Why There Are 30,000 Inari Shrines and Who Paid for the Gates

A Deity of Rice That Became a Deity of Money Inari is associated first with rice — with the grain, the harvest and the growing of it. In an agricultural society that is the most important thing there is, and shrines to Inari spread accordingly.

The transition that explains the modern picture is that rice was wealth. It was the medium in which taxes were assessed and stipends paid, and as Japan's economy commercialised, a deity of the harvest became a deity of prosperity generally, then of business specifically. That is why Inari shrines now stand on the roofs of department stores, in the courtyards of factories, and behind shopping streets in every city in the country.

The result is that Inari is enshrined at more sites than any other deity in Japan — tens of thousands of them, most of them tiny and tended by a handful of local people or by one company.

The Foxes Are Not the Deity This is the single most common misunderstanding. The foxes are kitsune, the messengers and servants of Inari, not Inari itself. They stand in pairs at the gates and along the paths, and what they hold in mouth or paw is information: a key for the rice granary, a jewel representing the deity's power, a scroll for knowledge, a sheaf of rice for the harvest itself.

The offering that goes with them is abura-age, fried tofu, which folklore holds foxes favour. That is why the noodle dish topped with it is called kitsune udon, and why you will see small packets of it left at the smaller shrines.

The Gates and the Transaction The torii tunnel is not a designed installation. Each gate was donated, by a company or an individual, in gratitude for a wish granted or in hope that one will be, and the donor's name and the date are painted on the back. They are added continuously, and older ones are replaced as the wood fails, which means the tunnel is a living structure with turnover rather than a monument.

This is why walking the route in reverse is worth doing. Going up you are inside a photograph; coming down you are reading a register of who wanted what, when, and how much they were prepared to pay for the hope of it. Smaller gates are the size of a hand and are stacked in their thousands at the sub-shrines along the mountain.

The Mountain Is the Point The famous section is the first stretch, and the crowds are almost entirely concentrated in it. Behind it the path continues up Mount Inari — a couple of hours of climbing, through a network of paths, small altars, stone foxes, moss and, at the upper reaches, near-total quiet.

The mountain itself is the object of worship; the shrine at its foot is the entrance. The Yotsutsuji intersection partway up gives a wide view over Kyoto and is where most casual visitors turn back, which means everything above it is essentially empty. Going early or late compounds the effect, and the shrine is open around the clock, which is unusual and is the single most useful fact about visiting it.

The Ones Behind Your Local Shopping Street The famous shrine is worth seeing, and the small ones are where the tradition is least performed. There are Inari shrines squeezed between buildings, up alleyways, on rooftops and at field edges throughout Japan, most with a pair of weathered foxes, a couple of gates and an offering box.

Finding one by accident and recognising what it is — because you can read the foxes — is a considerably better experience than queueing for a photograph, and it costs nothing.