Meiji Jingu: wood and trees

Shinto godhood can be attained by humans, but they have to stand for something momentous. Tokugawa Iyeasu unified Japan, and was raised to a god after his death in 1616 CE. The Meiji emperor encouraged the modernization of Japan and was made a Shinto god in 1912, after his death. Their shrines cannot be more different. The Toshogu shrine in Nikko, for Tokugawa Iyeasu, is a lavish and overwhelming affair. The Meiji Jingu shrine in Tokyo has a spare and modern sensibility, although it is built in a traditional nagare hafu style.

When we walked in through the long tree lined path, the morning after the end of shrine festival, it was already clear that the day would be very hot. This was the Golden Week, and pandemic restrictions had just been removed. The place was more crowded than I’d ever seen before. The Family gasped at the size of the big gate, the Otorii, at the beginning of the last stretch of the path. It is made of plain wood. The only shine on it is in the three bronze representations of the chrysanthemum flowers on the upper transverse. Compare it to the size of the second gate (look at the size of the gate relative to the people in the photos) and you see why it is so impressive.

After the second gate you come to a well with water for symbolic purification. On this hot day I wet my hands and splashed some on my face. It felt good. In front of us was the entrance in plain ungilded and unpainted wood (the featured photo). The size is the first impressive thing about it, but we also stopped to see the beautiful joinery of the wooden roof. The carvings on the doors are also worth a look; the chrysanthemum is ubiquitous.

One of the most remarkable things about the Meiji Jingu is the 70 acres of forest that surround it and serve to dampen the noise of the city. The trees were donated from across Japan. There is an active band of gardeners, some of whom you can see at work if you look. The evening would have been a better time to walk through the woods. Now in the late morning, it was getting too hot. We admired the three camphor trees in the outer courtyard. Two of them are planted very close to each other and their canopies merge nicely. They are called the husband-and-wife trees. Shintoism is strong on family life, which is why you can see weddings here if you are lucky.

Since it was so crowded, I did not go up to the further part of the courtyard where the hoi polloi come up against a barrier stopping them from entering the inner courtyard. I’d taken photos of the main shrine building, and the brass hinges with chrysanthemum motifs on my last visit eight years ago. I hung around in the courtyard, while The Family investigated those sights. But soon we were interrupted by a wedding procession. That is a story I’ve already written about.