{Inter} Cultural Japan

Entsuji, in the northern part of Kyoto, is a prime example of one of the major techniques of the Japanese art of the garden: shakkei, or ‘borrowed scenery.’ This means in short that the view is incorporated into the garden. In Entsuji’s case, distant Mt. Hiei is cleverly captured, thereby making the small garden more spacious than it otherwise would have been. Unfortunately, during my visit I learn that the priest of Entsuji has to wage a continuing battle against developers, who threaten to spoil the view with cheap flats.

Entsuji stands in Iwakura, a small valley just north of Kyoto, separated from the city by the range of low hills where on the night of Daimonji the characters for Myoho (’Wonderful - Buddhist - Law’) are lighted. Iwakura is fast being swallowed by the expanding city and its paddies have been filled-in with houses, flats and supermarkets. The development of the area started already in the nineteen-sixties with the building of Takagamine International Conference Hall. Only further away from the road are still patches of green where aging farmers are making their last stand.

(Mizorogaike Pond)

There are three roads over the hills leading from Kyoto to Iwakura. My bus takes the road along Mizoro-ga-ike, a muddy pond, that looks as if at midnight ghosts of drowned persons might appear. I walk past the houses, through some remnants of fields and soon reach Entsuji. The temple is known for its strict policy that the garden may not be photographed. Visitors even have to hand in their cameras to the stern priest sitting at the unassuming entrance. But this is right: it liberates us from the feeling that we have to take pictures, it frees us to see the garden with our own eyes. It provides the peace necessary for appreciation.

(Entrance of Entsuji)

The Borrowed Mountain
There are several other visitors, but all are quiet and have a somehow respectful attitude. I sit down on the verandah in front of Entsuji’s garden. The shape of the garden is oblong. Rocks lie on moss in front of a low, carefully trimmed hedge. Behind the hedge stand a few trees, cryptomeria and cypresses, the lower branches trimmed away to provide a view of the scenery beyond. That is the borrowed scenery, the shape of Mt. Hiei looming in the distance. The tree trunks have the function of adding depth to the scene and binding mountain and garden together. The weather of early spring is hazy and the mountain is a faint blue. The concrete observatory that defaces its peak is fortunately not visible. On clear days one can even see the ropeway leading up the mountain.

Today, devoid of modern trappings, the mountain resembles an old ink painting. Birds twitter in the quietness of the morning. The garden, rocks, moss, plants, just lie there. The mountain just sits there. All is as it should be. From Imperial Villa to Zen Temple Centuries ago, when Iwakura was still countryside, it caught the fancy of the rich and powerful, who located their ’second homes’ here.

One of them was Emperor Gomizuno-o (1596-1680). Gomizuno-o was fond of Mt. Hiei, he strove to have the mountain constantly in his vision. Iwakura lies six kilometers due west of Mt. Hiei, and sitting on Entsuji’s tatami, we can confirm it affords a perfect view of Mt. Hiei. One wonders what Mt. Hiei symbolized for the emperor, a strong and willful man who by the dominance of Tokugawa Shoguns was forced to idle his time away. Unhappy with a forced marriage to the Shogun’s daughter (forced marriages with daughters of those really in power were an old and established means in Japan to keep the emperors in check), he abdicated in 1629 in favor of his five year old daughter.

From that time, he escaped in his many artistic interests, such as garden building and waka poetry. Gomizuno-o’s Iwakura villa was finished around that same time and was called Hataeda Rikyu ‘Detached Palace’. Iwakura is much colder in winter than Kyoto, so the Emperor usually only came here from March to October. The infatuation with the Iwakura villa lasted only a few years, until a new site was discovered, with an even better, broader perspective of the mountain: Shugaku-in.

There was also one defect in Iwakura: a lack of sufficient water, making it impossible to create artificial lakes. As visitors to Shugaku-in know, the water supply there, close to the flank of the mountain, is no problem. After the Shugaku-in villas were ready, in the late fifties, the Emperor stopped coming to Iwakura. In 1678 it was decided to make the deserted villa into a Zen temple.

That is our present Entsuji. I appreciate the temple’s strict policies. Kyoto gardens were not made for the masses. Small in size, they are meant to be viewed alone, or by a small group of people, sitting quietly on the verandah. I also appreciate the priest’s stubbornness in his fight against irresponsible developers. Borrowed scenery is extremely vulnerable. One apartment block in between will spoil the whole garden. The imperial villas themselves are no more.

All that rests of Gomizuno-o’s dream is the garden with its view of the mountain. The mountain looks different every day, depending on the season, the weather and the time of day. It has been captured alive, caught between the trunks of cryptomeria and cypresses. Mt. Hiei is not just a background, but it is a vital element of the garden itself.

I hope that stubbornness of the priest will suffice to keep this garden whole and alive also in the future.

Access: By bus from Kyoto Station (40 min.), then walk 10 min. from Entsuji-michi. 15 min. walk from Mizoro Pond.
Cameras not allowed in the temple.

Bookmark with Del.icio.us - Digg it