Visiting Itsukushima Shrine – often counted among Japan’s three most scenic spots – reveals a rich cultural philosophy that goes beyond simply sight-seeing.
This UNESCO World Heritage site is known for its vermilion-lacquered shrine buildings and iconic “floating” torii gate. Together, these structures blend seamlessly with the surrounding sea and forests, creating a harmony with nature that’s uniquely Japanese. When you step onto the island, you’ll find yourself entering a fluid world of change and coexistence, where everyday life and the sacred meet in a spiritual exchange beyond ordinary boundaries.
As soon as you step onto the shrine grounds where sea and structure unite, you realize this place defies the Western idea that buildings must be 'rooted to the earth.' At high tide, the shrine appears to float as seawater flows under its floors. At low tide, rippling sand patterns spread across the exposed seabed. This dynamic ebb and flow reflects a Japanese view of nature as a co-star, not just a backdrop（*1）.
As you walk along its connected corridors and change viewpoints, you won’t encounter a fixed, one-point perspective like in Western paintings. Instead, each turn reveals a uniquely Japanese aesthetic that links time and space like layers of overlapping images（*2）.
It’s easy to fall into the mindset of thinking "everything here is photo-ready," but at Itsukushima Shrine, the changing scenery that no photograph can fully capture becomes part of the art. It gently challenges you to rethink how you see and appreciate what’s around you.
In English, a gate just marks an entry. The Japanese word torii, however, suggests that “beyond this point lies an unseen world.” The famous vermilion torii at Itsukushima appears to float on the water, quietly inviting you to leave behind your everyday self. It acts as a "filter" between the ordinary world and the sacred（*3）. As you watch the tide change, the torii’s position shifts slightly – reminding us that something solid doesn’t have to be immovable. This paradox shows that change can be a form of strength.
Even the gate’s massive pillars balance on heavy stones; it’s not about brute force, but distributing weight in a wise, sustainable way. When you notice these details, you may think, 'I never knew there was so much behind this gate.' It’s a glimpse into Japanese wisdom and craft – far beyond a simple landmark.
Western carving often showcases status with lavish ornamentation. Miyajima’s traditional carving, however, cherishes empty space and subtle texture, breathing gentle life into everyday objects. In a carving workshop, the moment you sink a blade into the wood and smell its fresh scent, you realize this craft is not about "conquering the material," but "dialoguing with it." This East Asian approach to craftsmanship focuses on harmony rather than dominance（*1）.
You might hear the craftsman stress that "merely copying a design only tastes the very surface of the culture." It highlights that to truly honor a design, we must grasp the deeper spirit behind each shape and motif. In this hands-on lesson, you learn a Japanese saying: 'If you embrace another culture's design, you should absorb its meaning too.' Suddenly, the little wooden souvenir in your hand becomes more than an ornament – it becomes a storyteller of its own.
European orchestras often aim for one unified harmony, but gagaku is different. In this ancient court music, each instrument plays its own rhythm and breath, creating a gentle, swaying sound. The notes don't all align; instead, they leave space for lingering echoes, giving listeners "room to receive the music"（*2）. It’s a sharp contrast to Western classical music’s pursuit of perfect synchronicity. During an evening performance, the ensemble’s director explains the philosophy: "Harmony arises when you don’t insist on perfection."
You leave with a new insight: a healthy society, like an ensemble, thrives when different beats coexist, rather than when everything is identical.
Western luxury often means all the latest gadgets, but Miyajima’s idea of indulgence might surprise you. At a place like the Iwaso Inn, you’ll see sleek tablets at check-in, yet by the window you can relax on a sofa with Momijidani (Autumn Leaf Valley) unfolding outside just as it did in the Edo period – framed like a living painting（*1）. Here, technology and tradition are not in conflict; instead, they blend together in harmony. It’s like the "aesthetics of coexistence" you see in hybrid cars.
When a staff member reminds you that 'the moss in the garden is something to gaze at, not step on,' you realize Miyajima offers alternatives to human-centered design. It’s a clue to creating sustainable landscapes where nature remains unbroken（*2）.
Fresh local oysters, simply grilled and finished with a squeeze of lemon, highlight Miyajima’s flavors. This "less-is-more" approach contrasts with Western dishes laden with sauces. By tasting the oyster itself, you feel a Japanese philosophy at work: honoring the ingredient (nature) over the sauce (culture)（*3）.
Meanwhile, at Itoki Coffee, a third-wave coffee spot, the barista will tell you the origin of each single-origin bean as you sip. Your coffee becomes a journey through taste and story, from bean to land（*4）. This blend of local and global influences reflects a Japanese flexibility: rather than rejecting outside ideas, they are adapted to fit the local context.
Public transit in Japan has always prided itself on "running on time." For example, the train from Hiroshima to Miyajimaguchi is powered by renewable energy – a uniquely Japanese way of balancing punctuality and decarbonization.
When you step off the ferry, you can hop on a bicycle to explore the island, an easy switch that lightly challenges a "car-centric" mindset and connects you physically with the landscape（*1）. This building-block approach, adding small solutions where possible, differs from large-scale mandates. As a traveler, you'll enjoy reducing your carbon footprint without sacrificing your freedom to explore.
On Miyajima, beach cleanup does more than just collect litter: volunteers even catalog debris and share the data with researchers, blending scientific methods with local wisdom（*2）. This community-driven model isn't about locking heritage away behind glass; it keeps people involved so cultural treasures stay alive.
In one mudflat research program open to travelers, participants are asked to "leave behind any sand or shells you’d like to take home." It’s a powerful lesson that even small actions can affect local ecosystems. Afterward, you might rethink the usual travel habits of collecting souvenirs and photos.
You’ll find that as you wander around Itsukushima Shrine and the island of Miyajima, you naturally shift from being a "tourist observing a culture" to engaging in a shared dialogue. The floating shrine—where sea and land meet—blends the sacred with the everyday, transcending simple dualities. It teaches us to coexist with differences intact, rather than judging which is better.
When you head home with photos and souvenirs in hand, what stays with you isn’t just the visual splendor, but the joy of experiencing the world from multiple perspectives. Carry this gentle outlook beyond your trip, and it will surely bring new insights and surprises on your next journey as well.