as well as all types of water features. They were naturalistic gardens built as idealizations of the real world outside, but more closely resembling the then-prevalent ideas of Heaven. The gardens adorned the palaces and villas of the royal family and wealthy nobles. They contained streams which wound through them to empty into lakes and ponds, which were often large enough to allow shallow-draft, flat-bottomed boats to cruise along their shores. These were boating and excursion gardens, which served as playgrounds for the ranks of the nobility. Islands in the lakes and ponds denoted such Chinese cosmological symbols as Horaijima, the Island of Paradise (see Plate 96). Sometimes a line of rocks was laid out in the water, yodomari-ishi, to represent ships moored at night in a Chinese harbor (Plate 98). Or, one rock projecting out of the water would symbolize takara-bune, the treasure ship of Chinese and Japanese legend.
For a picture of those gardens in the Heian period (794-1185) we have the colorful description (see also Fig. 1) written over a thousand years ago by Lady Murasaki Shikibu in her novel The Tale of Genji, as translated so ably by Arthur Waley:
"Genji effected great improvement in the appearance of the grounds by a judicious handling of knoll and lake, for, though such feature already there in abundance, he found it necessary here to cut away a slope, there to dam a stream, that each occupant of the various quarters might look out of her windows upon such a prospect as pleased her best. To the southeast he raised the level of the ground and on this bank planted a profusion of early flowering trees. At the foot of this slope the lake curved with especial beauty, and in the foreground, just beneath the windows, he planted borders of cinquefoil, of red-plum, cherry, wisteria, kerria, rock-azalea and other such plants as are at their best in springtime... while here and there, in places where they would not obstruct his main plan, autumn beds were cleverly interwoven with the rest.
"Akikonomu's garden was full of such trees as in autumn-time turn to the deepest hue. The stream above the waterfall was cleared out and deepened to a considerable distance; and that the noise of the cascade might carry further, he set great boulders in mid-stream, against which the current crashed and broke....
"In the northeastern garden there was a cool spring, the neighborhood of which seemed likely to yield an agreeable refuge from the summer heat. In the borders near the house upon this side he planted Chinese bamboos, and, a little further off, tall-stemmed forest trees whose thick leaves roofed airy tunnels of shade, pleasant as those of the most lovely upland wood. This garden was fenced with hedges of the white deutzia flower, the orange tree, the briar-rose and the giant peony; with many other sorts of bush and tall flower so skillfully spread about among them that neither spring nor autumn would ever lack in bravery.
"... Along the stream he planted appropriate purple irises.
To the north of Lady Akashi's rooms rose a high embankment, screened by a close-set wall of pine trees, planted there on the purpose that she might have the pleasure of seeing them when their boughs were laden with snow; and for her delight in the earlier days of the winter there was a great bed of chrysanthemums, which he pictured her enjoying on some morning when all the garden was white with frost.
"... Murasaki's Spring garden seemed to become every day more enchanting. The little wood on the hill beyond the lake, the bridge that joined the two islands, the mossy banks that seemed to grow greener not every day but every hour—could anything have looked more tempting.
"... The rowers brought them close in under the rocky bank of the channel between the two large islands... the shape of every little ledge and crag of stone had been as carefully devised as if a painter had traced them with his brush. Here and there in the distance the topmost boughs of an orchard showed above the mist, so heavily laden with blossoms that it looked as though a bright carpet were spread in mid-air. Far away they could just catch sight of Murasaki's apartments, marked by the deeper green of the willow boughs that swept her courtyards, and by the shimmer of her flowering orchards, which even at this distance seemed to shed their fragrance amid the isles and rocks. In the world outside, the cherry blossom was almost over; but here it seemed to laugh at decay, and around the palace even the wisteria that ran along the covered alleys and porticos was all in bloom, but not a flower past its best; while here, where the boats were tied, mountain-kerria poured its yellow blossom over the rocky cliffs in a torrent of color that was mirrored in the waters of the lake below.... "
Reflecting the mood of the court life of the period, those gardens of Genji's were for carefree pleasure for the few who could afford such a life. Deciduous and flowering trees were used in great masses. But as social conditions changed, so did the gardens. By the thirteenth century the gay life of the Heian period had crumbled. The ensuing years of civil war and the appeal of Zen Buddhism's philosophy of simplicity and meditation influenced all branches of the arts. Gardens became more sober and restrained, more impervious to the effects of seasonal change. Evergreen plant materials became predominant.
The Static Quality & Evergreens. The slow, measured, almost drifting tempo of Japanese gardens today is produced by the predominance of slow-growing broad-leaf and needle evergreens combined with rock. Together they form the main structural skeleton of the garden, contrasting with deciduous elements such as maple, cherry, and plum trees, which are generally kept smaller than the evergreen through rigorous and regular pruning. (See Plate 6.)
In comparison with American or European temperate-climate gardens, showing dynamic changes from season to season, Japanese gardens remain static, varying little with the changing seasons. This contrast illustrates again differences in Eastern and Western views of life. Buddhists, certainly, tend to take the long view of the world and life—the revolving wheel that comes back to its original position—while in the West it is action, change, and pragmatic views which shape our lives. We spend little time contemplating in the sort of atmosphere where life seems to be holding its breath.
Since the Japanese garden generally is built on a small piece of land and because of its close and intimate relationship to the house and the people who live there, it has to be slowed down. Such intimate gardens which changed swiftly with the seasons would disturb and jangle the nerves of the people who came into close daily contact with them.
There are also horticultural reasons for the wide use of evergreens. Although Japan lies in the north temperate zone, its winters, tempered by warm ocean currents, are milder over most of the country than the winters of much of Europe and North America. Consequently, the frost-sensitive broadleaf varieties of evergreens survive Japanese winters. Perhaps, if American and European winters were milder, ever-greens would also assume greater importance in the basic structure of gardens in the West.
We in the West, whose homes are in areas of extreme seasonal changes, have learned to appreciate the dynamic development of a plant's life cycle. We feel something sad or beautiful and inspiring in the bare starkness of a winter landscape, and something exciting and joyous in trees bursting with spring buds. The aspects of the landscape as it shifts with each season remind us of the pulsing, rushing rhythm of our own lives. It is possible, of course, to take the middle road by striking a balance between static and dynamic effects. The final decision remains with those who will use the garden—their tastes and pace of life.
Yin & Yang. Familiarity with only the material elements of a Japanese garden, however, brings understanding up to a point which is still not at the heart of this unique art form. There are broader questions. Why is it that Japanese gardens seem to have more structural solidity and depth than most gardens in the West, gardens which by comparison seem frail, shallow, insubstantial, and meaningless? A partial answer to this question may be found in the collection of Taoist teachings, Tao-te-ching, formulated by Laotse in China several thousand years ago. This propounds the principle of opposites: in weakness there is strength; in passivity and non-resistance you win. It is the balance of light and dark, the positive yosei and the negative insei, the Yin and the Yang.
When these opposite concepts are observed
