In the center of Shingon's mandalas we find a youthful figure, crowned, draped in gold fabric and jewels, sitting on a throne. Around him the wisest and most powerful beings in the universe make all kinds of offerings to him; further out we see him surrounded by armed guardians. Even separated from esoteric Buddhism's origins in medieval India by 1500 years, there's no mystery as to what the mandalas convey in their visual language; Dainichi Nyorai, "the Great Sun Buddha," the source, center, and sum of Esoteric teaching, is the King of the Buddhas and Lord of the Universe.
I grew up with lots of conflicting perspectives on kings. On the one hand, I was born in the US and had a phase of studying the Revolutionary War, romanticizing the toppling of King George in favor of a government that stood for everyone. On the other hand, I grew up worshiping Jesus as the "King of Kings, Lord of Lords" , and was obsessed with The Lord of the Rings, Arthurian legends, and tales of knights and princes in general.
The world seems to share this ambivalence to monarchs. Though many of the world's royal families have been done away with or reigned in by constitutions, media still makes a killing off them, either by following their real-world successes and scandals in the case of the UK's royal family, or by dramatizing dynasties like the Targaryens. Even in alleged royal-free countries like the US, monarchs are everywhere: Tiktokers greeting their viewers with "hey King" and gassing each other up with "Slay Queen!," food brands like Burger King and Budweiser, the King of Beers. The list goes on and on. Add to that the fact that our president elect already has his own palace, and you might wonder whether we've shaken royalty after all. Many nations throughout the world, of course, still live under the absolute rule of kings or, as we like to call them now, dictators.
While much about our world has changed since the Buddha gave his teachings 2,500 years ago, the power of monarchy as a metaphor has hardly waned at all. In the Dhammapada, an early collection of the Buddha's sayings, he teaches of an enlightened person that, "Though one may conquer a thousand times a thousand men in battle, yet he indeed is the noblest victor who conquers himself" (Verse 103).
Buddhist scripture constantly uses the language of conquest, kingship, and dominion as shorthand for the incomparable power and freedom of Awakening. But as those of us who have seen an episode of Game of Thrones know, human kingship is a bloody business, full of violence, intrigue, and injustice which, while tough for an aspirant to the throne, is even worse for the scores of subjects who bear the brunt of royal whims.
So why take such a fraught concept as kingship as the central metaphor of esoteric Buddhism? Buddhist scriptures often say that the Buddha's teaching is like a medicine, blended for each person's disposition (in fact he's often called "The King of Medicine"). And with so many of us throughout so much of our history disposed by our cultures to associate "kings" with "greatness," Dainichi is a potent medicine indeed.
From our perspective we might say that Dainichi extends the image of himself as "King of the Universe" to us as a conceptual tool. Through it we can understand how rare, beautiful, and powerful Awakening is. Dressing up Dainichi as a king in our heads means we acknowledge how worthy he is, as ultimate Enlightenment itself, of our reverence.
But from Dainichi's perspective, which includes the entire universe to itself, there is no high or low, ruler and ruled, self and other. Like the sun on a cloudless day, the light of his awakening shines on everything equally, with no distinction or discrimination at all. This is why he is referred to as Dainichi, which means "The Great Sun" (in Sanskrit Mahavairocana). When we look at the world with a Buddha's eyes, whether inside ourselves or out, we see Dainichi's light shining everywhere.
While Dainichi himself is the main image of just six of the Shikoku Henro's 88 temples, the more we look the more we'll see him. The five blocks at the top of a Henro staff, for example, represent the Five Elements (earth, water, fire, wind, and space), which themselves comprise Dainichi's body. The five-colored banners commonly hung on temples have a similar association. And in the prayer we chant to honor Kūkai, Namu Daishi Henjō Kongō, Henjō Kongō, meaning "All-illuminating Vajra" is actually an epithet of Dainichi Nyorai.
But practices like the Henro are an opportunity to see Dainichi beyond his symbols; in stepping away from the everyday web of wants and responsibilities that harden into a shell we call "ourselves," we can get a glimpse of Dainichi within the workings of our own body and mind and in the world all around us. Such a realization means that when we return home, we'll find he was waiting for us there all along.
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