One of the first questions international visitors to Japan ask is: 'What is the difference between a shrine and a temple?' The short answer is that shrines (jinja) are Shinto and temples (tera or ji) are Buddhist. But the full answer reveals something far more interesting about Japanese religious history.
The quickest visual clue is the gate. Shrines have torii — the distinctive open arch structures, often painted vermilion. Temples have sanmon — roofed gate structures that may house fierce guardian figures (nio). At the entrance, shrines typically have komainu (guardian lion-dogs), while temples may have nio statues. Shrines have a temizuya (water purification basin) near the entrance; temples may or may not have one.
The buildings themselves differ in character. Shrine architecture tends toward natural materials — unpainted wood, thatched roofs, clean lines. You will see chigi (forked roof finials) and katsuogi (ridge logs) on the roof of the honden. Temple architecture often shows more ornamentation, with painted and carved details, tiled roofs, and influences from Chinese and Korean Buddhist traditions. However, there are many exceptions: some shrines are quite ornate (like Nikko Toshogu), and some temples are severely austere (like Zen temples).
The religious practice differs fundamentally. At shrines, you clap your hands when praying (the two-clap sequence). At temples, you do not clap — you simply press your palms together in silence. Shrines burn no incense; temples often have an incense burner where visitors waft smoke over themselves for purification. Shrines enshrine kami (Shinto deities); temples enshrine Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and other figures from the Buddhist pantheon.
Priests look different too. Shinto priests (kannushi/shinshoku) wear distinctive white or colored robes and tall black hats (eboshi) during ceremonies. Buddhist monks may have shaved heads and wear subdued-colored robes. Shrines employ miko (shrine maidens) in their characteristic white-and-red attire; temples have no equivalent.
Functionally, shrines and temples serve different roles in Japanese life. Shinto is associated with life — births, growth, community celebrations, and the living world. Buddhism is associated with death — funerals, memorial services, and the afterlife. This division is so entrenched that the Japanese expression 'born Shinto, die Buddhist' captures the pattern accurately: a baby's first shrine visit is Shinto, but a person's funeral is almost always Buddhist.
Here is where the story gets fascinating. For over a thousand years — from roughly the 6th century to 1868 — this clean distinction did not exist. During the long era of shinbutsu-shugo (Shinto-Buddhist syncretism), kami and Buddhas were worshipped side by side. Many institutions were simultaneously shrine and temple. Buddhist monks chanted sutras in front of Shinto altars. Kami were interpreted as local manifestations of universal Buddhist deities through the honji-suijaku theory.
The separation we see today is largely the product of a political decision. In 1868, the Meiji government, seeking to create a unified national identity centered on the emperor's divine lineage, issued the shinbutsu-bunri (separation of Shinto and Buddhism) decree. This forcibly dismantled the syncretic institutions, destroyed Buddhist elements within shrines, and created the clear categories of 'shrine' and 'temple' that we now take for granted.
Traces of the old syncretism remain visible to those who know where to look. Some shrines have architectural elements that are clearly Buddhist in origin. Some temples enshrine figures that look suspiciously like kami. And the ease with which Japanese people visit both shrines and temples without any sense of contradiction preserves, in cultural practice, the unity that Meiji politics tried to destroy.
For visitors, the practical takeaway is simple: both shrines and temples welcome you. Observe the etiquette of each (clap at shrines, don't clap at temples), approach with respect, and enjoy the distinct beauty and atmosphere of both. Understanding that the 'difference' between them is partly an artificial creation of modern politics only makes the experience richer.