The island itself—today part of Hatsukaichi in Hiroshima Prefecture after a 2005 municipal merger—has long been counted among the most celebrated vistas in the archipelago. In 1643, the scholar Hayashi Gahō enshrined Itsukushima among the famed Three Views of Japan, a distinction that recognized not only a picturesque scene but a confluence of art, piety, and geography. That accolade still makes sense the moment you step ashore: the mountain rising behind you, the sea unfolding in front, and the shrine’s ceremonial forms suspended between earth and water.

Historically, the complex of Itsukushima Shrine reflects stages of patronage and renewal. The early date of 593 suggests that local worship on this sacred shore predates grand architecture, but by 1168 the Heian-era luminary Taira no Kiyomori had endowed the site with the graceful configuration that endures as its essence. His contribution was less about a single building than about orchestrating a shrine that could embrace the sea itself, allowing the tide to animate the precincts. Centuries later, the unifier Toyotomi Hideyoshi focused attention uphill, commissioning Senjō-kaku—literally the “pavilion of a thousand tatami”—a monumental hall whose lofty platform and open interior look out across the bay and down to the shrine below. This high-low pairing, courtly refinement by the water and warlord grandeur on the slope, forms Miyajima’s distinctive silhouette.

Architecturally, what strikes visitors first are the planes and thresholds that read like lines of poetry across the Seto Inland Sea. Offshore stands the shrine’s emblematic torii, planted in the intertidal zone; it seems to float at high tide and stands solitary at low tide when the seabed stretches out beyond it. The shrine itself is a composition of galleries and spaces conceived in conscious dialogue with these waters. We know from the island’s strong tides that the sea “fills areas underneath the shrine boardwalk” at high water; at low water, the air under the planking is exposed along with the mudflats, and the horizon seems to recede. In other words, the architecture is not simply near the sea—it is calibrated to its rhythms. The result is a script of thresholds: dry to damp, land to sea, approach to arrival. This dynamic is the secret of Itsukushima’s visual and spiritual drama.

The sacred landscape extends beyond the shrine with a constellation of temples and structures that trace the island’s religious breadth. Atop the slope sits Toyokuni Shrine, historically linked with Senjō-kaku, and accompanied by a striking five-storied pagoda—a vertical counterpoint to the horizontal lines of the coast. Nearby, Daiganji Temple is revered as one of the three most famous temples of Benzaiten, the deity associated with eloquence, music, and the arts. This pairing—Shinto shrine on the shore, Buddhist temples on the hill—speaks to the layered spiritual history of Japan, where traditions have long coexisted and conversed. Even the island’s nickname, Miyajima, compresses the idea that the entire place is a shrine, reinforcing a sense that the sacred here is geographic as much as architectural.

Culturally, the aura of Miyajima has been refreshed in every age. The Three Views of Japan designation by Hayashi Gahō in 1643 formalized a status the island had earned by reputation. In the early modern period and into today, the panorama of sea, island, and shrine has been a touchstone of Japanese aesthetics. The island’s hillside celebrates spring with cherry blossoms that scatter pale clouds across the upper slope, and autumn with maple leaf foliage that ignites the ravines in reds and golds. These seasonal displays are not incidental decoration; they are a reminder that Japanese sacred places are measured as much by their living environment as by their built forms.

Geographically, Itsukushima is set within Setonaikai National Park, and the waters around it are an integral part of the protected landscape. The Seto Inland Sea here is notable for strong tides, and the island’s heritage architecture turns that force into an ally. At low tide, “the bottom of the sea is exposed past the island’s torii.” The visual axis of gate and shrine is literally drawn on the sea floor. At high tide, those lines dissolve as the sea “fills areas underneath the shrine boardwalk,” and the shrine reads as a floating stage. From the promenade, you can watch these changes in minutes: reflections sharpen, colors deepen, and the architecture seems to breathe with the water’s rise and fall.

For the visitor, the most rewarding way to experience Miyajima is to give time to this rhythm. Arrive when the tide is low and notice how the shoreline expands; return as the sea swells and trace how the same corridors, lanterns, and platforms become part of a marine scene. Walk uphill to Senjō-kaku at Toyokuni Shrine; from its vast floor, framed by massive timbers, the view gathers the five-storied pagoda, the shrine roofs, and the gleaming strait into a single composition. Then seek the quieter precincts of Daiganji Temple, where devotion to Benzaiten adds a contemplative note to the island’s soundscape. Each step has a counterpart across the island: sea-level procession, hillside vantage, and, finally, the panorama that collapses all distances.

Institutionally, the island’s inclusion in Hatsukaichi situates it within the civic life of Hiroshima Prefecture, yet its identity remains distinct. The historic core, anchored by Itsukushima Shrine, underscores why the site is recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. UNESCO’s acknowledgment affirms more than architecture; it recognizes a cultural choreography in which landform, tide, and human ritual are inseparable. The island’s older municipal identity as Miyajima continues in everyday usage, a reminder that place-names can be as enduring as stone.

Stand again at the water’s edge as the light changes. The torii out in the strait traces a boundary that is both literal and poetic, the shrine’s boardwalks mark the joining of shore and sea, and the hills behind catch clouds of cherry in spring and flames of maple in fall. Everything you’ve seen—early origins perhaps as far back as 593, the Heian-era shaping under Taira no Kiyomori in 1168, the 16th-century ambition of Toyotomi Hideyoshi in Senjō-kaku, the scholarly canonization by Hayashi Gahō in 1643—adds depth to this moment. Itsukushima is not just an island, shrine, or collection of temples; it is a living dialogue with the Seto Inland Sea, renewed with every turn of the tide.