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Introduction

With the twenty-first century on the horizon, humanity is enjoying a multitude of benefits from the prosperity it has achieved through economic development and scientific advances. At the same time, however, owing to the overriding priority accorded to production and consumption, it is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the quality of life so long sought after by humankind. How, for example, are we to impede the inevitable depletion of the energy resources that have fueled our industial development? How can we keep from further devastating our forests, our air, and the ozone layer? How are we to cope with the stupendous amount of waste produced by our industrial juggernaut? How are we to stave off famine as the global population continues to explode? How can we use our remarkable advances in nuclear energy or in medicine--so specialized, so compartmentalized--to the greatest advantage of humankind? Unless we deal with the effects of our modern way of life now, we will soon be forced to confront untold challenges.

The diverse problems referred to above fall under the category of environmental destruction. As a result, throughout the East and West, a broad and critical reappraisal of humankind's attitude towards nature has become an issue demanding our urgent attention.

It is with this aim in mind--to help humankind reevaluate view of nature--that the MOA Museum of Art has mounted the current exhibition of Japanese art. It is the organizers' sincere hope that through this undertaking a clearer understanding of the Japanese view of nature will emerge, and that the wisdom contained therein might in some way serve as a beacon to guide the global community in its quest to save the natural environment.

While Western artists have tended to focus primarily on human subjects, Japanese artists have turned more frequently to nature for their subject matter. Ancient Buddhist art, though containing representations of the human form, is above all concerned with expressing the truth of Buddha's law. Buddhist images symbolized, in iconographic form, a universal view that set forth humankind's relationship to nature.

Subsequently, art expanded beyond the realm of religion, evolving first through the flowery heyday of the Heian imperial court [794-1185], then into the austere period of samurai ascendancy during the Kamakura [1185-1333], Muromachi [1333-1568], and Momoyama [1568-1600] periods, and further still into the modern aestheticism of the Edo period [1600-1868]. But through every era, despite numerous changes in modes of expression, one common artistic thread persisted: a profound interest in natural scenery and landscape.

For Japanese, it seems quite a matter of course that the portrayal of nature--by dint of its symbolic beauty, its harmonious interplay, its inherent order, its evocative power--should be the predominant subject of art. Such has not necessarily been the view in the West, however. In early Western art, nature was often little more than a backdrop for depictions of Greco-Roman myths and Christian figures and narratives. Later, through the Renaissance and up to the modern era, portraiture and figure painting tended to dominate artistic concerns. Nature per se is generally said to have become a prominant theme in Western art only in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Indeed, it was only in the nineteenth century that paintings of people at work or at prayer in the bosom of nature began to appear, epitomized by such famous works as Millet's "The Gleaners" and "The Angelus." In contrast, nature has always had a special significance for the Japanese, especially in the arts, for it was within nature that the Japanese defined their place, their raison d'être in the world.

Non-Japanese often claim that they find the actions and thinking of Japanese people difficult to comprehend. The opinion is often heard, especially in the context of their political or economic dealings, that the Japanese must be in some way unique. The rules that define the norms for Japanese people are simply different guidelines devised to permit them to conform to the laws of nature. In this sense, the Japanese are certainly no different from other inhabitants of the planet.

Underlying their guidelines are a number of basic tenets: nature is beautiful, nature is harmonious, it has an intrinsic order and rules, and in certain ways it can be seen to have an ethical or moral dimension. These ideas are shaped by the belief that humankind exists within the order of nature. Where the Japanese perhaps differ from other peoples sharing these same views is in their seeming inability to define nature's laws in clear, objective terms.

Among the words long used by Japanese to define their sensibilities, are mono no aware [the pathos of things]. The term informs the norms or rules that are believed to govern Japanese behavior, and is based upon a deep affinity with nature and beauty, and a spontaneous, emotional response towards them. The term is also used in a broader sense to describe a corresponding emotional affinity between humankind and other creatures in the natural universe, or the love that exists between a man and a woman.

Contrary to the common Japanese perception, I offer that this purportedly "unique" relationship that exists between the Japanese and nature is not really unique at all. What Japan has done is merely to assimilate and continue to believe in, ancient spiritual elements that at one time, long before the days of Greek civilization, were actually global viewpoints. It is only their embrace of these elements that in fact sets the Japanese apart. Thus, I see Japanese "uniqueness" as simply coinciding with the most ancient fundamental notions that have governed humankind's behavior everywhere on Earth since the earliest times.

Setsugekka: Three Symbolic Elements 雪月花

In an attempt to understand how the Japanese have traditionally looked upon nature, I would like to refer to the wellknown speech delivered by author Yasunari Kawabata [1899-1972] when he accepted the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968. Entitled " Japan the Beautiful and Myself," the oration focused on a discussion of the phrase setsugekka, which is linguistical lycomposed of three elements: snow [setsu] , the moon [getsu] , and flowers [ka] . The phrase, however, is more than mere descriptive terminology. As the artworks on display here vividly demonstrate, these three elements appear repeatedly in Japanese painting and fine arts: snow expressing the winter season; the moon providing a year-round constant in the night sky; and flowers symbolizing the myriad plants and trees in endless transition amidst the cycle of the four seasons.

The perceptive observer will quickly discover that the elements represented by the phrase setsugekka appear not only in Japan's works of fine art. They abound in design elements within contexts as diverse as the Japanese home, the kimono, and Japanese textiles; indeed they are a part of almost every aspect of Japanese life.

First let's consider flowers [ka] . As these artworks readily confirm, flowers--especially cherry and plum blossoms--are an integral feature of Japanese painting. Wherever they appear, flowers, and plants in general, are usually depicted in their natural, wild, unadulterated state. In Japan, however, flowers, grasses, and trees are not viewed merely as tangible objects, but as symbols of otherwise intangible phenomena--of life itself. In flowers we perceive the universal laws of nature, the unending cycle of life: birth, death, rebirth.

As evidence, consider the numerous flower-related festivals and events that have been celebrated each spring in Japan since ancient times. The first record of cherry blossom viewing, for example, appears in The Tale of Genji , the pinnacle of classical Japanese literature, written in the twelfth century. One entire chapter of this work is devoted to a description of a cherry-blossom viewing party, where members of the court gather under the cherry blossoms to make merry with food, music, and poetry until late into the night. It is here that Genji, the "shining prince," meets his eternal love, Oborozukiyo, the "lady of the misty moonlit night," for the very first time.

Cherry-blossom viewing has long had special significance in Japan. Yoshinoyama, located in the nation's historic heartland of Nara, is said to have been the earliest center of religious faith in the country; to this day the entire mountain is covered with cherry trees. According to popular legend, when the sorcerer En no Gyôja offered up prayers here, the mountain god appeared before him, whereupon the sorcerer carved the image of the god in a cherry tree. In this account, the cherry tree is viewed as a symbol both of invincibility and unassailable vitality. Another legend speaks of Konohana-sakuyahime, daughter of the god of agriculture, who was herself viewed as a goddess of spring and vernal abundance. According to popular belief, her spirit takes possession of a cherry tree, enabling her to descend from Heaven to Earth. Through the ages people have gathered under blossoming cherry trees, believing them to be sacred, and offered up their prayers to Konohana-sakuyahime for a plentiful year's harvest. Other festivals incorporate flower offerings to ward off illness and natural disasters.

Just as blossoming cherry trees have been a revered symbol of spring, so brightly tinged leaves have long symbolized autumn. Since ancient times, people have gathered to admire autumn foliage. The Japanese fondness for making excursions to view autumn leaves was recorded by the Portuguese as early as the sixteenth century. Earlier evidence is provided by a pair of painted screens dating from the Muromachi period, one depicting a cherry-blossom viewing scene, the other an outing to view maple leaves. Together these screens demonstrate the strong affinity that the Japanese have long felt towards cherry blossoms and autumn's brilliant foliage. But what is the meaning behind these activities?

The repertory of the Noh theater, which emerged in the late fourteenth century, includes a song about gathering autumn leaves. It describes a courageous man who passes a night in a forest underneath the shedding trees. Amidst the downpour of dazzling leaves there suddenly appears an alluring enchantress who drives the youth to distraction. Whereas the cherry blossoms of spring, as we have noted, represent the birth of new life, autumn foliage, as this Noh song reveals, symbolizes the final burst of flame, of life, that precedes the arrival of winter--that is, of death. Autumn is also a time of heightened sensuality, and the time when we become most intimately conscious of death--together with the promise of rebirth in the spring--within the dynamic cycle of nature.

In short, the Japanese do not look upon flowers and fall foliage merely as objects or pretty decorations. To the Japanese, flowers are imbued with connotations of the grand natural flow between life and death.

Snow [setsu] is, of course, a symbol of winter, a white covering that blankets all that is visible in other seasons. At the same time, however, a snowscape, though seemingly devoid of everything, in fact offers a hint of new life, whether it be a single plum blossom coming into bud or a tiny blade of new grass--harbingers of a scene that is soon to unfold.

Snow is a favored backdrop in Japanese drama, especially Noh theater and Kabuki. Employing a snowy landscape heightens the tension of the story through its inherent, vivid contrast: the contrast between a completely white snow cover that buries all life and creates a frigid world of death, and the stalwart portrayal of life in the face of, and even overcoming, death. Whereas flowers and fall foliage, by their very existence, reveal the life force of nature, snow serves as a symbol of the world of winter, darkness, and death and as a foreshadowing of life to come.

What then does the moon [getsu] , ever present in the night sky, represent? In Japanese culture, the moon is more than simply a heavenly body or a scenic prop. Since ancient times the Japanese have believed that the moon is the abode of the god of moon viewing, while in Buddhism it is seen as a symbol of the truth of Buddhist law. The latter belief originates from the fact that the moon always remains in the sky, no matter how much a person might move about, walk from place to place, or even travel across the world.

Although the moon is but a single entity, it reveals itself again and again, in perfect form, everywhere. As a reflection it can appear in a solitary drop of water in the palm of one's hand or in a droplet of dew on a blade of grass. Yet, despite this seeming power to divide and multiply, the moon itself is constant, something that never leaves us. And because it always remains in the sky, though ever waxing and waning, the moon represents the fundamental truths of the universe that are known and shared by all living beings.

The Truth behind Beauty

It should now be clear that the Japanese have not viewed or portrayed nature nebulously, or simply in the terms in which it appears. Rather, Japanese people have taken certain elements of nature--flowers, snow, and the moon, symbolizing respectively the continuum of nature, the antithesis of nature's life-giving powers, and the comprehensive and unchanging truth that governs all things (which itself includes the first two elements)--and understood themselves to be an integral part of this context. Japanese people thus wish to be at one with nature; and they work toward this objective through the creation of works of beauty.

Japanese art is thus a manifestation of this desire to be at one with nature. As might therefore be expected, when a Japanese artist draws a landscape painting, for example, the overriding purpose is not so much to describe a particular or isolated scene, but rather to suggest a universal idea underlying the overall composition. It is for this reason that instead of reproducing visual scenes just as they appear to the eye, Japanese artists prefer to create scenery in a symbolic and stylized, perhaps somewhat repetitive, manner.

Even within these basically unchanging structural frameworks, Japanese art is expected to be replete with profound significance--philosophically, literally, and ideologically. This multidimensionality is perhaps most recognizable in ink paintings and landscapes, which unfortunately are not included in the current exhibition.

In passing, it should perhaps be mentioned that portraiture, which occupies an important position in Western painting, holds only a minor position in the realm of Japanese painting. With the exception of one particularly well-known series depicting Zen masters, Japanese art was almost totally devoid of two-dimensional portrait works until the appearance of ukiyo-e during the Edo period.

André Malraux, in speaking of one of the foremost masrait art in Japan, a painting depicting the shogun Minamoto no Yoritomo [1147-99], described the work as a stylized figure painting that impressed the viewer by dint of the truth underlying the visual expression. In Japan, portraits are not intended to represent an individual in solely exterior, physical terms, but rather to express the spirit within. This attitude is based on the view that it is the spirit that conveys truth, while physical appearance is no more than a shadow of the truth.

In Japanese, the word for landscape is sansui. The term is composed of two elements, san meaning "mountain" and sui meaning "water," and quite naturally the majority of Japanese landscape paintings include some depiction of mountains and flowing water. In Japan, mountains traditionally have been regarded as sacred locations, plaes where spirits dwell or to which they descend from heaven. Ideally, mountains should thus be viewed from afar and worshipped. Rivers on the other hand have been regarded as places where mortals can wash away their spiritual impurities, cleanse their souls, and thus become more vigorous, more vital. It is no coincidence that many Shinto shrines in Japan face onto rivers or streams. Only after visitors cleanse themselves in the river water are they sufficiently purified to worship at the shrine. This fundamental view is clearly behind the layout of many of the nation's Shinto shrines, from local tutelary shrines to the most important of all Shinto edifices, the Ise Shrine, which lies alongside the Isuzu river.

Given this background, Japanese landscape paintings--depictions of mountains and water, and occasionally including the sun or moon--do not represent isolated scenes from nature in realistic detail. Rather, at their deepest level they attempt to portray the universal framework and natural truths that underlie such scenery.

Elements behind the Japanese View of Nature

As the foregoing discussion suggests, to the Japanese mind nature is more than just physical scenery. In fact, there are three elements at play in the Japanese view of the natural world.

The first element can be defined as the changes that occur through the passage of the four seasons: a repetitive and orderly cycle of flux. The second element relates to the invisible forces that affect nature--creating the shape of a tree, the form of a mountain, and the flow of a river--often in violent and unpredictable ways beyond our full comprehension. The third and final element is the energy that creates life itself, including human life, the life of the grains that sustain human life, ad all forms of living things.

Together, these three elements exert their various effects on the physical world around us, sometimes in clearly manifested ways and sometimes in unseen ways. In the Japanese view, these events all occur due to the existence of a mysterious, spiritual power. In other words, Japanese people view nature as part of a total, cosmic realm.

This Japanese view diverges widely from the corresponding view of nature espoused in the West in modern times, a view that sees nature in Cartesian, material parameters--as negative and passive, a created, static work. On the other hand, the Japanese view has much in common with the concept of nature embraced in ancient Greece. The early Greek word for nature, fisis, derives from the verb fenesthe, meaning "to be born" or "to come into being." The ancient Greeks saw nature as a life-generating power, a view coinciding with the notion suggested by the ancient Japanese word musubi--literally, "birthgiving spirit"--which implies life is generated spontaneously. In the West, the belief in the existence of a sacred, lifegiving force in all objects is referred to as animism; but I see some difference between Western animism and the Japanese view of nature. According to animism, each object--whether it is a rock, a tree, or water--is home to its own peculiar spirit that makes the object what it is. In the Japanese view, however, at the root of these myriad manifestations (anima) exists one invisible, underlying, and uniform sacred entity, the one life-giving force. This sacred entity exists in all objects as life itself. This is why the Japanese believe that nature is in close relationship with the sacred--a view somewhat akin to animatism.

The modern Japanese word for nature, shizen, is actually a relatively recent coinage dating only to the Meiji period [1868-1912]; its adoption as a translation for the Latin word natura was first proposed by Amane Nishi[1829-97], a leading philosopher of his day. Prior to that time, the Japanese view of nature was expressed by the word zôka, made up from two characters meaning "creation" and "change." The term was originally associated, in its linguistic sense, with Chinese Daoism. The fusion between this early connotation of "creation/change" and the Japanese notion of "nature" signifies the inseparable relationship between these two concepts in the Japanese view.

Matsuo Bashô [1644-94], one of the most well-known proponents of the Japanese view of nature, often alluded to the term zôka. Renowned asone of Japan's foremost poets, Bashô declared that the artistically supreme and morally superior way of life was "to keep friends with the four seasons," meaning to live in accord with the workings of nature. He also said that a close rapport with zôka is the continuous thread that binds all of Japan's most famous thinkers and artists down through history--from Saigyô [1118-90] the waka poet, to Sôgi [1421-1 502] of linked-verse fame, to Sesshû [1420-1506] the ink painter, to Sen no Rikyû [1522-91] the great innovator of the tea ceremony.

Transcending Human Knowledge

One of the common criticisms of Japanese art is that it is merely decorative or "artistic" in character. Given the thinking that underlies it, as described above, Japanese art, in truth, has a profundity that transcends many of the conventions associated with modern art.

The Japanese do not see art as a message from one human being to another. Nor do they believe that art has value because it is entirely "human" in character and origin. In the field of ceramic aor example, Sen no Rikyû, founder of the Sen school of the tea ceremony and one of Japan's artists par excellence, especially prized everyday utensils made by unknown artisans, and works imperfect or irregular in shape, sometimes even cracked. This view is not atypical, however, for the Japanese not only admire artworks that are geometrically perfect, such as Chinese celadon or white porcelains, but often display a strong affection for beauty that appears to be imperfect.

This Japanese love of the imperfect stems from an acknowledgment of the inherent limitations of human creative powers. No matter how hard a human being might try, we are ultimately incapable of creating something that is absolutely perfect. "Perfection," on the contrary, is the product of the creative powers of nature-- zôka. The ceramic piece that emerges from the kiln is the end product of a spontaneity beyond the power ohuman control. It is evidence of the wondrous and unpredictable powers of nature, before which we stand in humble awe.

Ceramics is only one manifestation of the grand and mysterious power of nature. Another example is ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arranging. Flower arranging per se is by no means unique to Japan; in the West as well, flowers are placed in abundance in both public and private settings. But unlike the West, where flowers are typically seen as an interior accessory, a mode of decoration, in ikebana the intrinsic goal is to arrange the flowers in such a manner as to reproduce them in their natural, uncut setting.

The principal location for displaying an ikebana arrangement is the tokonoma, or main alcove in a Japanese-style, tatami-matted room. The tokonoma is not regarded as part of the interior space; rather, like a sacred mihrab, as a place where communion occurs between the people on the inside and the grand forces of nature on the outside. Here, even a single flower serves as a symbol of universal truth, providing the medium through which humans can become one with nature.

For this reason, an ikebana arrangement, particularly when created as an accoutrement for the tea ceremony, is usually kept simple. Further, rather than a flower at the peak of its bloom, a flower still in the bud is welcomed, for it demonstrates all the more vividly and clearly the process of life unfolding. Indeed, it is said thanothing is more magnificent than an ikebana arrangement that, once set in place, spontaneously settles overnight into its own arrangement, conforming to the order of nature without the touch of a human hand. The Japanese thus view even a single flower in the wider context of its relationship to nature, part of the totality of the world that embraces humanity.

As the foregoing demonstrates, the Japanese do not value a work of art merely as a product of human artistry and technical skill. Nor do they look upon artworks as objects created for sensual enjoyment. In the Japanese aesthetic, a work of art is created fundamentally as a suggestion of the greater realm of nature, providing a means by which a person, by gazing upon the work or taking it in the hand, can come to appreciate great truths that otherwise are beyond human ken.

In sum, the Japanese do not view art as decorative ornamentation; they view it as an integral element of everyday life. A work of art is not fashioned by a person; rather it is the work of art that fashions one's life, beautifying it by bringing one into a splendid rapport with the order and beauty of the natural world. The inherent function of art is to transport one into a close and harmonious union with the pulsating heartbeat of nature.

The superior or successful work of art is not an object that has achieved perfect beauty. To be truly outstanding, a work of art must serve as a means to morally purify and elevate the world or universe--the environment--and in turn, the beholder. This notion can perhaps best be understood through the specific, if perhaps atypical, examples of Japanese art described below.

The Way of Art as a Moral Force

Japan, of course, is not without its many artistic geniuses and skilled and specialized artisans. At the same time, however, it is noteworthy that, in all areas of the traditional arts, the ordinary person commonly participates in the production, performance, and enjoyment of artistic endeavors.

Almost one-thousand years ago, in The Tale of Genji, Genji, "the shining prince," is portrayed not only as one of the leading statesmen of his day, but also as an accomplished poet and painter. This is not to say, however, that artistic undertakings were reserved only for the elite. Traditional Japanese verse, for example, in both its waka (31 syllable) and haiku (17syllable) forms, was an immediate part of the life of the ordinary person as well, a medium borrowed in particular by lovers and would-be lovers to relay their deepest sentiments to the object of their affections.

Within the circles of the imperial court, the ability to compose poetic verse was regarded as the highest asset of a truly skilled functionary. This view derived from the power that poetry was seen to have in harmonizing human relationships, and in infusing harmony, beauty, and moral astuteness into every human setting.

A corresponding situation also exists in the realm of the tea ceremony. Thus, although there are iemoto, or so-called "headmasters" of the various schools of this art, the tea ceremony continues to be practiced and enjoyed by people from every station in life. Ikebana, likewise, is not restricted to a special few, but is a common part of daily life. Similarly, Noh, Kabuki, and other related forms of song and dance were traditionally learned by ordinary people, even though nowadays the number of such practitioners has dwindled.

Calligraphy presents a somewhat unusual twist in that the writing of characters, a basic task of everyday life, was elevated to a status approaching--sometimes even transcending--that of painting. In religious contexts, calligraphy was even believed by many to be imbued with spiritual power. During the mid-nineteenth century, it was common practice for children to take lessons in calligraphy as an indispensable artistic, and practical, accomplishment.

These pursuits, and also the so-called martial arts--kendô, jûdô, and so on--typically contain the suffix dô . The term is normally translated in English as "way," and in effect implies a code of behavior that follows the laws of nature, which the Japanese see as the morally upstanding way to live. The Japanese suffix dô has its origins in China. It corresponds to the Chinese word dao, the name of the ancient philosophy expounded by Lao Zi. Daoism sets forth a fundamental view of the cosmic order. Taking Lao Zi's abstract philosophy, the Japanese transformed its basic principles into concrete terms that served as a practical and ethical way of life, in accordance with the laws of nature. It might also be mentioned here that Buddhism was similarly accepted into Japan, where it flourished as a "way" of life: the way of Buddha.

As we have seen, Japanese people look upon nature as the fundamental truth of the universe and as a concon of life itself. They also believe that humanity is able to live in harmony with nature precisely by pursuing and maintaining the various "ways" described above. These notions continue to live in the hearts of Japanese people even today.

Conclusion

Mokichi Okada, the founder of the MOA Museum of Art, was a preeminent collector of art, a religious leader, and a philosopher. It is quite interesting to note, therefore, who he considered to be the three most outstanding artists in Japanese history. He selected Prince Shôtoku [574-622], the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa [1436-90], and warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi [1537-98].

In Japan, Prince Shôtoku is renowned as an accomplished statesman and Buddhist philosopher, while Yoshimasa and Hideyoshi are hailed as astute military rulers. None of these three indviduals was himself an artist or artisan. Why then did Okada consider them as his nation's foremost artists? The answer lies in several points. Prince Shôtoku was the founder of Hôryûji Temple in Nara, a repository of the quintessence of Japanese Buddhist art. Yoshimasa created Kyoto's Ginkakuji Temple (the "Silver Pavilion") and its surrounding gardens, was a committed collector of art treasures, and was a pioneer in the art of the tea ceremony. Hideyoshi came from a humble rural background, but by supporting the tea ceremony through his patronage of Sen no Rikyû, he raised traditional Japanese arts to a new plateau, laying the foundation for artistry's role in everyday life down to the present day.

One century after the days of Hideyoshi, a group of artists who crafted artworks for daily use was organized in Takagamine, Kyoto. The group, represented by Hon'ami Kôetsu [1558-1637] and Ogata Kôrin [1658-1716], produced a culture that brought art into daily life, and, in so doing, established the artistic style that was to become characteristic of the Edo period.

From these facts we can see that Mokichi Okada gave credit not only to individuals who personally created works of art, but also to those who offered the necessary support that enabled the creation and development of the arts. In Okada's eyes, it was the creation of such an artistic environment, a spiritual world of beauty, that constituted the highest goal and meaning of true "artistic" pursuit.

Today's serious environmental problems are bringing the overriding significance of "nature" once again into sharp focus. It is precisely in times such as these that it is imperative for us to remember, and to take to heart, that nature represents the supreme truth in the wider context of "truth, goodness, and beauty," in the words of Mokichi Okada. The technological advances that have led to the environmental destruction that confront us today are themselves insufficient to reverse what has been done and to resolve the problems at hand. What is necessary is to rediscover, to reaffirm, and to reapply the fundamental spiritual values--the basic respect for nature--that guided humankind in its earlier days. This, above all, is the message that the artworks on display at this exhibition convey to us.

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Isamu Kurita

Professor Isamu Kurita was born in Tokyo in 1929. He received an M.A. in French Literature from the University of Tokyo in 1955 and is well-known as an author, poet, playwright, lecturer, and critic of art and culture. He has made numerous television appearances in Japan. Professor Kurita has served as the president of the Central Broadcast Programming Consultation Committee for NHK [the Japan Broadcasting Corporation]. He currently teaches at Komazawa Women's University and is the president of the Japanese Culture Institute.

Professor Kurita's research has focused on French symbolism. He is also an authority on the history of Japanese aesthetics and is known for his unique theory of Japanese culture.

Professor Kurita's book Ippen shônin: Tabi no shisaku-sha [Priest Ippen: a poet on the road] won the 28th Minister of Education Prize in 1977. Other important works include Asuka-Yamato: Bi no junrei [Asuka and Yamato: a pilgrimage of beauty], Waga Gaudi [My Gaudi], Setsugekka no kokoro [A heart of snow, moon, and flowers], Dôgen no yomikata[How to read the works of Priest Dôgen], Ryôkan nyûmon [A handbook on Priest Ryôkan], Saichô to Tendai hongaku shisô [Priest Saichô and his thoughts on the Tendai sect and original Buddhahood], and Okada Mokichi no sekai [The world of Mokichi Okada; five volumes]. His writings have been published collectively as Kurita Isamu zenshû [The complete works of Isamu Kurita; twelve volumes].