道元論7On Dogen, Part 7

In the year 1169, before the gates of the Imperial Palace in Heian-kyo, several thousand souls stood poised for a confrontation that would define the era’s shifting hegemony. On one side, the avalanche of armed monks, the sohei (僧兵), descended from the ancient heights of Mount Hiei, representing the old order. On the other stood the Taira clan, led by Taira no Kiyomori, a man who had woven his warrior lineage into the very fabric of the Court.

Yet, perhaps the conclusion was already etched in the stars. For all their fearsome reputation, the monks of Hiei were essentially a specialized religious militia, trained within the confines of a temple. Their intent was to intimidate, not to annihilate. They could not hope to prevail against the Taira—a collective of professionals whose sole vocation was the art of war, who had forged their dominion through actual bloodshed and successive victories across the provinces. The reality of the armed monks was that of monks emboldened by religious authority, acting out a riotous fervor within the safety of Hiei’s communal illusion. While they had engaged in minor skirmishes with rival sects, their experience in true combat paled before the grim resolve of the Taira.

The power structure of Mount Hiei—a fabrication that had served as the driving force behind the very construction of Heian-kyo—found its tides abruptly turned by the emergence of the Taira, the harbingers of a new age who made violence their life’s work. This was the moment that signaled the decline of Mount Hiei and, more broadly, the end of the Heian period itself. The intricate system built over centuries by the nobility, the Imperial family, and the monks of Hiei began to crumble. Those who had found solace in regarding a small corner of Kyoto as the entire world were suddenly forced to confront a reality that exists indifferent to the boundaries of any system. This is the inevitable rhythm of the death of a civilization.

Thus, we enter the tumultuous 1170s. The year 1177 became the symbolic threshold of this transition. Even as their hegemony slipped away, Mount Hiei clung to the vestiges of their vanishing privileges, refusing to acknowledge that the pulse of power had moved into the hands of the new warrior class. To hold dominion for centuries does not guarantee its permanence; the artifice of even the most formidable system can dissolve in a heartbeat. Today, the world faces a parallel crisis, where the old powers display the same unsightly attachment to the past as the monks of Hiei once did, unable to accept that the center of gravity has shifted. Such conclusions are always mercilessly cruel.

Lacking the vision to discern the changing times, the monks of Hiei once again mobilized thousands for a direct petition. It was evident that they had lost the capacity for original action, falling back on tired precedents. Eight years prior, in 1169, they had attempted the same intimidation, only to flee in disgrace. Faced with the murderous intent and overwhelming presence of the Taira warriors, the monks had abandoned their sacred palanquins—the mikoshi that symbolized Hiei’s divine authority—and retreated. Despite this total defeat, they remained trapped in the repetition of their old ways.

It seemed the ruin of Mount Hiei was certain. Yet, history took a peculiar turn—one that, in a sense, preserved Hiei to this day. This pivot was driven by the erratic excesses of the Cloistered Emperor Go-Shirakawa, whose dependence on dictatorial power grew increasingly volatile. Had he not acted as he did, the Mount Hiei we know might have vanished. The Taira, who had previously maintained a hardline stance against the temple, were forced by Go-Shirakawa’s provocations to alter their course and seek a middle ground with Hiei.

This period of history is dense and requires careful observation. In the 1170s, the two greatest anxieties of Go-Shirakawa—the defiance of Mount Hiei and the rise of the Taira—collided. While Go-Shirakawa sought to maintain his grip as a dictator alongside his close confidants, Taira no Kiyomori, a man of profound insight into the new era, sensed that the hegemony of the Imperial house had already reached its twilight.

Kiyomori, having demonstrated the arrival of the warrior age through his own existence, withdrew from the public stage between 1167 and 1168, citing illness. He took the tonsure, becoming a lay monk, and moved his base to Fukuhara (near modern-day Kobe) to architect a new structure of governance away from the constraints of Heian-kyo. Though the formal leadership of the Taira was passed to his eldest son, Taira no Shigemori, it was Kiyomori who remained the shadow sovereign. He moved through the most difficult navigation of an era—the moment when the old power of the capital had collapsed but the new had not yet fully crystallized. During this time, Go-Shirakawa, like the nobles and the monks, lacked the clarity to see the coming tides.

Crucially, Kiyomori—having already secured supreme authority—began to refine his perspective on the monks of Mount Hiei. He understood that a total military collision would result in catastrophic losses for both sides, even in victory. A clash of thousands would leave Heian-kyo a charred wasteland. Furthermore, unlike the nobility or the clergy, the Taira had risen from origins closer to the common people. To betray the support of the capital’s populace would be to render all their struggles for legitimacy void.

Kiyomori also realized, through his experience in the Court, that there were factions who desired nothing more than to see the Taira and Hiei destroy each other. As the architect of the warrior age, he judged that a direct confrontation with a massive entity like Hiei offered no fruit. Moreover, since Hiei had already effectively succumbed to Taira might, they were no longer the primary concern. The focus of his intent shifted toward the cloistered rule itself. This shift in Kiyomori’s thinking literally became the salvation of Mount Hiei.

It is vital to note that Kiyomori was not alone in this realization. Myoun, who became the Abbot of Enryaku-ji in 1167, shared this vision. Myoun held deep ties with both Kiyomori and Go-Shirakawa, but his bond with Kiyomori was particularly resonant. To Kiyomori, Myoun was a leader of Hiei who could be reasoned with—a departure from his predecessors. Both men concluded that it was unwise to spill blood at the whim of the cloistered rule. This burgeoning alignment between the Taira leader and the Abbot of Hiei deeply unsettled Go-Shirakawa. History moved to stabilize the relationship between the warrior and the monk, creating a deterrent against the excesses of the Imperial patriarch.

Go-Shirakawa and his inner circle, fueled by resentment and the fear that a Taira-Hiei alliance would sweep away their own dominion, took action. The catalyst arrived in 1177 in Kaga Province (modern-day Ishikawa). A conflict erupted between the local officials and the followers of Hakusan, a powerful sub-temple of Enryaku-ji. These officials were the two sons of Saiko, Go-Shirakawa’s most favored and trusted advisor.

In the third month of that year, Saiko’s son ignited a confrontation that resulted in the burning of a temple. Enraged, the monks of Hiei marched upon Heian-kyo with their sacred palanquins, demanding the punishment of Saiko’s sons. Go-Shirakawa, who surrounded himself with sycophants, eventually punished the sons but redirected his fury toward Mount Hiei, viewing their demand as a provocation against his authority. While Enryaku-ji may have intended to weaken Saiko’s influence, Go-Shirakawa responded by ordering Taira no Shigemori to deploy troops against the monks. The situation spiraled as the two forces clashed.

The tension seemed to simmer until April 28th, when a great fire ravaged Heian-kyo, destroying the Imperial Great Hall of State and countless noble residences. Though the cause remained obscure, Go-Shirakawa’s subsequent actions were telling. On May 4th, determined to protect Saiko’s position, he ordered the arrest of Myoun, the highest authority of Mount Hiei. By the following day, Myoun was stripped of his title, his lands were confiscated, and he was sentenced to exile in Izu Province—a staggering act of tyranny. Throughout this, Saiko, grieving his own sons’ exile, whispered into Go-Shirakawa’s ear that Myoun was the mastermind behind all the unrest.

Myoun was cast out by the caprice of the cloistered rule. Behind the scenes, Go-Shirakawa and Saiko commanded the Taira to suppress Mount Hiei with total force. This was a transparent conspiracy by the old guard to eliminate both the Taira and the monks in a single stroke. Saiko went as far as to torture Myoun before his departure for the distant eastern islands. This desecration of Hiei’s leader ignited a fire in the hearts of over ten thousand followers.

As Myoun was being transported to his exile, monks from Hiei ambushed the official transport in Omi Province, rescued their leader, and brought him back to the mountain. In the eyes of the Court, this was an act of open rebellion. Go-Shirakawa now had his pretext to destroy Enryaku-ji. His logic was childishly simple: if religion defies the law of the Emperor, the temple must be razed. Anticipating the rescue, the Court had instructed the guards to behead Myoun immediately if an escape was attempted. When Go-Shirakawa and Saiko learned the rescue had succeeded, they were speechless with rage. Saiko immediately urged the harshest possible retribution.

Go-Shirakawa ordered Shigemori and Munemori, the sons of Kiyomori, to lead their armies and annihilate Mount Hiei—to burn Enryaku-ji to the ground. The decree was issued at the end of May 1177.

Kiyomori, then in the twilight of his years, was at his base in Fukuhara. His sons, paralyzed by the weight of the command, sought their father’s counsel. Despite his age, the spirit of the warrior who had seized the summit of power remained undimmed. Kiyomori saw through the conspiracy of the cloistered rule. Recognizing the gravity of the moment, he moved with startling speed, entering Heian-kyo on the night of May 27th.

The following day, Kiyomori met with Go-Shirakawa, attempting to dissuade him from the attack. He argued that the Taira had no desire for a catastrophic war with the mountain. Go-Shirakawa, however, flew into a rage, attempting to force Kiyomori’s hand. Finding no room for negotiation, Kiyomori appeared to yield, ordering the mobilization of warriors from the surrounding provinces for an assault set for June 1st.

On the night of June 1st, 1177, the fate of Mount Hiei hung by a thread. Had the Taira moved, the temple would have stood no chance. Yet, there is no record of an attack.

In the dead of night, a secret informant arrived at Kiyomori’s residence with a revelation that altered the course of history. The "attack" was a trap: the cloistered rule intended to weaken the Taira through the conflict and then move to crush them. Saiko was the architect of this plot. Upon hearing this, Kiyomori instantly pivoted. The massive army prepared for Mount Hiei was instead unleashed upon the streets of Heian-kyo. Their mission: to seize Saiko, extract a confession, and dismantle the anti-Taira faction. He moved to shatter the very structure of the cloistered rule that had spiraled out of control.

Heian-kyo was flooded with Taira warriors. Saiko was captured, brought before Kiyomori, tortured until he confessed the depth of the conspiracy, and promptly beheaded. Those named in his confession were hunted down and purged.

Mount Hiei, trembling in anticipation of an assault, watched in shock as the tide turned. Upon learning the truth, the monks sent envoys to Kiyomori, expressing their gratitude for the destruction of their common enemy, Saiko, before quietly withdrawing to their mountain. By the 5th, Myoun’s exile was rescinded. By the 9th, Saiko’s sons had been hunted down and killed. The crisis had been resolved through the swift, decisive hand of Taira no Kiyomori.

While the veracity of Saiko’s conspiracy remains a subject of historical debate, Kiyomori wasted no time, returning to Fukuhara once the operation was complete. He spared Go-Shirakawa from direct punishment, perhaps fearing that striking the Imperial person would leave an unhealable scar on his future dominion. However, this event revealed cracks within the Taira itself. Shigemori, the heir and a moderate who acted as the bridge between Kiyomori and the Emperor, resigned his post shortly after, partly due to illness. This cleared the path for the more aggressive Munemori.

The avoidance of the clash with Hiei and the purge of the cloistered rule’s inner circle created a permanent rift between Kiyomori and Go-Shirakawa. The dream of absolute Taira hegemony began to fray at the very moment it seemed most secure. This was the beginning of the end for the Taira—a collapse that arrived in a form no one could have foreseen.