The second key to understanding Shinto in Japan is the shrine (神社). The foundation of Shinto lies in the sacredness of nature. The belief that sacred energy resides in mountains, seas, forests, rivers, rocks, waterfalls, the sun, and the wind is at the root of Shinto. However, for the sacredness of nature to be integrated into people's lives, a space was needed to remember, honor, and repeatedly encounter it. This space is the shrine. A shrine is not merely a religious structure; it is a site of Japanese spirituality that connects nature and humanity, ancestors and descendants, and the community with the sacred.
Upon entering a shrine, the first thing one encounters is the torii (鳥居). This gate, often painted red or made of wood, serves as a powerful symbol of Shinto. The torii is not just an entrance; it marks the boundary between the mundane and the sacred. As individuals pass through the torii, they momentarily set aside the noise and desires of everyday life. They step back from the world of commerce, competition, anger, and fatigue, entering with a heart prepared to stand before the divine. Shinto is not a verbose religion, yet the torii speaks volumes, urging visitors to change their mindset.
The significance of the torii lies in Shinto's emphasis on space. Unlike Buddhism's sutras or Christianity's Bible, Shinto lacks a single authoritative scripture. Instead, it expresses itself through space, rituals, gestures, and repetition. Bowing before the torii, walking the worship path, washing hands and mouth, and bowing and clapping before the shrine are all acts of faith. The Japanese embrace the divine not through lengthy explanations but by lowering themselves within sacred spaces.
At the entrance of a shrine, there is usually a water basin known as temizuya or chozuya. Worshippers wash their hands and rinse their mouths there. This act is not merely hygienic; in Shinto, water symbolizes purification. As people navigate daily life, their minds become scattered, bodies dirty, and relationships strained. Before standing before the divine, they must first cleanse themselves. Washing hands signifies a desire for clarity in action, while rinsing the mouth indicates a commitment to careful speech. Shinto's purification rituals convey that to encounter the sacred, one must first empty oneself.
The basic etiquette of shrine worship is also deeply meaningful. Typically, it involves bowing twice, clapping twice, and bowing once more. While specific practices may vary by shrine, this fundamental structure embodies the spirit of Shinto. Bowing is an act of humility, clapping announces one's presence to the divine and awakens the heart, and the final bow expresses gratitude and commitment. This is not a plea for blessings but an act of self-restraint and a reaffirmation of one's heart before the sacred order.
Shrines usually consist of a main hall and an offering hall. The main hall is where the kami (神) is enshrined, while the offering hall is where people present their prayers. However, the essence of a shrine extends beyond its buildings. The surrounding forest, worship paths, ancient trees, stones, water, and wind are all integral parts of the shrine. Particularly, the forest surrounding the shrine exemplifies Shinto's view of nature. Shrines are not built within nature but are carefully crafted spaces to preserve its sacredness. The shrine's forest is not mere landscaping; it is a sacred grove.
Ise Jingu (伊勢神宮) is a prime example of such Shinto spaces. Considered one of the most sacred shrines for the Japanese, it is known as the home of the sun goddess Amaterasu and has deep ties to the Japanese imperial family. However, Ise Jingu's significance goes beyond its authority. It is not about preserving old buildings indefinitely; rather, it is rebuilt periodically to continue traditions. While the structures are renewed, their form and spirit endure. The wood may change, but the craftsmanship remains. This reflects Shinto's philosophy of renewal, suggesting that eternity lies not in clinging to the old but in continuing anew without losing spirit.
Fushimi Inari Taisha (伏見稲荷神社) in Kyoto showcases the popular face of Shinto. The sight of countless red torii lining the mountain paths is one of the most recognized symbols of Japan. Inari, the deity of agriculture, abundance, and commerce, has long been revered. In agrarian societies, people prayed for bountiful harvests, while in commercial societies, they sought prosperity in business. Thus, Shinto's kami are not confined to abstract doctrines; they are woven into the fabric of people's lives, work, food, and dreams. Shinto remains close to the lives of the Japanese.
Meiji Jingu (明治神宮) in Tokyo carries another significance. Dedicated to Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken, it is nestled within a vast forest in the heart of the city. Meiji Jingu illustrates how Shinto is connected to the modern state and shows how contemporary Japanese seek silence of nature even in urban settings. Many people visit the shrine for their first worship of the New Year, hold weddings, and mark significant life events there. Shinto continues to thrive within the rituals of Japanese life.
Shrines are also tied to ancestor worship. In Shinto, ancestors are not merely the deceased; they are the roots of families and communities, watching over the lives of their descendants. Ancestor worship reminds individuals that they are not solitary beings but part of a continuum. We are descendants of someone and ancestors to others. Shinto's ancestor worship strengthens this sense of continuity, emphasizing that today's individual is not disconnected from the past but is part of a lineage of memory, blood, and community.
From a Korean perspective, this notion is not unfamiliar. We also have traditions such as mountain spirits, village shrines, and ancestor rites. The large trees at village entrances are considered sacred, and offerings are made to mountains and rivers. East Asian agrarian civilizations did not separate nature from ancestors. The shrine culture of Shinto institutionalizes and spatializes this East Asian sensibility in a uniquely Japanese way. However, Japan has maintained this in the form of shrines, while Korea has preserved it diversely within Confucianism, Buddhism, shamanism, and folk beliefs.
The power of shrines lies in repetition. People visit shrines at the New Year, bring newborns for blessings, and return for milestones such as school entrance, employment, marriage, and business ventures. This cannot be dismissed as mere superstition. At significant moments, individuals need to realign their hearts before a greater order. Shrines serve as stations for such reflection, allowing people to pause in their busy lives, cleanse themselves, bow, express gratitude, and begin anew.
However, shrine culture has not always existed purely as a natural spirituality. While shrines were the center of local communities, they have also been linked to state power in modern times. It is crucial to view both the original meaning of shrine culture and its potential historical distortions with balance. Shrines can be beautiful spaces connecting nature, ancestors, and community, but they can also become dangerous mobilization tools when intertwined with nationalism. Spirituality should humble humanity, not become a tool for absolute power.
■ Matsuri: The Spiritual Festivals that Energize Japanese Communities
If shrines represent spatial spirituality, then matsuri (祭り) embodies dynamic spirituality. While shrines create sacred spaces, matsuri brings that sacredness into the community. Matsuri is a festival, but it is more than mere entertainment. It is a ritual where the divine meets humanity, a communal act of self-affirmation, and a cultural device that binds together seasons, labor, and memory. Understanding matsuri is essential to grasping the communal spirit of the Japanese.
Matsuri begins with gratitude and prayer. In agrarian societies, humans depended on nature. Rain had to arrive on time, typhoons had to pass, rice had to ripen, and the sea had to be abundant. While people worked hard, they could not obtain food without nature's permission. Thus, villagers prayed for abundance and offered thanks after harvests. Matsuri was born from this rhythm of gratitude and prayer, representing a way for humans to humble themselves before nature.
Matsuri often features a mikoshi (神輿), a portable shrine. People carry the mikoshi, believed to be the vessel of the deity, through the village. The sounds of drums and flutes, cheers, parades, dances, food, lanterns, and flags create a vibrant scene. This is not merely a spectacle; it signifies that the divine does not remain confined to the shrine but traverses the entire community. The deity is not trapped within the shrine but emerges into the alleys, markets, homes, fields, and beaches. Matsuri extends sacredness throughout the community.
In this process, individuals reaffirm their connection to the community. Matsuri cannot be done alone. Some carry the mikoshi, others prepare food, some clear the path, others care for children, some play drums, and others offer prayers. The festival embodies a hierarchy of roles. Everyone is both a protagonist and a supporter. This is the social power of matsuri. People who usually live separately come together as one village through the festival.
The sense of order and cooperation in Japanese society is deeply connected to this tradition of matsuri. Matsuri teaches people about communal rules. If one acts independently, the procession collapses. If one neglects their role, the whole is disrupted. When carrying the mikoshi, everyone must synchronize their movements. No one can exert excessive force, nor can anyone fall behind. This is a training for the community. While matsuri takes the form of enjoyment, it also embodies ethics of responsibility and cooperation.
Matsuri serves as a repository of regional identity. Each region in Japan has its own unique matsuri. Festivals like Kyoto's Gion Matsuri (祇園祭), Osaka's Tenjin Matsuri (天神祭), Tokyo's Kanda Matsuri (神田祭), Aomori's Nebuta Matsuri, and Sapporo's Snow Festival reflect the history, climate, and livelihoods of their areas. Some festivals began to ward off epidemics and disasters, while others have continued to pray for bountiful catches and harvests. Matsuri is how regions remember themselves.
In this sense, matsuri is not merely a tourist attraction. While many matsuri have become vital resources for tourism and local economies today, their roots lie in communal memory. The fact that a village has maintained the same festival for hundreds of years signifies that it has not forgotten its story. Festivals preserve memories that are easily lost in physical form. They represent a history that is not read but lived through walking, carrying, singing, eating, and dancing.
Shinto's ancestor worship also comes alive within matsuri. Many Japanese festivals honor not only nature deities but also the memories of ancestors and forebears who have protected the village. Ancestors do not remain in the past; they live within the ethics and order of the community. Through festivals, descendants express gratitude to their ancestors and realize that they too will one day be remembered. This creates a community across time, uniting the living and the dead, the past and the present, and the future within a single order.
The relationship between Shinto and Buddhism is also significant here. For centuries, Shinto and Buddhism have influenced each other in Japan, a phenomenon known as Shinbutsu Shugo. Deities have sometimes been interpreted as manifestations of Buddhas, and Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples have coexisted in the same space. People pray for blessings in life at shrines while entrusting matters of death and the afterlife to Buddhism, harmonizing their religious practices in daily life. While this may seem contradictory doctrinally, it has been a natural coexistence in practice. The Japanese worldview prioritizes practical harmony over exclusive faith declarations.
This religious flexibility is both a strength and a limitation of Japanese culture. The strength lies in tolerance and harmony, allowing various beliefs and rituals to coexist in daily life. However, the limitation is the ambiguity of principles. When religion remains merely a custom of life, it may not sufficiently reflect on the risks of its combination with power. The history of Shinto's entanglement with modern nationalism must be revisited from this perspective.
However, what we must focus on is how shrines and matsuri have sustained the lives of the Japanese. Shrines are spaces of stillness, while matsuri represent times of movement. Shrines are places for individuals to cleanse their hearts, while matsuri are times for communities to align their bodies. Shrines humble individuals before nature and ancestors, while matsuri teach how to live together with neighbors. Together, these elements have deeply rooted Shinto in the lives of the Japanese.
Modern society is rapidly dismantling communities. Urbanization weakens villages, and digital civilization connects people while simultaneously isolating them. People are connected all day but are losing a sense of deep belonging. In this era, shrines and matsuri pose questions: Is individual freedom sufficient? Can healthy individuals exist without the memory of community? Can society endure without festivals and rituals?
Korean society cannot escape these questions either. We also have traditions of village communities, including village rites, communal labor, seasonal customs, and holidays. However, rapid industrialization and urbanization have led to the disappearance of many of these practices. There is no need to unconditionally envy Japan's matsuri. However, we should reconsider the power of rituals and festivals that maintain community. People do not live by bread alone. They do not live by work alone. People become part of a community through shared memories, gratitude, and joy.
The greatest lesson from shrines and matsuri is the 'restoration of relationships.' It is about reconnecting the relationships between humans and nature, the living and the ancestors, individuals and communities, and the mundane and the sacred. Modern individuals have gained much but lost relationships. Nature has become a resource, ancestors have become mere photographs, neighbors have become anonymous others, and festivals have become consumer events. Shinto's shrines and matsuri prompt us to rethink these lost connections.
Of course, we do not need to accept Shinto as it is. Shinto, shaped by Japan's history and culture, belongs to Japan. However, the reverence for nature, the memory of ancestors, the responsibility to the community, the sense of purifying space, and the culture of celebrating seasons are all values worth reflecting on across East Asia. We should learn from the good and be wary of the dangerous. This is the attitude of truth, justice, and freedom.
Ultimately, the second face of Shinto is community. While 20 aspects of Shinto speak of the sacredness of nature, the 21st aspect shows how that sacredness lives and moves among people. Shrines create sacred spaces, torii establish boundaries, purification rituals cleanse the heart, worship humbles humanity, and matsuri reunite the community. All these elements together form the spiritual essence of the Japanese way of life.
* This article has been translated by AI.
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