can be appreciated in their own right as aesthetic objects, though they may also be invested with symbolic significance. In the dry garden at Ryogin-an, laid out by Mirei Shigemori in 1964, they represent a dragon emerging from the sea and about to fly up to heaven (the mythical creature has the attributes of both fish and bird).
Japanese gardens often feature a set of three rocks, such as that above sited on a rise at Komyo-in. The grouping represents a Buddhist triad, whereby an enlightened being is flanked by two attendants. In Zen this denotes the Shaka triad, in which the historical Buddha, known in Japan as Shakyamuni, is accompanied by two bodhisattva, Fugen and Monju.
One of the earliest examples is the Sogenchi pond garden at Tenryu-ji. It was laid out by the founder, Muso Soseki (1275–1351), who in one of his writings warned against a worldly love of gardens. His intention was rather for the garden to serve a spiritual purpose, and the landscaped grounds draw in the surrounding hills to speak of oneness with nature. In this way, his creation is not simply an adornment but a lesson in Zen thinking.
The Dry Landscape
The type of garden most closely associated with Zen is the dry landscape (karesansui). At its most basic it simply consists of raked gravel or sand. The style originated in China, where it was found useful for areas lacking water, and it developed into a three-dimensional counterpart to Chinese ink painting. Its adoption in Kyoto stemmed from a number of factors, one of which was economic. With the collapse of the central government in the Warring States or Sengoku period in Japan (1467–1568), there were few powerful patrons to fund expensive gardens. The large pond gardens required a lot of land and labor. By contrast, the dry landscape only required a small area of pebbles and rocks. Moreover, maintenance was easy as a single monk could manage the raking and sweeping.
One of the most common features at Zen temples is the Horai garden, as here at Ryogen-in. Mythical Mt Horai constitutes one of a small group of islands where Daoist Immortals dwell, represented by the rock grouping in the corner. This is accompanied by two symbolic islands, that of the Turtle (in the circle of moss) and that of the Crane (vertical to signify the long neck). Together the creatures symbolize longevity and happiness.
The new style was particularly well suited to Kyoto because of the abundance of gravel brought into the city by rivers flowing down from the granite hillsides. It was favored by Zen because of its representational qualities. Raked gravel suggested open expanses of sea, or space, or eternity. The rocks spoke of moments in time, thoughts in the mind or islands in an ocean. The enigmatic nature of the compositions offered a visual counterpart to Zen riddles. “What is the meaning of the Buddha mind?” asks a well-known koan. “A single pine growing in a garden,” runs the answer.
A common form of dry landscape is the Horai Garden (Penglai in English). This refers to the ancient Chinese belief in the Isles of the Immortals, where people live happily free of the ills that plague ordinary humans. Dominating the four Isles is mythical Mt Horai, which is represented by a rock grouping out of which flows ‘the river of life’. In this ideal place is a symbolic meeting place of human and heavenly worlds, where opposites are brought together in harmonious coexistence, signifying the underlying oneness of things.
The unity of opposites is manifest in the form of Turtle and Crane Islands (the animals are Chinese emblems of longevity and good fortune). While the turtle can plunge to the depths, the crane can soar to the heights, so that in their coming together the world of division is symbolically transcended. Turtle and Crane Islands can be found in pond gardens as well as dry landscapes, with the crane represented by a vertical arrangement (as if about to take off) and the turtle by more horizontal features. In some cases, the islands are reduced to a simple yin–yang pairing of rocks, one vertical and one horizontal.
A TEA GARDEN
Another type of garden often found at Zen temples is that leading to a tea house. Rather than an object for viewing, the purpose here is to act as a passage between the mundane world of everyday life and the more serene world of the tea house. The Japanese term is roji, which means ‘dewy path’, and the materials are sober and subdued: moss, rocks, shrubs, bamboo, stone lantern and wash basin. They serve to calm the soul as the visitor prepares for the contemplative nature of the tea ceremony. “The garden serves the human soul,” writes Preston Houser. “It is a secular stage whereupon our spirituality is brought into play.”
The approach consists of a series of thresholds, and the effect is of entering deeper into nature. The route is determined by a path of stepping stones, set closely together for those wearing kimono. A sense of distance is conveyed by the winding course it follows, as if in keeping with the natural contours of the land. Near the tea house stands a water bowl for ablutions, symbolically purifying spirit as well as body. In this way, by removal of ‘the dust of the world’, the visitor enters into a different realm.
Kyoto boasts the finest collections of tea rooms in the world. Many are centuries old and made of fragile materials: bamboo, paper, earth. Some require special permission to enter or are only open to official groups. Several are off-limits to visitors altogether. Those that are available for inspection are often models of wabi-sabi, the aesthetic of rustic austerity. At the end of the garden path, it turns out, is a lesson in harmony with nature.
The tea garden is known in Japanese as roji, meaning ‘dewy path’ leading to the tea house. That of Koto-in provides a typical example, with a simple rustic gate separating the outer garden with its trees and bushes from the more sedate and sparse inner garden.
Sipping Zen:
The Japanese Tea Ceremony
The tea ceremony as we know it today was initiated in Kyoto’s monasteries, and it came to fruition in the sixteenth century under a series of tea masters trained in Zen. Even though aristocrats had indulged in tea ceremonies in earlier times, it was mostly for pleasure and display. But with the introduction of Zen, the suppression of self came together with the pursuit of beauty, the result being one of the world’s great cultural practices. In this way the simple partaking of tea was imbued with a strong spiritual component, showcasing many of Japan’s finest traits: refinement, exactitude, attention to detail and an unerring aesthetic sense. In all of this, Zen played such a vital role that a traditional saying states that “Zen and tea have the same taste.”
It all began in 1191 when Myoan Eisai, founder of Kennin-ji, brought back tea seeds from China. Tea drinking had entered Japan in earlier times but had died out, and Eisai reintroduced the practice not only by passing on seeds for plantation but by promoting its life-enhancing qualities. He also advocated its use as an antidote to falling asleep during meditation. Accordingly, green tea became a feature of Zen life, with the preparation and consumption conducted according to Chinese practice. With the passage of time, the ritual was adapted to Japanese tastes, and amongst leading contributors were Zen priests such as Ikkyu Sojun and his disciple Murata Shuko, both with ties to Daitoku-ji (later dubbed ‘the head temple of tea’).
Murata Shuko was tea master to the aesthete-shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa, for whom he built a four-and-a-half mat tea room at the Silver Pavilion. It became the prototype for later models. Shuko also introduced Zen calligraphy for decoration and favored a simple and natural pottery for his utensils, such as the Bizen style. These ideas were furthered by Takeno Joo (1502–55), a student of Zen from a Sakai merchant family who moved to Kyoto to study tea. Drawn to the aesthetic of wabi (rustic simplicity), he was inspired to build a tea room in the manner of the thatched huts used by farmers. Amongst those inspired by the teaching
