto.
Since this is something we collectively do not comprehend, I refrained from perusing it extensively, thinking that reading it would be futile anyway.
Furthermore, although this was not something delivered as a lecture here, among the materials distributed in print, there appears to have been a booklet by Dr. Kōda Rohan—this too being related to Kōbō Daishi’s literary endeavors—which I have also reviewed in general terms.
All of them are splendid works, and there is truly nothing new that I could present today beyond that.

Now, this was true of any field of research: once an overview of sorts had been established initially, subsequent studies inevitably became increasingly mired in minute details.
While such detailed research might hold considerable fascination for the researchers themselves, when ordinary people listened to it, it tended to come across as if the researcher alone understood what they were discussing, resulting in a situation that lacked much interest.
Therefore, concerning Kūkai's literary aspects as well, since Dr. Tanimoto had already delivered a lecture covering the general overview and Dr. Kōda's opinions regarding literary matters had been presented, when I subsequently attempted to offer any remarks, I inevitably tended to delve too deeply into certain minutiae—a tendency that could not be avoided.
Of course, I had resolved from the outset to present some minute details and thereby seek your pardon—this being my prepared stance—and what I discussed that day, though I spoke of Kūkai’s literary arts, was limited to but a small portion thereof: namely, a critique of the books authored by the Great Master.
Of course, even these matters had already had their crucial points published in the research of both Dr. Tanimoto and Dr. Kōda, so what I presented would inevitably delve into increasingly peripheral details.
I humbly requested that they kindly listen with that understanding.
"I am quite aware this must be rather tedious for you all to hear; nevertheless, as I am now obliged to recount in detail the exhaustive efforts made by Kōbō Daishi here, I humbly ask that you endure this not as a service to me, but with hearts devoted to our Founder Kōbō Daishi, and kindly grant me your attentive hearing for a while."

When I attempt to critique one or two of the books authored by Kōbō Daishi, it must be said that even he does not have an abundance of literary writings. This was also something Dr. Tanimoto painstakingly researched in considerable detail during his lecture—one such work being *Bunkyō Hifuron*. I have brought it here; this is something anyone attentive to Kōbō Daishi would already know—there exists a book called *Bunkyō Hifuron*. Regarding this text, Dr. Tanimoto has devoted himself to exhaustive research, and through these efforts alone, I too found myself inspired. Moreover, I have maintained an unexpected degree of personal interest in this work from its initial encounter. For these reasons, I periodically open this volume for examination. On such occasions, I casually jot observations in the upper margins or make similar annotations. In essence—after much deliberation over today's presentation—I reopened it and discovered matters I had previously begun investigating; thus I shall present findings from subsequent research guided by these modest beginnings. That said, while this discussion lacks inherent appeal, it has grown unexpectedly intricate—I recognize it may prove challenging to follow—but humbly request your patient endurance a while longer.

This Bunkyō Hifuron was of course a work in which Kōbō Daishi recorded rules for those composing Chinese prose and poetry during his era. Though we call them rules—as Dr. Tanimoto also noted in his lecture—these were not regulations formulated by Kōbō Daishi himself. He compiled principles for poetry and prose then practiced in China through careful selection and editing. Regarding his composition of the Bunkyō Hifuron's preface too, Kōbō Daishi explicitly clarified this matter.

In his youth when Kyoto still maintained the Imperial Academy where he studied—so it was recorded—Kōbō Daishi learned Chinese classics under a certain Ato (possibly an uncle) alongside other academy professors. He further disclosed having paid particular attention to such matters during his subsequent Journey to Tang China. During that period he evidently examined numerous manuals of poetic and prosodic principles then current.

Through gathering these materials there arose—so it appears—the notion to compile them into a single volume beneficial for all poetry composers whether lay or monastic. Yet when diverse sources proliferated discrepancies emerged between texts along with redundancies creating considerable complications. Though books abounded their truly essential contents proved remarkably sparse.

Thus we are told he—in what might be termed an editorial compulsion—found himself unable to transcribe materials unchanged but resolved instead to excise superfluities preserving only vital elements through rigorous editing; gradually pruning redundancies while retaining substantive essentials thereby creating Bunkyō Hifuron. While unclear how many years after returning from China he produced this work we know he later authored *Bunpitsu Ganshin Shō* as an abridged version during Kōnin's tenth year [821 CE] confirming Bunkyō Hifuron's prior completion.

The general circumstances behind its creation are as I have outlined, but regarding what texts Kōbō Daishi primarily consulted in compiling this work, Dr. Tanimoto—through his painstaking efforts—has identified what may be termed its source materials.
That is to say, within the Great Master’s poetry collection Shōryōshū, there appears a man named Wang Changling—a renowned poet of the High Tang period who excelled in quatrains.
There exists a book titled *Poetic Rules* that this person authored.
That is to say, it is a work on poetic rules.
This constitutes the esteemed view that he likely compiled the Bunkyō Hifuron using that as its foundation.
I too found this theory most intriguing, and upon gradually investigating it, while Wang Changling’s *Poetic Rules* certainly appear to have served as the source material for the Great Master’s *Bunkyō Hifuron*, it also seems he consulted quite a variety of other texts as well.
Now, regarding what matters were referenced and what value those books hold, I would like to offer some remarks.

Indeed, when compiling this Bunkyō Hifuron, the Great Master had already disclosed in its preface most of the texts he referenced. In the preface to his Bunkyō Hifuron, he wrote:

"After Marquis Shen and Liu Shan[jing], preceding Wang [Changling], Jiao [Ran], Cui [Rong], and Yuan [Jing], they vigorously debated the Four Tones while contending over poetic faults."

This statement appears in the text. Simply presenting it thus would prove unclear, so let me clarify: "Marquis Shen" refers to an individual's name. During the period spanning from Southern Qi through Liang dynasty, there existed a renowned scholar named Shen Yue. This figure is recognized in China as the originator of what we call the Four Tones.

The Four Tones—as any poetry composer knows—comprise píng (level tone), shǎng (rising tone), qù (falling tone), and rù (entering tone). The level tone maintains flat intonation; the rising tone ascends; the falling tone descends; and the entering tone concludes abruptly. Through this fourfold classification, all characters were systematically analyzed.

This system emerged during Southern Qi's Yongming era when Shen Yue and others first promoted it, becoming widely adopted. Poetry employing these principles became known as Yongming-style verse. "Marquis Shen" denotes this very Shen Yue.

Regarding "Liu Shan," this likely abbreviates Liu Shanjing by omitting the character "jing." I shall elaborate on this point subsequently. While biographical details about this figure remain obscure, his written works are well documented.

Following Liu Shanjing came four individuals: Wang [Changling], Jiao [Ran], Cui [Rong], and Yuan [Jing]. The "Wang" here refers to Wang Changling—previously mentioned as the author of Poetic Rules. The "Jiao" indicates Jiao Ran, a Tang dynasty monk. Fragments of his Poetic Form survive today in scattered remnants. As for "Cui," I believe this refers to Cui Rong, whose writings similarly address poetic regulations. The "Yuan" denotes Yuan Jing.

This person too had written works on poetic rules.
All of these were Tang period figures.
Thus it was written that from Marquis Shen and Liu Shan onward until Wang, Jiao, Cui, and Yuan, vigorous debates about the Four Tones flourished—scholars contending while expounding on poetic faults—though these Four Tones were essentially what we might call in Japanese terms the melodic patterns of traditional songs.
Even when singing a song, if the melody erred it would not become proper music.
Therefore there arose various discussions about tonal patterns to make them musically viable.
Since poetry in antiquity was meant to be sung, there existed rules stating one must not phrase certain passages thusly lest they become unsingable—that here one must raise or lower pitch—for otherwise the poem could not be chanted.
There were texts that strictly dictated these rules—prohibiting particular phrasings here or prescribing specific melodies for forms like the Harusame no Kaeuta ("Spring Rain Substitute Song").
Because such books existed, he explicitly stated here that he drew from them.
Now if asked whether only those I have mentioned were referenced—while others indeed existed—it has become clearly understood that at any rate the Great Master consulted works by these six individuals.

Now, regarding what value there was in the Great Master having referenced these works—this became the matter at hand. What proved particularly noteworthy was that most books the Great Master had consulted were no longer extant today. The majority had perished entirely. Yet precisely because he had referenced them and incorporated their contents into Bunkyō Hifuron, portions of those scholars' works had fortunately been transmitted and preserved. In essence, it meant we could now examine within Kūkai's Bunkyō Hifuron texts belonging to such figures—works otherwise lost to time.

However, when considering where its value lay for modern scholarship, what remained fascinating were these poetic regulations themselves—the tonal patterns distinguishing quatrains from regulated verse and ancient-style poetry—which dictated both proper composition methods and what constituted deviations from established norms. Thus when examining Tang dynasty and earlier poetic rules today, no adequate text existed apart from this Bunkyō Hifuron.

To trace poetry's evolution as an art form required examining song traditions' development in Japan as well. Even now practitioners composed both archaic and modern verse forms, but understanding Japanese poetry's historical trajectory demanded retracing its path from the Man'yōshū era through the Kokinshū and subsequent Three Imperial Anthologies up to contemporary times.

China's situation paralleled this—though poetry continued flourishing there post-Tang—for grasping how Tang poems had been structured, what compositional rules governed them, and whether they adhered to period tonal regulations necessitated studying contemporary poetic manuals. Yet none survived in China itself.

Among currently transmitted Chinese texts, there existed Lengzhai Ye Hua—a relatively well-known work authored by Hong Juefan, a Song dynasty monk who also produced Tenchū Kinran. This latter text contained Song-era poetic rules but remained scarcely read. However, its utility proved limited since Song poetry had already ceased being set to music—unlike Tang verse which retained musicality until that period. Consequently, Song rules lacked the musical foundation that gave Tang regulations their value. No pre-Song rulebooks survived in China at all.

Though China remained poetry's birthplace, not a single work documenting Tang or earlier poetic rules endured there. Only through Bunkyō Hifuron's preservation could these principles be understood.

The works cited in Bunkyō Hifuron ranged from those of Shen Yue of Liang above to books from the Tang period below. When investigating these books, those of us engaged in specialized scholarship had various means at our disposal. It became necessary to ascertain to what extent the books that the Great Master had so valued and employed were actually utilized in his time. If the books he used had not been widely circulated during their era, they would not have been considered significant even if surviving today. However, since the works he utilized were esteemed texts even in his day, we must conclude that his Bunkyō Hifuron possesses extraordinary value in the present age. When investigating the value of such original texts, specialists like ourselves employed various methodologies. The general nature of these approaches could still be understood today. In truth, those unaware of such matters might recognize Bunkyō Hifuron as a rare text yet surprisingly fail to fully demonstrate its true value. Actual examples of such cases already existed. This Bunkyō Hifuron being a rare text documenting Tang-era poetic rules had naturally drawn attention from Japanese scholars, but Chinese researchers had also taken notice of it.

There was a Chinese man named Yang Shoujing who served at the Chinese legation in Tokyo from around Meiji 13-14 (1880-1881) through approximately Meiji 17-18 (1884-1885). He still resides in China. During the recent disturbances there, he had been in Wuchang but now lives as a refugee in Shanghai—an elderly man in his seventies. Yang documented his observations in his work Nihon Hōsho-shi (Japan Bibliographical Records). While Dr. Tanimoto has also noted this matter—and though attention has indeed been paid to it—we cannot ascertain whether Yang meticulously studied it at the time. Nevertheless, despite recognizing Bunkyō Hifuron's immense value for understanding Tang poetic rules, Yang dismissed these regulations as mere trivialities rather than substantive matters.

The rules indeed stipulated minute details—prohibiting excessive use of certain characters in specific positions while endorsing others. Though fastidious, these cannot be deemed insignificant. During the Tang period, such poetic rules truly existed in this form: what conformed to the rules was accepted; what diverged was rejected. Simply stating "accepted or rejected" lacks clarity—the Tang dynasty conducted civil service examinations through poetry composition. Poetry stood among the most crucial examination subjects. Candidates consequently needed mastery of intricate poetic regulations—a single misplaced character or erroneous tone meant automatic failure. Examinees therefore had to memorize these exacting standards—a burdensome system Japan adopted wholesale.

In Japan too, aspiring professors of literature at the Imperial Academy faced identical poetry examinations—a single tonal error meant disqualification. Thus in that era, even one misplaced character or half-line carried grave importance through these rules. All scholars studied them thoroughly—though intricate, ignorance meant incomprehension of both examination protocols and contemporary poetic composition methods. Their value matched their era's demands.

Hence I maintain we must not dismiss with facile contempt these rules—so revered in their time for assessing a nation's finest minds—merely because they appear nitpicking or obsolete today. Yang Shoujing—born in modern China and thus inadequately grasping how examinations then functioned or rules' true weight—dismisses them as petty prescriptions. Yet through that period's lens, such regulations held essential significance.

Now, among the various books related to these rules, the texts that the Great Master adopted here led us to consider their true value.
When addressing such matters, one needed to trace back through investigations of various books from that era.
For this purpose, specific tools existed.
In China, successive dynasties compiled official histories.
As China was a revolutionary country where imperial bloodlines frequently changed, each new dynasty would compile the history of its predecessor.
When compiling these histories, it became customary to create catalogs of books preserved from antiquity through the previous dynasty.
This practice held particular interest.
Thus during the Tang dynasty, they compiled the history of the preceding Sui dynasty.
Within that Sui Shu existed a catalog of works circulated from ancient times through the Sui period.
This was called the Jingjizhi (Treatise on Classics and Other Writings) of the Sui Shu.
While meaning "records of classics," it included a catalog of books preserved up to Sui times that had circulated since antiquity.
Therefore, catalogs of works preserved through the Sui period could generally be comprehended in outline.
Of course, omissions inevitably occurred.
Next, catalogs of books actually circulating during the subsequent Tang dynasty were recorded in the Tang Shu histories compiled after Tang's fall.
These existed in two versions: what we call the New Book of Tang and Old Book of Tang, with the latter containing its own Treatise on Classics and Other Writings like the Sui Shu.
The New Book of Tang presented this as the Treatise on Arts and Letters.
In essence, catalogs of books surviving from antiquity through Tang times were recorded in either Treatise on Classics or Treatise on Arts and Letters.
Books listed in these catalogs clearly held substantial influence.
Therefore, scholars of ancient learning—particularly those studying classical texts—valued these three catalogs: the Sui Shu's Treatise on Classics and Other Writings, the Old Book of Tang's Treatise on Classics and Other Writings, and the New Book of Tang's Treatise on Arts and Letters. Consulting these three became standard practice when investigating ancient texts.
Consequently, even regarding works adopted by the Great Master, examining their circulation status through these three catalogs became an established principle in ancient textual studies.

However, there was another such matter.

When speaking of dynasties like the Tang—which persisted for two to three centuries—their official histories were compiled only after their collapse by successor regimes. Thus even texts widely circulated during the Tang period had vanished in substantial numbers by the time these dynastic records were assembled, for reasons unclear. For such works absent from official histories, scholars studying Tang-era materials necessarily devised alternative investigative methods.

Therefore, while there were various methods in Shina as well, in Japan there existed a book that was well-suited for investigating such matters.
This was a Japanese book, but it was something held in great esteem by Shina people and others.
That was the book titled *Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku* (Japan Bibliographical Records).
It is not a modern catalog.

This was created by Fujiwara no Sukeyo, a Confucian scholar from the Nanke family—a lineage of Confucian scholars during the Heian period.
As for how this was compiled, in Japan they steadily imported a great number of books from Shina and studied them.
In Japan, Chinese scholarship had flourished since that time.

However, there was an institution called Reinei-in in Saga.
Reinei-in is now written as "Reizei-in," but in ancient times it was written as "Reinei-in."
There were many books stored there, but they were lost in a fire.
Indeed, this *Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku* uses the original spelling "Reinei-in."
The reason Reinei-in fell victim to fire lies in this character '然,' which bears four dots beneath it.
These dots represent 'raging fire'—the very character for flame.
It was said that Reinei-in burned because its name contained this fiery element below, leading authorities to rename it Reizei-in thereafter.
In any case, Reinei-in housed numerous volumes until a conflagration at the dawn of the Heian period destroyed many texts.
Afterward, they gradually reassembled collections, culminating in the compilation of *Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku*—a catalog of Chinese books.
As this was completed near the Tang dynasty's end, it records all texts transmitted to Japan by that time, allowing us to know exactly which books existed there then.
Chinese scholars too have cross-checked this *Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku* against catalogs like the *Sui Shu*'s Treatise on Classics and Other Writings or the Tang histories' bibliographies, discovering missing entries preserved here.
That is to say, volumes already lost when compiling New and Old Tang histories remain documented in this work.
Fortunately Japan retains this catalog—indispensable today for understanding both Tang-era texts and what works circulated when Kūkai walked this earth.

Returning to our original point: regarding the books Great Master Kūkai adopted when compiling the *Bunkyō Hifuron*, whether they appeared in those catalogs—if they did, this made it evident they were splendid works beyond doubt, a matter of great practical significance. All were indeed recorded. The book concerning the Four Tones by Shen Yue—who first invented them as I previously mentioned—originally existed in one volume and was duly recorded in the *Sui Shu*’s Treatise on Classics and Other Writings. Though Shen Yue’s name does not appear here, this work was naturally included in the *Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku* as well. Next was Liu Shanqing’s *Four Tones Guideline*, which I had referenced earlier. This text appeared in both the *Sui Shu*’s Treatise on Classics and Other Writings and the *Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku*. Moreover, it seemed the Great Master had examined this work with particular care and held it in high regard, as evidenced by his inclusion of the "Four Tones Discourse" at the end of *Bunkyō Hifuron*’s first volume. Spanning six or seven pages, he quoted its contents so extensively that one might suspect he had copied nearly the entire *Guideline*. No explanation identified it as such, but within the Discourse appeared the phrase “經案ずるに”—the character “kyō” being the final character of Liu Shanqing’s name—making clear its origin. The Great Master evidently valued Liu Shanqing’s text and recognized its necessity, given how liberally he excerpted it. Today, not a trace of *Four Tones Guideline* survives anywhere. We owe our understanding of Six Dynasties-era Four Tones debates entirely to these six or seven pages preserved through Kūkai’s efforts. From the Four Tones’ inception to their establishment as poetic rules, debates raged. Shen Yue championed their necessity while others rejected them outright. At that time, Shina was divided into Southern and Northern Dynasties—Shen Yue hailed from the South—yet competent Northern scholars like Zhen Sibai voiced opposition. Several contemporaries also engaged in Four Tones discussions while sharing Shen Yue’s perspectives.

Those books, albeit partially, all appeared to have been cited in Liu Shanqing's *Four Tones Guideline* during that period, and because the Great Master quoted them at the end of Volume One of *Bunkyō Hifuron*, we became able to clearly observe the Four Tones debates of that time.
It was precisely because the Great Master had fortunately adopted and preserved these works that we today can clearly discern what those phonological discussions of the Six Dynasties period—now seen as dating back 1,200 to 1,300 years—were like at that time.
It was thanks to the existence of the Great Master’s *Bunkyō Hifuron* that we today became able to conduct research of this kind.
As for Wang Changling’s *Poetic Rules*, as Dr. Tanimoto had previously researched, although there were various books concerning poetic rules at that time in Kūkai’s *Shōryōshū*, it was understood that this *Poetic Rules* of Wang Changling had become so greatly popular in recent times that it had been reported to the emperor, indicating how extremely prevalent it was during that period.
However, even among these works, there were discrepancies in details such as the number of volumes: while it was recorded as two volumes in the *New Book of Tang*’s Treatise on Arts and Letters, in *Shōryōshū* it appeared as one volume.
Moreover, in what was called *Tang Caizi Zhuan* transmitted in Japan, it was recorded as one volume.
Whether one called it one volume or two volumes might have seemed trivial, but when old books recorded it as one volume, even if later works came to describe it as two volumes, we could discern that the original had indeed been one volume. It was for such reasons that we placed great value on catalogs.
There were such discrepancies, but these were recorded in both the Treatise on Arts and Letters of the *New Book of Tang* and the book known as *Tang Caizi Zhuan*.
Therefore, it became clear that Wang Changling’s *Poetic Rules* had been praised not only by the Great Master at that time but also by the general public of the era.
Regarding this *Poetic Rules* by Wang Changling, within the *Bunkyō Hifuron*, there were gradually written instances of "Wang says."
Outside of this *Bunkyō Hifuron*, Wang Changling’s *Poetic Rules* was not quoted anywhere.
Truly, there had been no alternative but to imagine what this book had been like through the Great Master’s *Bunkyō Hifuron*.

Next is Jiaoran. His writings—*Shishi* (Poetic Form) in five volumes and *Shiping* (Poetic Critique) in three volumes—were recorded in the *New Book of Tang*’s Treatise on Arts and Letters. However, most of these too have since been lost.
What survives today as Jiaoran’s *Shishi* exists only in fragments. The bibliographic commentary in the *Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao* (Complete Library Four Branches Catalog) compiled during the Qianlong era makes clear that the current *Shishi* differs from its original form—not only do we recognize it as an extremely incomplete remnant, but the surviving text contains none of the detailed poetic methods mentioned by the Great Master, such as prohibitions against using specific tones in particular positions, preserving instead only general critiques.
The poetic composition methods Jiaoran wrote about do indeed remain preserved within the *Bunkyō Hifuron*.
Since Great Master Kūkai quoted both what appears to be Jiaoran’s *Poetic Deliberations* and various critical remarks in this *Bunkyō Hifuron*, we have come to grasp at least the general outline of Jiaoran’s *Poetic Form* even today.

Next comes a book attributed to someone named Cui Rong, though in truth it remains unclear whether he was indeed the author.
However, upon examining the Great Master’s *Bunkyō Hifuron*, one finds passages suggesting this must refer to Cui Rong.
This individual authored a work titled *Tang Dynasty Newly Established Poetic Form*.
That is to say, during the Tang dynasty when administering civil service examinations, it compiled rules dictating the required poetic forms for composition.
It was also sometimes recorded as *Newly Established Poetic Rules*.
The Great Master quoted Cui-shi’s *Tang Dynasty Newly Established Poetic Form* within his *Bunkyō Hifuron*.
Yet while its title appears nowhere in the Sui Shu’s Treatise on Classics and Other Writings, the New Book of Tang’s Treatise on Arts and Letters, or the Old Book of Tang’s Treatise on Classics and Other Writings, it survives in Japan’s *Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku*.
However, only the book’s title remains preserved there—no evidence confirms Cui Rong as its author.
Within the Great Master’s *Bunkyō Hifuron*, some passages refer simply to “Cui-shi” while others specify “Cui Rong,” allowing us to conclusively identify him as the author.
In essence, though Cui Rong documented his era’s poetic formats during his lifetime, his name would have been lost had the *Bunkyō Hifuron* not survived.
Even if one knew the book’s title through modern catalogs, its authorship would remain uncertain.
It is solely through *Bunkyō Hifuron*’s preservation that we now recognize both this individual’s writings and their contents.

Next was a man named Yuan Jing, who authored a work titled *Shisuinō* (Poetic Marrow) in one volume. This book appeared in neither the catalog of the New Book of Tang nor that of the Old Book of Tang. It survived solely in the Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku (Japan Bibliographical Records). While it remained unclear whether this too had been definitively authored by Yuan Jing, *Bunkyō Hifuron* fortunately contained the notation “The above appears in Yuan-shi’s *Marrow*,” through which we came to understand both that Yuan Jing had written *Shisuinō* and its contents.

In short, all these books were circulated as indispensable texts during their era, but had Bunkyō Hifuron not existed, they would have been lost entirely—leaving us today unaware of both their authors' identities and the works' very titles. Yet through compiling these materials within Bunkyō Hifuron and meticulously attributing each argument—"this from such scholar," "that from another"—the Great Master enabled us to identify both the books' names and their authors, while elucidating the precise compositional formats of Tang dynasty poetry. There existed critical regulations for civil service examinations, and regarding how poems were adapted into musical performances—the principles governing their melodic settings—it is solely through the Great Master's Bunkyō Hifuron that we have come to grasp these matters today. Even Chinese scholars now depend on this work as their primary resource. Indeed, beyond Kōbō Daishi's Bunkyō Hifuron, no other reference point exists whatsoever. This constitutes one of the treatise's paramount values: through it, we discern both the formal mechanics—the structured methods of poetic composition—and the informal practices—the musical techniques for singing verses akin to folk ballads—as they existed twelve to thirteen centuries past. Though Bunkyō Hifuron spans merely six volumes, I trust you now appreciate its extraordinary significance.

Of course,I have only addressed what Great Master Kūkai himself clarified in his preface; there are other books that he cited as well.That indeed refers to what is called *Bunpitsushiki* (Literary Composition Manual),which appears in current catalogs.The *Bunpitsushiki* has been quoted within the *Bunkyō Hifuron*.

Moreover, there was another point to address here.
This concerns a book that still exists today, but even regarding such surviving works, I shall present further evidence demonstrating how the Great Master's text plays an exceptionally crucial role.
During the early Tang period, there was a scholar named Yin Fan who compiled He Yue Yingling Ji (River and Peaks Collection of Heroic Spirits), an anthology gathering poems from antiquity through his era.
While this work remains extant today, the Great Master Kūkai had quoted its preface in the fourth volume of Bunkyō Hifuron.
However, this quoted version differed slightly from the preface surviving today, containing approximately a hundred more characters.
This means the currently preserved preface had lost about a hundred characters compared to its Bunkyō Hifuron citation.
Thus we discern that even among surviving texts, these represent inferior versions, whereas what the Great Master consulted were original editions preserved intact.
In his citation of this preface, the number of poems was stated as two hundred seventy-five.
Yet in the currently transmitted He Yue Yingling Ji, this figure had been altered from 275 to 235.
When scholars verified this count through extant copies, they found only 228 poems remained.
This reveals that while the Great Master's referenced edition retained its original 275 poems, approximately fifty had since been lost from modern versions.
Ultimately it became clear that today's He Yue Yingling Ji survives as a fragmentary text diverging from its original form.
Such understanding came solely through preserving this single preface within Bunkyō Hifuron.

Furthermore, there was another matter of this sort. This too concerned a work that had completely vanished by modern times, but regarding Yuan Jing—whom I mentioned earlier—there existed something significant beyond his *Shisuinō* (Poetic Marrow). It was titled *Kokin Shijin Shūku* (Anthology of Masterful Verses by Poets Past and Present), being a compilation of exemplary verses selected from antiquity through that era. The New Book of Tang recorded that Yuan Jing’s *Kokin Shijin Shūku* existed in two volumes. Though its title remained listed even in the Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku (Japan Bibliographical Records), the work itself did not survive to the present day. However, within Great Master Kūkai’s *Bunkyō Hifuron*, there appeared what was likely the preface to *Kokin Shijin Shūku*—an exceptionally lengthy text. This preface contained detailed critiques of poems spanning from high antiquity through the early Tang dynasty, each analyzed individually. That text was included within this *Bunkyō Hifuron*. Through this preservation, we came to understand both the circumstances behind *Kokin Shijin Shūku*’s creation and the critical debates of its time. Though merely a single preface, these materials held great importance. All such works had come to be preserved for modern scholarship through the *Bunkyō Hifuron*.

Next is the matter of poetic faults—that is to say, what we call errors in poetic composition.
It was a transgression in composition method.
He progressively enumerated the articles of transgression.
Regarding this matter, while other texts listed eight poetic faults, the fact that Great Master Kūkai enumerated twenty-nine types of faults had also been examined in Dr. Tanimoto’s lectures. However, since the Great Master consulted all available texts concerning poetic methodology, we could discern that he identified twenty-one additional poetic rules beyond what was conventionally labeled as the “Eight Faults” in the world at large, thereby preserving them for posterity.
These matters had already been thoroughly researched by Dr. Tanimoto.

Then, at the very end of *Bunkyō Hifuron*, there was something curious written.
That was what was called Teitokuroku (Imperial Virtues Record).
This was of course not a rule of composition; however, when writing about matters concerning the emperor in composing texts, one did not use the same words as for ordinary people.
For instance, when His Majesty went out, it would be referred to as an "imperial visit," and various terms concerning the emperor differed from ordinary language.
Such descriptive terms were treated as important matters in China.
The compilation that gathered such terms was called Teitokuroku (Imperial Virtues Record), and this Teitokuroku was catalogued as two volumes in the Nihon Koki Genzai Shomoku (Japan Bibliographical Records).
That book does not exist today, but since it was written in such volume toward the end of *Bunkyō Hifuron* as to occupy nearly an entire volume, one might almost think the entire text had been included.

Though this explanation may grow tediously long, in any case, when roughly stated, *Bunkyō Hifuron* possesses precisely this degree of value.
Today—regarding how much benefit exists in understanding Tang dynasty literary matters through this preserved *Bunkyō Hifuron*, and how even when researching antiquity from our present vantage point, this single volume enables studies through materials unobtainable elsewhere—it was these points I wished to elucidate today, and thus I have presented them.

As I need not reiterate, this book was included within the *Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai* produced through the efforts of Shingon Buddhism practitioners. However, I observed that for this new edition, they had collated it against multiple old manuscripts and compared it with both the commonly circulated version of *Bunkyō Hifuron* and the later-produced *Bunpitsu Ganshinshō*. Yet regarding this, I perceived inadequacies in their collation.

If a book of such value existed, then I earnestly hoped not only practitioners of Shingon Buddhism but all who studied Japanese literature would inevitably examine it at least once and come to recognize its profound significance for researching both Japanese and Chinese literature. However, while I had to humbly point out the inadequacies in the collation of the *Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai* edition, I wished to present one example of an oversight that appeared to have occurred.

This book—to summarize—after the Great Master passed away, only the draft had remained somewhere, and was then gradually copied and transmitted over time.

In this published book, the term "honorable draft manuscript" was occasionally written.

That was to say, it was the Great Master’s honorable draft manuscript.

In entries such as Article 14 and Eight Ranks, while these existed in the honorable draft manuscript, it was clearly noted that they had been deleted using vermilion ink.

However, since they had meticulously noted even the fact that "while leaving the main text intact, this portion had been deleted," one had to consider: were such notations added when publishing this book? Or when transmitting copies before its publication, had they appended these detailed collation notes based on the honorable draft manuscript? In any case, it became clear that they had preserved even the portions Great Master Kūkai himself deleted in his own hand within the honorable draft manuscript, explicitly stating that these had been erased.

Now, regarding the character used for "erasure" in that original manuscript—they all employed the character 銷 with the metal radical, written as "『之を銷す』."

In some places, when published, the character 銷 was mistakenly rendered as 錯.

They had mistakenly rendered "to erase this" as "to err this."

When publishing the *Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai*, they left 『之を錯る』 ("to err this") exactly as written in the original text.

There was no note clarifying that this was a corruption of the character '銷' (xiāo) into '錯' (cuò).

This, I believed, was something overlooked by those who conducted the collation.

Because there were such instances, when someone researched Great Master Kūkai, even non-specialists like myself could identify these errors, which I believed led to quite intriguing discoveries.

Although I myself had not exhaustively studied this book in its entirety, as it had long been a cherished text of mine, I had merely shared that day those portions where I marked with vermilion where my attention was drawn.

It was my earnest hope that those researching Great Master Kūkai, as well as scholars engaged in the study of Japanese or Chinese literature, would advance their research with even greater meticulousness.

Regarding matters related to Bunkyō Hifuron, we would conclude there for now.

Furthermore, there was one more matter regarding something that I believe had likely been noticed during Dr. Tanimoto's research at the time but had not been addressed in discussion, which I wished to present. That was the book called Tenrei Banshō Meigi. Regarding this matter as well, I must in truth express my dissatisfaction to those who had undertaken the editing of the Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai. The book called Tenrei Banshō Meigi was rather scarce, with its original manuscript residing at Kōsan-ji Temple in Toganoo. In addition, there existed copies transcribed from it in approximately two other collections. I had maintained an extraordinary interest in this book and made a copy of it about ten years prior. That was the six-volume book I had the honor of presenting before their eyes that day. Were someone like myself—neither a Shingon Buddhism adherent nor a researcher of Great Master Kūkai—to explain why one would go to the trouble of transcribing such a thick six-volume book, then naturally one would understand how much value it possessed.

Therefore, to explain what this *Tenrei Banshō Meigi* was—it constituted an abridged Chinese dictionary. Regarding this matter, Yang Shoujing, whom I had mentioned earlier, had paid considerable attention to it and sufficiently articulated its value. To clarify where its value lay required giving a brief account of Chinese lexicographical history: among Chinese dictionaries, the first systematic work to emerge had been *Shuowen Jiezi* (Explaining Graphs and Analyzing Characters) by Xu Shen at the end of the Eastern Han dynasty. This stood as an extraordinarily significant work—even today, researchers of ancient dictionaries must consult this *Shuowen*. Subsequent dictionaries gradually appeared, but the most widely circulated thereafter became the *Jade Chapters Dictionary* by Gu Yewang of Liang dynasty. This name later underwent transformations until in Japan it came to denote even ordinary unabridged dictionaries—a testament to Gu Yewang's work's pervasive influence. While *Shuowen* could not be considered perfectly preserved in its original form today, it largely maintained its ancient structure; however, this Jade Chapters Dictionary had not survived intact. The original thirty-volume Jade Chapters Dictionary retained its classical form in approximately four and a half volumes remaining in Japan—specifically at Kōsan-ji Temple in Toganoo and Ishiyama Temple, with some held by renowned collectors. In China, texts preserving their original form had completely vanished; thus during Yang Shoujing's residence in Japan, he had printed editions from these surviving portions—though less than one-sixth endured. This Jade Chapters Dictionary saw extensive revisions during Tang dynasty that became its circulating standard. In the West too dictionaries underwent gradual revisions until losing their original character—a process mirrored by the Jade Chapters Dictionary after Gu Yewang's compilation during Liang and Chen dynasties. It transformed through Tang and Song periods, with Song-era publishing producing dozens of editions between Song and Yuan eras. Though purportedly expanded over time, its format actually diminished—character counts increased while explanations dwindled. For those seeking Six Dynasties-era lexicography between Later Han and Tang periods today, the Jade Chapters Dictionary remained crucial yet frustratingly fragmentary—only one-sixth of Gu Yewang's original survived. Later Tang-Song editions became jumbled revisions that obscured its Six Dynasties form.

However, it was through Kūkai's Tenrei Banshō Meigi that one could glimpse the true form of the Jade Chapters Dictionary. Tenrei Banshō Meigi remained entirely faithful to Gu Yewang's Jade Chapters Dictionary in every aspect—the order of characters, their quantity, the fanqie phonetic notations, and the explanations. Not a single revision from the Tang and Song dynasties onward had been added. While the sections where Gu Yewang had cited and annotated various ancient texts were deleted, the character pronunciations and explanations remained exactly as in Gu Yewang's Jade Chapters. This constituted the distinctive feature of this work. By examining this Tenrei Banshō Meigi, researchers could supplement over eighty percent of the portions missing from the original Jade Chapters preserved in Japan—those deficient parts—rendering this Tenrei Banshō Meigi an exceptionally vital text. Chinese scholars likely possessed only Yang Shoujing's edition, yet numerous individuals desired access to it. Being a work that had not achieved wide circulation in society, Chinese scholars found it difficult to obtain. Fortunately transmitted in Japan, I rejoiced that we could observe the Six Dynasties-period dictionary's form exactly as it had been. Given its significance—though not being a specialist researcher myself—I had transcribed this text about ten years prior and still retained it. When the Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai were being compiled, I had firmly believed such a precious work would be published in full and eagerly anticipated it. Yet upon examining the published Collected Works, this proved an extraordinarily challenging text. Particularly, since reproducing every seal script character would require excessive labor, they had included merely three or four pages through photo lithography to demonstrate the format. Through such measures, this profoundly significant and precious work had been entirely discarded. Regarding this matter, I wished to express my deepest dissatisfaction to the editors of the Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai. Though three or four pages appeared in the Collected Works, extracting only this fraction from six volumes merely to indicate the format served no practical purpose. While this situation now lay beyond remedy, if indeed there existed sufficient dedication to publish the Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai and properly convey his literary achievements, I earnestly hoped they would undertake renewed publication based on Kōsan-ji Temple's original manuscript. This concerned not some minor issue of Japanese literary studies but rather a dictionary magnificently preserving what represented Eastern civilization across centuries—thus even if requiring republication, there existed an exceptionally vital necessity for this endeavor. Should this be accomplished, I believed Great Master Kūkai would assuredly rest content beneath the earth. Though perhaps extraneous to mention—as the publisher noted—this book contained seal script characters executed rather crudely; had Great Master Kūkai himself inscribed them, such inept characters would not exist. However, through repeated transcriptions from his original manuscript, these poorly formed characters emerged. At times there also appeared what seemed to be erroneous characters.

"They may claim correcting this would be troublesome," he countered, "but reproducing it through photo lithography as-is would pose no particular difficulty. If they persist in deeming it too burdensome, then including this seal script matters little in practical terms. Let me clarify—though titled *Tenrei Banshō Meigi* (Significance of Ten Thousand Forms in Seal and Clerical Scripts), what the Great Master termed 'clerical script' corresponds to what we now call regular script. Publishing solely this regular script portion would amply serve scholarly needs. As this forms part of your dedicated efforts, I desire reproduction faithful to the original manuscript—errors included—but should that prove unfeasible, I earnestly request at minimum the regular script's publication. This initiative should extend beyond Japan to China itself. Moreover, it would greatly benefit Western scholars engaged in Oriental studies. While I acknowledge the *Collected Works of Great Master Kūkai* was compiled with meticulous care, I note even texts widely deemed spurious—those attributed falsely to the Great Master—have been included for reference. If publications tolerate suspected forgeries, how much more imperative becomes the publication of authenticated works!"

That concludes our discussion regarding Tenrei Banshō Meigi for now.

That concludes our discussion of literary matters, but I now wish to address another subject: Great Master Kūkai's calligraphy.
That Great Master Kūkai was an accomplished calligrapher is something universally acknowledged, but I must humbly apologize for errors contained in my previous research on this matter.
There are claims that Great Master Kūkai engaged in painting and sculpture as well, though recent theories assert the sculptures are inauthentic while others insist he must have produced them.
This argument arises from provisions in Shingon sect regulations that supposedly necessitated such creations.
My own research has not extended sufficiently into those domains.
As I lack the scholarly standing to participate in authenticity debates, I beg your indulgence to focus today solely on Great Master Kūkai's calligraphic works.

To explain what this means, there exists a book titled *Kōbō Daishi Shinseki Shoketsu* (Authentic Calligraphy Principles of Great Master Kūkai), transmitted as Kūkai’s work and included in his collected works. This was published with annotations by Yashiro Hirokata of Edo, whose edition gained such wide circulation that the recent Collected Works explicitly states having adopted its text—in any case, it has long been a renowned text. While some harbor doubts about this book, I myself have never questioned its authenticity as Kūkai’s writing. From the Six Dynasties through the Tang period, numerous treatises on calligraphic methods were written, their styles broadly resembling that of *Shinseki Shoketsu*. Since Kūkai composed his works during the Tang era, I maintained faith in this resemblance as proof against forgery.

Yet I erred. The reason I must clarify this here concerns my friend Sudō Nansui, a celebrated novelist. He recently authored *Kūkai*—a biographical work on the Great Master—in a popular reader’s format. Given our close acquaintance, he requested something akin to a preface from me. Though lacking specialized research on the subject, I promised to share my thoughts on calligraphy alone and have them transcribed. The stenographic record of these remarks appears in his *Kūkai* volume—not limited to studying *Shinseki Shoketsu* alone, but encompassing various investigations into Kūkai’s calligraphy. Essentially, I addressed the origins of his distinctive style.

On the whole, I believe there were no grave errors in my analysis of his calligraphic style. Regarding Kūkai’s calligraphy, I posited that in Japan it marked an era of stylistic innovation—a radical departure from Six Dynasties and early Tang styles previously transmitted there. Since Chinese characters first reached Japan, there had been numerous masters scarcely inferior to their Chinese counterparts. Traces of such brushwork appear in ancient sutra manuscripts; considering these gradually reveals how Six Dynasties through early Tang styles had already permeated Japan before Kūkai’s time.

The introduction of Six Dynasties styles was unsurprising, but early Tang styles reaching Japan during the Nara period prior to Kūkai seems temporally compressed and puzzling. However, given frequent Tang envoy exchanges, they evidently arrived earlier than presumed. The *Kegon Ongi*—once owned by Yō※Rō Tettei and now at Nishi Honganji Temple—was reportedly written in Japan yet displays characters resembling those of Ouyang Xun, the renowned early Tang calligrapher. This confirms Ouyang Xun’s style had reached Nara-period Japan.

Furthermore, Ouyang Tong—Xun’s son—has works echoed in a *Kongōjō Darani* sutra manuscript owned by Ogawa Tamejirō of Osaka. At Hasedera Temple lies an inscription beneath the Thousand Buddha statues whose characters similarly resemble Ouyang Tong’s.

The era in which these sutra copies and inscriptions were produced was separated by only thirty or forty years from Ouyang Tong’s time, yet it became clear that they had already been transmitted to Japan. In this manner, early Tang-style calligraphy had been transmitted in Japan since the Nara period. However, among these gradually transmitted calligraphic styles, what stood out as markedly distinct was Great Master Kūkai’s calligraphic style—a phenomenon attributable to the fact that even in Tang China itself, during what is called the High Tang period, a major reform in calligraphic styles had occurred. Yan Zhenqing, a renowned figure, emerged and introduced a new calligraphic style. This had also been researched by Dr. Tanimoto, who invoked Ruan Yuan’s theory of Northern and Southern Calligraphy Schools. Regarding this theory, while there were aspects with which I did not entirely agree and others with which I did, the theory of Northern and Southern calligraphy schools remained Ruan Yuan’s personal theory, and I could not endorse it in its entirety. Concerning that matter, I had once discussed the Northern and Southern calligraphy schools in an article titled "Northern School Calligraphy Theory" for the Osaka Asahi Shimbun—though this bore no direct relation to research on Kūkai—and I needed to clarify that I did not necessarily agree with each and every one of Ruan Yuan’s arguments. Consequently, while there were some points that differed from Dr. Tanimoto’s theory, even with these differences, we ultimately agreed. The point on which all researchers would likely have agreed, regardless of whether Northern and Southern calligraphy schools existed during the Tang dynasty, was that there had occurred a major transformation. This was the result of figures such as Yan Zhenqing and Xu Hao emerging—a fact beyond all doubt. Therefore, the fact that Great Master Kūkai developed in Japan a distinct calligraphic style differing from previous traditions—exerting significant influence on an entire generation’s calligraphic style—was due to the impact of calligraphic styles such as those of Yan Zhenqing and Xu Hao. This showed that Dr. Tanimoto’s theory and my own theory did not differ in the slightest. In any case, considering even these textual sources alone, since he had possessed the capacity to transform an entire era’s stylistic trends, Japanese calligraphy underwent a complete transformation; moreover, the Great Master’s calligraphic style became the progenitor of subsequent styles. In Japan, having inherited the orthodox tradition from Tang times down to the present day, there existed no school—even those not explicitly called “Great Master’s style”—that remained untouched by his influence in some measure. Thus it could be said that his work had exerted an immense impact on Japan’s later calligraphic styles. Since I had written about such matters in a rough manner, there was nothing particularly strange about that. Even today this remains unchanged, and I believe it will remain so no matter who studies it. Now, among these matters, the one error I made concerned the following point regarding Great Master Kūkai: it had long been said that when the Great Master resided in Tang China, he studied calligraphic methods under a man named Han Fangming. However, I had written about this while raising doubts. It appeared that Han Fangming had a work called *Juhitsu Yōsetsu* (Treatise on Essential Brush Techniques). Nowadays, only a portion of it survives among writings on calligraphy, but when we examine its text, it refers to holding the brush using what is called the "double-hook" method—hooking two fingers. Now, regarding the Great Master’s brush-holding method and brush-handling technique: the Great Master was known to have favored employing the single-hook method (using one finger).

There were cases where two fingers were hooked, but the Great Master had deemed this improper. Using a single hook allowed freer movement and was deemed preferable. Since there existed various ways to hold a brush, even among exceptionally renowned individuals, there were master calligraphers of great renown who employed grip methods that did not conform to commonly considered standard rules. The question of whether it proved better to hook one finger or two remained debated even then, with some arguing that failing to hook two fingers resulted in weakened brush force; however, for a skilled practitioner like the Great Master, hooking one finger might have offered more practical advantages. When anyone wrote characters, it had been an established method since ancient times to write with a suspended wrist and upright brush—that is, with the arm raised—yet there existed those who wrote without raising their arm. There were those who said that people like Su Dongpo were indolent individuals who wrote without raising their arm, deeming this an error, but if one could write as skillfully as he did, even if mistaken, it counted as splendid. Therefore, Han Fangming taught that one should hook two fingers. The Great Master maintained that the single-hook method was preferable. If he had indeed been taught by Han Fangming, he would have immediately contradicted Master Han's theory—for it seemed peculiar that one would advocate this single-hook method after such instruction—making this likely a mistaken tradition. The Great Master Kūkai’s *Shōryōshū* likewise contained no definitive statement attributing his methods to Han Fangming. It had only been recorded that he received instruction from a skilled calligrapher, but I stated that the claim of transmission from someone named Han Fangming could not be trusted. However, this constituted an oversight on my part, and as the traditional legend remained preferable, I hereby retracted my previous assertion.

Now, as to what error I committed, I must offer my apologies for having read the texts carelessly, but we gradually found that in China there had been debates regarding calligraphic rules from master calligraphers of old such as Wang Xizhi.
When surveying such works, there existed a book called *Shoshi Kaiyō* (Compendium of Calligraphic History), which contained biographies of renowned calligraphers and described their brushwork techniques; included among these was Han Fangming's *Treatise on Essential Brush Techniques*.
In general, calligraphers employed specialized terminology for brushwork techniques. For instance, there was what was called the "Eight Principles of Yong," where the placement of a dot was termed *ce* (側), the flick of a stroke *zhuo* (啄), and the lifting of the brush *le* (勒)—each of these being established technical terms.
These technical terms were by no means standardized across all practitioners.
Wang Xizhi’s terminology belonged to Wang Xizhi, Ouyang Xun’s terminology to Ouyang Xun, and Yan Zhenqing’s terminology to Yan Zhenqing—each explained their methods using their own distinct terminology.
Investigating which individual said what and determining whose statements corresponded to others' was a painstaking task, but in any case, each employed their own arbitrary terminology.
However, in China, there existed another set of technical terms that closely corresponded to those employed by Han Fangming.
That was Li Houzhu of Southern Tang—a man who had established his state in what is now Nanjing toward the end of the Five Dynasties period.
That person was skilled in calligraphy, but his brushwork terminology resembled that of Han Fangming.
Han Fangming’s technical terms consisted of only four characters.
Li Houzhu’s technical terms consisted of seven characters.
In any case, they used similar terms.
That is, one of Han Fangming’s technical terms used the character ‘hook’.
Then he used the characters ‘ye’, ‘jie’, and ‘song’.
Li Houzhu of Southern Tang employed what was called the Hattōhō method.
There was a theory that Hattōhō referred to the hand movement of adjusting a lamp wick, and another theory that it denoted the posture of standing firm in the stirrups—a rather complicated matter. Such matters were well understood by Professor Hatakeyama Yashū, who served as a professor at the Shingon Buddhist university, and while there were heated debates on the subject, ultimately this Hattōhō method was explained in seven characters.
Among them were the characters 'ye,' 'hook,' and 'song,' but only 'jie' was absent.
Now, if we asked whether there existed anyone else besides those mentioned who used the character 訐 as a technical term in brushwork methodology, the answer was not a single person.
What was curious was that only Great Master Kūkai employed this term, making it truly remarkable.
Within Great Master Kūkai’s calligraphic principles—namely, his brush-holding method and brush-handling technique—there existed the following matter.

Whether the Great Master used the three technical terms—ye, hook, and song—employed by Han Fangming, or used only the character 'jie' while not employing the others, one must harbor doubts; however, when examining this matter, we find that he clearly used all these terms. The character 'ye' was used first in one section of the brush-handling technique. Then, the character "hook" was used in the preceding section where the character "jie" I mentioned earlier appeared. In such a manner, the character 'song' was replaced with an equivalent character. Though he did not explicitly use the character 'song,' given that three out of the four technical terms employed by Han Fangming were clearly utilized—even if one remained unused—it became evident that the Great Master had indeed received Han Fangming’s methods. In this manner, it stands clear that Great Master Kūkai inherited Han Fangming’s brushwork methods. The traditional legends hold precious truth, and I must confess that my previous assertions—made without thorough study of the texts—overstepped proper bounds. I can offer no excuse for this. Therefore, if I were to reprint my book *Kūkai*, I intend to strike out that passage and rewrite it as I have explained today. Such points constitute errors in my past research; therefore, I take this opportunity today to present them.

Regarding this calligraphic method, considerable research had been conducted. Recently in the Tokyo magazine *Shōen*, my friend Dr. Kuroita had been publishing various articles under the title "The Great Master in Nyūbokudō." There were points I agreed with and points I did not agree with. However, as discussing calligraphy matters without actual brushwork remains insufficient for full comprehension, I would today merely affirm the veracity of the traditional legend regarding the transmission of Han Fangming's brush methods, while refraining from addressing other calligraphic techniques here. It appeared that even among respected members within the sect, some had turned their attention to such matters, with Mr. Rennyo Kanzen conducting research on the Founder's calligraphy. To speak unreservedly, there were aspects I endorsed and aspects I could not endorse. I would refrain from elaborating on that here. What proved particularly intriguing was Mr. Hase Hoshū's *Calligraphic Remains of the Founder*, which contained critiques assessing how much of what survives today as the Great Master's works could be authenticated and how much remained uncertain. I considered these extraordinary achievements as sect-conducted research. While sect members generally found it difficult to pursue fully unrestricted studies of their tradition's sacred treasures, Mr. Hase's research had undergone unsparing critique. Moreover, I judged that nearly every one of those criticisms struck true, and though it was but a brief work, I held this research in profound esteem. Regarding the famous *Thirty Booklets* now preserved at Ninna-ji Temple—about which Dr. Kuroita had written his views—the truth was that research on that manuscript began when Dr. Kuroita and I simultaneously viewed it at Ninna-ji, tentatively determining what portions constituted the Great Master's authentic works and what derived from others' hands. In Dr. Kuroita's analysis—given longstanding traditions attributing some booklets to Tachibana no Toshinao—he had written on identifying such works. As for what Dr. Kuroita determined to be Toshinao's calligraphy, I maintained it as the Great Master's own hand. Such points of disagreement might exist, I supposed. This constituted fascinating research when examined against actual works, and while I believed an opportunity would arise for me to present my views regarding Dr. Kuroita's arguments in *Shōen*, my humble observations here alone being rather insubstantial, I hoped you might review such matters when occasion permitted fuller discussion.

Today, as I previously mentioned, I have only addressed an extremely limited portion of the subject matter, and I am certain it must have been tedious for you. However, as I have stated before, comprehensive studies concerning Great Master Kūkai have gradually advanced since Dr. Tanimoto's lecture, and since what we can present constitutes only a fraction of such matters, I consequently had no choice but to address these points. Despite the sweltering heat, I express my gratitude for your patient endurance in listening through this lengthy session.

(Lecture at the Kōbō Daishi Birth Celebration, June 15, Meiji 45)