400 years ago, modern-day Tokyo was known as Edo, and it was already one of the biggest cities in the world, with a population approaching 1 million. However, it was on the verge of ecological collapse. Years of intense logging had led to massive deforestation.
The city now faced timber shortages and the impacts of severe erosion and frequent flooding that threatened food supplies. But over just a few decades, Edo will transform and become one of the most sustainable and efficient cities in history. So, how did this city that wasted nothing come about?
In 1467, Japan entered a series of continuous bloody civil wars that would last over a century. But in 1600, Tokugawa Ieyasu defeated his warlord rivals and unified Japan under his rule. This marked the beginning of the Tokugawa shogunate’s reign, which lasted from 1603 through 1867.
During this time, Ieyasu and the shoguns who succeeded him enacted a series of sweeping reforms that reshaped the country’s economy, landscape, and culture. Concerned over the growing influence of outside powers, the shoguns imposed severe limitations on foreign relations. They banned foreign traders from entering the country, and heavily restricted citizens from leaving.
To make up for the sudden decrease in imported goods, the Tokugawa shoguns invested heavily in increasing internal production while decreasing consumption and waste. These practices were not entirely new— they drew upon the Buddhist concept of mottainai, which emphasized not wasting resources and being satisfied with “just enough. ” Realizing the extent of ecological destruction impacting the capital city, Edo, the Tokugawa shoguns introduced limitations on logging and launched sprawling reforestation programs.
Local villagers were required— and later paid— to plant millions of trees. To curb demands for timber, strict rationing rules were introduced, and houses were built with standardized wooden components that could be disassembled and reused. Soon, entire industries grew around eliminating the city’s waste.
Residents used agricultural byproducts, like rice straw, to make rope and packaging material. Candle wax drippings were saved and remolded. Craftsmen repaired old umbrellas and worn-out sandals rather than tossing them.
Even human waste was collected and turned into fertilizer. Within households, families developed techniques to reuse or repurpose items rather than discarding them. Kimonos were continuously mended.
When the fabric was too frayed for repair, it was used to cover futons, then cut into diapers or cleaning cloths, before finally being burned as fuel. Artisans deftly repaired ceramics using kintsugi, where broken pieces are plastered together, and the fracture lines brushed with gold lacquer. A tradition known as boro developed, in which fragments of old cloth were sewn together to create beautifully patchworked garments that were then passed down for generations.
Meanwhile, poetry, theater, and literature flourished, as did the study of Chinese Confucianism and European scientific texts— which were welcomed in the country even as their authors were not. Yet, while the Tokugawa period was marked by achievements in sustainability and art, it wasn't without its flaws. Strict laws and regulations were enforced by harsh authoritarian rule.
It was a feudal society, rife with social and economic inequality. The majority peasant population, for example, was forced to pay an often-crippling rice tax, called nengu, to regional lords known as daimyo. And by the second half of the 19th century, the country faced rising inflation, destabilizing its economy and increasing external pressure, including the United States’ use of military power.
All of this forced Japan to reopen its doors to foreign trade and influence, and ultimately led to the end of the Tokugawa shogunate's reign. Despite these challenges, this period can serve as a powerful lesson. Edo's transformation from a city teetering on ecological collapse to a thriving cultural epicenter shows us that what’s broken can be repaired, and by doing so, we can create something even more beautiful.
Today, at a time when only 7% of the global economy is circular, Edo's history also reminds us that we can create economies driven not by consumption and waste, but rather by making the most of limited resources.
