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The Power of Denial:
Buddhism, Purity, and Gender

Bernard Faure
Princeton, NJ, and Oxford: Princeton
University Press, 2003
482 pp.; $65.00 (cloth), $27.50 (paper)

Bernard Faure began his exploration of sexuality and gender in Buddhism with The Red Thread (1998), focusing on desire and the proscriptions for male monastics. He continues his inquiry in The Power of Denial, which contains everything you wanted to know—and then some—about Buddhist conceptions of women, and the effect of gender on practice. The questions Faure raises are important ones: Is Buddhism a tool of liberation or oppression for women? What might a more egalitarian Buddhist practice consist of?

Faure, a professor at Stanford University, approaches his subject in his usual thorough manner. The wealth of historical, sociological, and cultural references may be daunting to some readers, but those who persevere will be rewarded. For anyone trying to reconcile the notion of enlightenment as empty of distinctions with the androcentrism that runs through Buddhism, this is a good place to start.

Faure reaches beyond conventional views, marshalling evidence that “Buddhism is paradoxically neither as sexist nor as egalitarian as is usually thought.” From a gender standpoint, it is far from monolithic: beliefs about women differ within individual Buddhist traditions, and from culture to culture. In a chapter on “the rhetoric of subordination,” Faure dissects the notion of “woman as temptress” (who diverts man from the path to enlightenment) in light of social mores. He also describes how women in Japan were traditionally barred from buddhahood by the “blood taboo” associating menstruation and childbirth with defilement. The Ketsubongyo (Blood Bowl Sutra), an apocryphal scripture disseminated through Soto Zen, describes the “Hell of Blood” to which women alone are condemned in the afterlife [see opposite page]. To this day, Faure points out, Asian Buddhist women are encouraged to pray for rebirth as a man. (Having encountered this view repeatedly during my ten years as a Zen nun in Korea, I was particularly interested to read about its historical and sociological origins, and to discover how a folk superstition grew into a deeply entrenched Buddhist belief.)

Faure takes a critical look at what he calls “the rhetoric of equality,” especially in the Vajrayana and Ch’an-Zen traditions. “The gender equality of Tantric ritual works usually to the advantage of men,” he asserts. And the nonduality extolled in Zen texts has not translated into equality for women in either social or monastic milieus. During the decade after his return from China, the Japanese Zen master Dogen championed equality between men and women, monastics and laypeople, writing in his classic treatise, the Shobogenzo, “Both men and women can realize the Way.” But in old age, as Dogen’s interest centered on monastic life, “this theory [of equality] will no longer be mentioned, or rather, it will be strongly denied,” Faure notes.

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