When Tokugawa Ieyasu took over and became Shogun, he centered his clan and government on a tiny backwater village called Edo in the Kanto plain. The era of near constant warfare was traded overnight for perpetual peace, and the country reacted to a 160 period of disorder, death and chaos with a total commitment to their opposites: caste, social station and duty all became rigidly fixed, determined by birth. The mass armies of Oda were banned, as non samurai were forbidden to own weapons at all, while samurai were required to. A daimyo lord could only serve as a close shogunal advisers if his clan had submitted to the Tokugawa before 1603, when one final battle made it obvious to everyone that the Tokugawa would prevail.
The armor and weapons of the period became ridiculously overdecorated and impractical. This period invented the myths of the legendary warriors of old, master of blade and halberd who feared only dishonor and never death. A ruling warrior caste that no longer had wars to fight had nothing better to do. The armor and weapons of the period became ridiculously overdecorated and impractical.
And the interfering Westerners, especially the Christian missionaries who meddled and messed around so much during the wars, were eventually booted out altogether, and Christianity became the only religion actively banned in Japan. Outside contact and trade was confined to a single annual ship the Dutch alone could send, along with the usual share of piracy and smuggling. But despite the lack of official outside trade, the era was one of creation, and prosperity. Edo grew almost overnight into the largest city of the world, stealing both Kyoto’s role as the center of culture and power, and Osaka’s as the center of trade and commerce.
The growth eventually would end the rigid social system that created it; by the time that American Commodore Perry sailed into Yokohama Harbor in the 1850s demanding access to trade, the warrior caste was no longer capable of resisting them. Their nominal position at the top of Japanese society was already seriously questionable, as they “ruled over” a far wealthier and more inherently powerful merchant class; samurai forbidden engaging in commerce often ended up in debt up to their eyeballs to those merchants. Some of the powerful clans kept out of high office started acting up again.
And in the mix of the crisis, the emperor was suddenly revived as a symbol of national unity and purity. Perhaps the Shogunate was incapable because they’d upset the ordained order of Japan. Japan was only weak in the face of the Westerners because they’d sidelined their true divine ruler. After some more drama, therefore, the Shogunate collapsed and surrendered authority “back” to the Emperor, in a period known as the Meiji Restoration. But at this point Edo became the official capital, as the Meiji Emperor abandoned that spare palace in Kyoto in favor of the lusher Tokugawa palace, now repurposed as the Imperial Palace. Edo therefore also now changed its name, to “Eastern Capital”, or Tokyo.
What did not happen is the Meiji emperor began issuing edicts and leading Japan directly into a new era of traditional culture and ancient spirit. He was 16 years old, and had zero education in practical government. Instead another cast of characters took power around him as advisers, councilors, and the like. That grew into a not-quite-democracy, more or less around the Prussian lines where a representative Diet influenced but did not control an Imperially run civil and military government. If the Emperor did open his mouth now and rule on something, it was taken as divine word; but that encouraged them mostly to keep their mouths shut. It remains incredibly unclear just how much individual authority, and therefore blame, the emperors had for what followed.
But whoever was actually in charge, eventually the technical gap between the West became too obvious to deny and instead of embracing classic samurai culture, the Meiji government went whole hog for modernization and industrialization. That new power, combined with a belief that the restoration of the Emperor’s divine guidance meant that Japan was unlocking its superiority and potential once and for all, meant the dominant government figures felt now they could never lose. You know how that story ended.
Tokyo recovered in the aftermath. The emperors once again retreated into their old nerfed role as figureheads and ritual leaders. The emperor isn’t even allowed to quit — the Heisei Emperor, Akihito, grew too old for the job about a decade ago, but he had to obliquely hint that maybe someone of his age might like to step down and hope the Diet picked it up, because the emperor isn’t allowed to speak on political matters either. They did, and passed a law letting him retire, but only him — future emperors will have to hint again if they want to quit. So if you want to see the world’s fanciest prison, you can stroll the east gardens of the Imperial Palace, which lays alongside the Ginza neighborhood. They’re nice, but honestly the Meiji Jinju, the shrine to the Emperor during the change, was nicer, and doesn’t involve a security screening. We’ll return there.
I confess I don’t always do well with capital cities. Crowds are overwhelming, and the size and constant noise is draining for me. Any large city has those things, but a capital center is to some degree about being crowded and loud. It embraces the ethic proudly — New York is the “city that never sleeps”. And I wonder why the hell not — sleep is awesome. You feel more oafish if you don’t know the drill at a restaurant with a big line. Reservations and planning is hard on outsiders. I admit I retreated to Uber Eats in the hotel more often here, though I did get some very excellent sushi, and hit up a Ramen shop with a flying fish based broth after figuring out you order your food in advance from a machine, and then stand in line with your ticket for your turn to slurp away. But still, it’s tiring. And that’s why it’s important to me to go places I’m not supposed to go, when I travel. One of my favorite stops in Japan was the non-capital Kanazawa, which I’ll write about later. Never heard of it? That’s why I went. So I’m near guaranteed to hate a trip someplace where I limit myself to the capital city.
Still, Tokyo offers a hell of a lot. I stayed in Ginza, which is the Fancy Shopping District, more or less — high end brands abound here, and since I was there in early December it was all dolled up for Christmas. The restaurants there were a little difficult for an outsider to manage — they tended to always be full up, with complicated systems for ordering and managing the wait. But one of the nice parts about being the Monstrous White Guy in Japan is nobody expects you to be polite or knowledgeable, and they’re even pleasantly surprised when you’re patient and reasonable with your own linguistic failings. Most Japanese folks I encountered in service roles and the like did have decent English, but not excellent. It was more than good enough to order dinner or ask where the restroom is, but not often good enough that they could carry a conversation. That’s no shame on them; almost all of the English I heard was better than the six phrases of Japanese I knew. But speaking slowly without sounding patronizing can be tough. And even after I got back home, I ended up ordering coffee in slow simple English out of habit a few times.
Speaking of, it’s nice to know a few. When you’re getting your food at a cafe, an arigato gozaimasu is traditional. As you’re leaving, it becomes arigato gozaimashita, which sort of combines a thank you and a goodbye. You will get welcomed when you walk into a store but a head nod is enough, there’s no polite reply. And finally a sumimasen will do if you want to ask for the check, or bump into someone in the subway by accident. Otherwise, there’s not much chitchat. Japan’s a place with a strong culture of internal privacy, like Paris and my native Boston. If you spend your time surrounded by crowds of strangers, you retreat inwards a little, I think. It was walled off enough that even I relished the few I did open up — a calm slow conversation with an older man from Saitama City as we walked to the Nikko mountain shrines; the explanation of the printmaker’s craft I got from a shop owner in Tokyo; or the outrageously funny dinnertime conversation I shoved through Google Translate with the young staffers at SUPER MEAT BROTHERS in Kanazawa.
Tokyo has lots of the iconic; the big Shibuya street crossing, which honestly I don’t get. It’s a big friggin crosswalk. That’s it. The Shinjuku area is where you’ll find enough loud blinking signs to turn anyone to a seizure. It’s worth going through the warren of the Yodobashi Camera Store for the sheer ridiculousness of it all — the signs, the colors and the loudspeakers will all constantly shout at you, and the store announcements have that shade of mis-translation that renders its pronouncements a touch sinister: “Yodobashi Camera’s products ARE the best ones for you!” Is that slogan, or command? I was a bit disappointed that I could not find a better case for my rare-in-America Sony brand cell phone; I figured there was a chance here in the land of Sony itself, but mostly they sell iPhone cases too. I also was wondering if I could get a tariff-free deal on lenses for my Canon camera, but that too proved untrue. The exchange rate was favorable, extremely so for hotel rates and foods, but the durable goods proved undiscounted.
Tokyo was full of small serene fountain pen stories. At one I found a steal of a gold nibbed pen in excellent condition used, and the staff member brought me through the same ritual of wrapping and sealing it with the care due a far more expensive item. The teamLab museum was a riot, something I did with some hesitance but enjoyed a lot. I walked through the Akihabara Electric City and saw shops selling gear and items related to hundreds of anime series I’ve never heard of. It’s also a center for French maid cafés, which, well, sell overpriced food and various shades of companionship from young female staffers to customers who are generally not young or female. I gather those are more rare post Covid anyway.
The Ema of Tokyo
And my last impression for this run through the capitals was of the Kanda Myojin, the main shrine in Akihabara, dedicated to Daikokuten, deity of trade, fortune and wealth, and Ebisu, god of fishermen, merchants and good luck. Those two mandates, together with the location, make it the ideal shrine for your tech bro worship needs. Tech company employees come here to pray for success in their next IPO, and that type of thing.
I’m making it sound horrible, and to some degree it probably is. But it’s also an attraction. At Japanese shrines, there’s always a few displays of ema. An ema is a small wooden board, you can buy for a little money at the shrine as an offering. You write an intention, prayer or hope on the ema, or maybe draw an image that means something to you or the purpose of the shrine. And then you hang it on a peg on these public boards, and leave it there as an intention. Eventually the priests will hold a ritual burning of the ema and clear space for the next batch. I’d seen hundreds of ema at this point, at temples in Kyoto or the Fushimi Inari or Nara.
But the ones at the Kanda were more a direct attraction than theoretical. For one, a lot of them here are art — folks do drawings of tech themes, or anime characters, that are frankly amazing. That was the prime reason I went over to see them up close, and it was fantastic. But then when I later walked in the Meiji Shrine, it made me pay more attention to them. The shrine sits at the center of a evergreen wood, and even in winter lays shaded and dark, with the soft cool smells of the forest. As much as I said most shrines here feel wrong, this one is closer to my Western grafted ideas of a holy place. And so I strolled over to see the ema.
In Kyoto and Nara, most of them were in Japanese, Chinese or Korean. I let their contents remain a mystery. Ema are supposed to be public, but holding the ol’ phone up to run them through Google Translate seemed disrespectful. But here, I could read about half of them. Maybe because Tokyo has more Westerners, or perhaps because they had signs explaining the purpose and practice of the ema. Most travelers confront situations where we don’t know how to do something Properly. The only way to participate is to dive in, and hope that good intentions overrule our ignorance of the rules. Doing that in a market or a game is great. But I don’t think it wise to wing it at a temple or place of worship. That’s how a Jewish friend ended up lined up for communion at a Catholic funeral mass.
But if they tell you how, go ahead!
In the west, our prayers aren’t logged like this; they’re thought silently at the heavens. My old Catholic church wants to hear your sins expressed out loud, but please keep your homes and dreams to yourself. But here, you can read through the bunch. Some were really pedestrian and materialistic, of course. A child’s handwriting asked in French for PSG to prevail in this year’s Champions League. A family asked that their child get into Brown. A new couple just wanted a lot of money.
Most hopes were for standard but hardly trivial things — good health, long life, and prosperity for their whole family. Those wishes are for content people — their lives are generally good, and so all they ask is that nothing come along to upset it. More of the same, please! It’s reassuring that so many of the prayers fell into this category. And others asked for access to that life — people without families wanted to find love to start one, or someone to share the hard times with.
And then, others bore the residue of heartache. One man asked for nothing, but expressed the hope that his granddaughter was looking down upon him from wherever she may be, and that she took pride in her sister’s success. Another asked “I need help finding direction and focus. I do not want to be lost.” These little balsa panels seemed too light to bear their words.
Every panel is the same cut, the same shape, the same wood. They each cost the same 500 yen, which is about four bucks at the moment. They will be treated with the same reverence by the shrine during the ritual, whether it’s French soccer matches or lost granddaughters. And who can know what becomes of them afterwards? I suspect that the Brown admissions office and Champions League results will be unmoved by the influence of Emperor Meiji’s spirit. But whatever comfort is brought to a grandfather who had to attend his granddaughter’s funeral is worth the ritual. And maybe putting the words down onto wood will spark the direction that the lost soul is seeking. A lot of life, like Kyoto, involves trying to fake it until we make it.
As I was leaving the shrine, the sunset hit just the right angle that it lit up the tall canopy of trees from below, painting the roof of the forest in bright gold. Crows were loud here, and another type of bird unfamiliar to me chirped higher and louder, but they softened a little in the dying day. And then loudspeakers hidden in the trees crackled on, shouting at me in four languages that the shrine was closing soon. And one final lesson: Japan is very good at casting spells, but just as good at shattering them.