In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun – The Story of Amaterasu
A goddess “rewritten” countless times
Long before the goddess Amaterasu (天照大神) became the central figure of shintō, Japan was a land of many suns. Archaeology, myth, and language point to scattered solar cults — the Ama fishermen around Ise offered morning sacrifices to the rising sun, farmers in the valleys worshipped its cyclical light, and in ancient tales, we find motifs of women conceiving from a sunbeam. It was only in the 5th–6th centuries, with the growing power of Yamato, that these diverse local traditions were fused into a single narrative. Amaterasu became a woman, and a divine imperial goddess — the sacred ancestress of the ruling line and the axis around which an ideology of unity was built. The shrine of Ise Jingū, reconstructed every twenty years in the ritual of shikinen sengū (most recently in 2013, next in 2033), enshrined the sacred mirror Yata no Kagami, while selected imperial princesses, the saio (斎王), served as ritual intermediaries between the human world and the light of the goddess. From that point onward, Amaterasu was no longer merely a myth — she became the foundation of authority and the identity of the Yamato (Japanese) people.
During the Meiji era (1868–1912), her role was rewritten once more. In a rapidly modernizing state, Amaterasu became the symbol of national unity and the divine origin of the emperor, and thus a tool for legitimizing power reclaimed from the hands of the shoguns. The Kojiki and Nihon Shoki were incorporated into the education system, and the Imperial Rescript on Education fostered the belief that Japan was the land of the gods. Amaterasu, once a communal deity, was harnessed by the machinery of state ideology — her radiance was meant to illuminate not individuals, but the nation itself. Yet, the early 20th century brought a new perspective: for the women of the Seitōsha movement and their leader, Hiratsuka Raichō, Amaterasu was not an imperial figure, but an archetype of women’s lost autonomy.
In the first issue of the journal Seitō, Raichō wrote:
"In the beginning, woman was the Sun.
Today, she is the Moon,
living by borrowed light."
Raichō reinterpreted the myth of Amaterasu’s cave: the goddess hiding away from the world became a metaphor for the exclusion of women, and the mirror that lured her out symbolized rediscovering one’s own identity. Her call was unambiguous — a woman should not be the moon that reflects someone else’s brilliance but the sun that shines from within. In this sense, Amaterasu becomes a symbol not only of divinity but of subjectivity. The myth, which for centuries cemented political order, became the foundation of emancipation and feminism. And perhaps that is why it remains so alive today: it keeps returning to a question that concerns us all — do I shine with my own light, or merely reflect another’s? So let us now trace the story of this extraordinary goddess.
The name of the goddess
The name Amaterasu carries within it an entire cosmos of meaning — it is not only the name of the goddess but also a poetic definition of her function within the order of the world. In its classical form, it is written as 天照大神 (Amaterasu-ōmikami), which can be rendered literally as “The Great Goddess Who Illuminates the Heavens.” The very writing of the name implies divinity of the highest order, an entity that not only inhabits the heavens but becomes their very light.
The first character, 天 (ama or ten), means “heaven” — both in the physical and metaphysical sense. In classical Japanese, ama referred to heaven as the domain of the gods, but also to the celestial order upon which the harmony of the world depends. The second character, 照 (terasu), comes from the verb terasu — “to illuminate, to brighten, to dispel darkness.” Together, they evoke the image of a being whose light sustains the rhythm of life, defines the order of day and night, and serves as the source of vitality. The final element, 大神 (ōmikami), is an honorific title: ō — “great,” kami — “deity.” Thus, the full name points to someone standing above other gods, endowed with a unique status within shintō.
Sources also record a shorter form: 天照 (Amaterasu). Interestingly, this name is grammatically derived from the verb amateru (“to shine in the heavens”) in the honorific form. This means that the goddess’s name itself is an action — an eternal, unbroken shining. In this way, language expresses not only her identity but the very essence of her existence. Amaterasu “is” light, and at the same time “shines” — her name and her being are inseparable.
In mythological sources such as the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki, we also find other designations for the goddess. One of the oldest is Ōhirume-muchi no kami (大日孁貴神), which can be translated as “The Great Noble Being of the Sun.” This archaic name suggests that she may have been venerated not so much as an individual goddess, but as the embodiment of the sun itself — its life-giving force, rhythm, and radiance. In even earlier accounts, we also encounter the form Amateru, stripped of any marker of gender. This is a crucial clue: at the dawn of her worship, Amaterasu may have been perceived as a gender-neutral deity, and only later, influenced by the rise of priestesses and female rulers in Ise, did her image acquire an explicitly feminine aspect (we will return to this point later).
Several key shintō terms are inseparably tied to the name Amaterasu. Among the most significant are the Ama (海人 or 海部) — “people of the sea,” the coastal dwellers around Ise whose local sun cult likely shaped the earliest conceptions of the goddess. Their rituals — offerings of fish, seaweed, and sake at sunrise — formed the spiritual foundation of what would later become Ise Jingū, the holiest sanctuary of Amaterasu. Another symbol of profound importance is the Yata no Kagami (八咫鏡) — the “Yata Mirror,” one of the Three Sacred Treasures of Japan (Sanshu no Jingi). According to myth, it was this mirror that the gods used to lure Amaterasu from her cave after her conflict with Susanoo (more on this mythological episode later: Goddess Uzume dances naked and, with her sacred antics, saves us from sorrowful seriousness – Japanese mythology, how timely today). The mirror is still enshrined at Ise to this day and symbolizes truth, purity, and the light of awareness.
From a philosophical perspective, the name Amaterasu goes far beyond “goddess of the sun.” In Japanese culture, light symbolizes life, consciousness, and order, but also the revelation of what is hidden. The myth of Amaterasu is therefore not merely the story of a deity — it is a metaphor for existence itself. Just as her name means “that which eternally shines,” so too is human life and society an endless cycle of emerging from darkness into light.
The origins of Amaterasu’s cult
Before Amaterasu
Before the name Amaterasu blazed across Japan’s heavens, the archipelago was a mosaic of small, distinct sun cults. In the times preceding the centralization of shintō, there was no single supreme solar goddess — different communities worshipped their own local deities, giving them names and weaving narratives shaped by the landscapes they inhabited. This “Japan of many solarities” appears in the sources as a land filled with tales of light, fire, and cosmic rhythm.
Among the preserved legends, one stands out: the tale of seven suns, which one day appeared simultaneously in the sky, scorching the earth with their fierce radiance. Unable to endure the heat, the people turned to Amanojaku — a mythical giant and trickster, who shot down the excess suns with his bow until only one remained in the sky. Interestingly, similar motifs appear in the mythologies of Southeast Asian peoples, as well as in Chinese tales of the hero Hou Yi. Japanese solar myths did not emerge in isolation — they were part of a broader, transcultural sphere of imagination in which the sun served as the axis of cosmic order.
Another type of narrative revolved around conception by a sunbeam. One tale preserved in the Kojiki tells of a girl who became pregnant by sunlight and gave birth to a red stone. This stone later transformed into a woman — Akaruhime — who became the wife of Prince Ame-no-Hiboko from Shilla (modern Korea). This motif is significant, for it symbolically links sunlight with life itself and points to the cultural ties between early Japan and the Korean Peninsula. In the kingdoms of Shilla, Koguryŏ, and Paekche, it was believed that rulers were descended directly from a solar deity — and as Matsumae Takeshi emphasizes, this model of legitimizing authority also permeated Japan.
This multitude of myths and local sun stories suggests that the cult of Amaterasu did not arise suddenly, nor from a single source. It was instead the result of a slow synthesis of many traditions, rooted in agricultural, fishing, and maritime communities. Early Japan did not know a singular “goddess of the sun” — it knew many tales of light. Amaterasu only later became the one who “shines the brightest.”
Amaterasu as the Deity of the Ama People
When we look at the map of ancient sanctuaries, almost all paths lead to Ise — the place that today stands at the very heart of Amaterasu’s cult. Yet, in the time before the rise of the Yamato state, this was not the center of imperial shintō, but a local sphere of rituals belonging to the Ama people (海人 / 海部) — ancient fishermen and sailors whose lives depended on the movements of the sun, the moon, and the tides.
According to the Japanese historian and scholar of religion Matsumae Takeshi (松前 健, 1929–2002), it was the Ama who were the first to worship Amateru — the primordial, gender-neutral form of the solar deity that, over time, transformed into the Amaterasu we know today. For the Ama, sunlight had a practical, navigational meaning: it dictated the rhythm of fishing, the directions of sea routes, and the time to return to harbor. Their rituals were thus intimately tied to the sea and the sky.
Archaeology supports this thesis. Near today’s Ise Jingū, remains of early shrines and offering sites dating back to the 5th century CE have been discovered. Among them were traces of rituals in which food, sake, and straw-woven rings were offered to the sun. Some of these traditions survive to this day: for instance, at Futami Okitama Jinja, near Ise, offerings of braided ropes are still made to the rising sun, symbolizing the boundary between the sacred and the profane.
The geographical symbolism here is profoundly eloquent. Ise lies on the eastern coast of Japan, facing directly toward the rising sun. For the Ama, this was the place where the day began earliest, where the first rays of dawn touched the earth. This “gateway of the rising sun” gave the rituals of Ise a unique significance. It was here that the transformation began — from a local fishermen’s deity to the central goddess of state shintō.
The language itself offers a revealing clue. In the oldest sources, Amaterasu is often referred to as Amateru, which, in its verbal form, means “that which shines in the heavens.” The absence of any gender marker suggests that, at first, the deity was not imagined in human form. She was seen rather as the phenomenon of light itself — a cosmic principle, not an anthropomorphic figure. It was only later, with the growing importance of priestesses at Ise and the development of the saio system (imperial princesses serving as “brides of the deity”), that the divine light was given a distinctly feminine face.
Thus, long before Amaterasu became associated with the emperor and was elevated to the throne of the gods, her cult grew out of a living relationship between humans, the sea, the sunrise, and light itself. She was the guide of fishermen, the guardian of the morning horizon, the goddess who illuminated the sea routes. Only later did she become the symbol of the state.
The “Elevation” of Amaterasu
The process by which Amaterasu became the central deity of the Japanese pantheon was long and deeply intertwined with the political project of the Yamato clan. In the earliest phases of Japan’s history, solar worship was a fragmented phenomenon: different regions revered their own local sun deities, often linked to agrarian, fishing, and funerary rites.
It was only in the 5th–6th centuries that the Yamato clan began a process of mythological centralization. This was an era of rapid state formation, and a strong, unifying symbol of authority was needed. In this context, the deity venerated locally at Ise was chosen and reimagined as the divine ancestress of the imperial line. In practice, this was a process of politicizing religion: the goddess became a cornerstone of the new Yamato ideology, and the myth of her divine origin served to legitimize imperial power.
During this period, the gradual feminization of Amaterasu’s image also took place. According to Matsumae Takeshi’s research, her original form may have been gender-neutral or even masculine — as indicated by the earlier form of her name, Amateru (天照), which carries no gender distinction. However, the newly introduced ritual system involving the saio priestesses had a profound impact on how Amaterasu was imagined. The saio were unmarried imperial princesses sent to Ise Jingū to serve the goddess as her mediums and symbolic brides. Their presence, sustained over generations, increasingly shaped the perception of Amaterasu as distinctly feminine — an image that became fixed in later tradition.
The shrine of Ise Jingū (伊勢神宮) became the heart of Amaterasu’s cult. According to legend, it was founded by Princess Yamato-hime, guided by the goddess’s oracle, yet archaeological studies suggest that the origins of the sanctuary date back to the mid-Kofun period (5th century CE). In the oldest excavated layers, traces of rituals have been found centered around the so-called shin-no-mihashira (心御柱) — the “sacred pillar,” around which the early cult was focused. Only later were new symbols introduced — among them the Yata no Kagami (八咫鏡), the mirror that is now one of the Three Sacred Treasures of Japan — which we associate so closely with Amaterasu today.
As a result, Amaterasu became not only the goddess of the sun but also the divine source of authority, a symbol of national unity, and the keystone between mythology and politics.
Amaterasu Enters Politics
7th–9th Century
The sun over the Nara Plain began to shine brighter in the 7th century, and this was no mere metaphor. This was the moment when the local deity of the Ama fishermen from Ise became something far greater — a symbol of Yamato unity, a political instrument, and the divine mother of emperors. Archaeological findings confirm that as early as the 5th century, solar rituals were performed in the Ise region, connected to the sacred central pillar of the shrine, the shin-no-mihashira, buried deep beneath the main pavilion. Research suggests that, originally, it was not a goddess with feminine traits who was venerated here, but rather a neutral — or even masculine — spirit of the sun. It was only later that Yamato politics “feminized” the deity to fit the narrative of the emperors’ sacred genealogy.
A decisive turning point came with the compilation of two foundational texts — the Kojiki (712) and the Nihon Shoki (720). Commissioned by the Yamato court, these works were designed to legitimize imperial rule. The myth of Amano-Iwato, the cave where Amaterasu hides from the world after quarreling with her brother Susanoo, is more than just a story about cosmic order — it is a political manifesto. The world plunges into chaos and darkness when the goddess retreats, and order is restored only when Amaterasu emerges — just as Japan, “illuminating the world,” is brought into harmony through the emperor, the direct descendant of the goddess.
Thus, emperors ceased to be merely political leaders and became living links between heaven and earth. The choice of Ise as the center of the cult was also a strategic decision: the region lay to the east, facing the rising sun, and lacked powerful local clans that could compete with Yamato. This made it possible to absorb the local cult and transform it into the cornerstone of a nationwide ideology.
It was during this period that the institution of the saio — ritual princesses — was developed. According to tradition, each new empress of the Yamato dynasty would select an unmarried imperial princess, who, after undergoing a lengthy period of ritual purification, would travel to Ise Jingū to serve as the high priestess and medium of Amaterasu. These saio were not merely “voices of the goddess” but her symbolic incarnations. Over time, this powerful image of the female priestess at the heart of the cult contributed to reshaping Amaterasu’s identity into that of a goddess — the mother of Japan — a vision that became fixed in the iconography and rituals of the Nara period.
Amaterasu and Buddhism
When Buddhism entered Japan in the 6th century, bringing with it complex cosmologies, Amaterasu was neither rejected nor replaced. On the contrary, she was integrated into the new religious framework. Under the doctrine of honji suijaku (本地垂迹), which became widespread from the 9th century onward, shintō deities were interpreted as “local manifestations” of Buddhist divinities. Amaterasu was identified with Dainichi Nyorai (大日如来) — the Great Buddha of the Sun, the central figure of esoteric Buddhism.
It was a brilliant solution. Instead of conflict between shintō and Buddhism, the two systems were merged. Buddhist temples began to appear in Ise, and texts such as Ise Shintō (13th century) portrayed Amaterasu as an expression of universal Buddhist truth. This integration opened the cult to new social layers: pilgrims to Ise were no longer limited to aristocrats, but also included peasants, monks, and artisans.
It was in the medieval period that the phenomenon known as okage mairi — mass pilgrimages to Ise — first emerged, later flourishing during the Edo period (17th–19th centuries), when such pilgrimages could gather hundreds of thousands of people. Pilgrims traveled barefoot, carrying talismans and miniature mirrors — symbols of Amaterasu — believing that the goddess herself was calling them.
Numerous folk legends also arose during this time. In one tale, Amaterasu appears to a poor girl, instructing her to find a sacred stone in the Isuzu River; in another, peasants speak of a “dancing sun” during the Niiname festival, when the goddess was said to bless the harvest. These stories reveal how Amaterasu ceased to be merely the deity of the court and became a communal goddess, close to the people — a transformation that significantly expanded her cultural reach.
Amaterasu Supports Modern Meiji
Amaterasu Supports Modern Meiji
With the Meiji Restoration of 1868, Amaterasu was “rewritten” once again — this time by a modernizing state in search of a myth of exceptionalism. The government rejected Buddhist syncretism and reinstated shintō in its “pure” form as the state religion (kokka shintō).
The emperor was declared a living god, a direct descendant of Amaterasu, and Ise Jingū was transformed into the spiritual heart of a new national identity. Texts such as the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki became compulsory reading in schools. State festivals, coronation rituals, and imperial regalia — the mirror Yata no Kagami, the sword Kusanagi, and the jewel Yasakani no Magatama — constantly reminded the nation of Japan’s divine origins and its “mission to lead the world.”
Psychologically, this was an immensely powerful move. Amaterasu became the light that organized collective identity, the symbol of order, purity, and uniqueness. When, in 1890, the “Imperial Rescript on Education” was issued, children across the country were taught that “Japan is the land of the gods” (shinkoku), and the emperor — the embodiment of divine will. Even the architecture of Ise Jingū was “refreshed” to emphasize the supposed ancient continuity of the cult, though many of its “ancient” rituals were, in fact, reconstructed during the Meiji period.
A Brief Reflection on the Goddess’s History
The history of Amaterasu’s cult is the story of a myth rewritten over and over again. From a local deity of the Ama fishermen, through her reinterpretation as a Buddhist manifestation of the cosmic sun, to her role as the emblem of modern nationalism — the goddess has always served as a mirror for collective needs.
Her light is not merely physical radiance — it is consciousness and identity. In Japan, where the concept of the individual long yielded to the primacy of the community, Amaterasu became a projection of what “we” means: imperial authority, unity of the people, cultural uniqueness. Her cult demonstrates that myth can be, all at once, a political instrument, a spiritual space, and a social matrix of memory.
“In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun”
The Birth of the “New Women”
The early 20th century in Japan was a time of dizzying acceleration: industrialization, urbanization, mass education, new professions for women (teachers, nurses, clerks), and, alongside all this, the state’s anxiety that “modernity” might fracture the family from within. This tension — the real advance of women into the public sphere and the fear of unraveling the domestic order — created the stage on which Seitōsha (the “Bluestocking Society”) and its journal Seitō (“Bluestocking”), founded by Hiratsuka Raichō, emerged.
Raichō (1886–1971), raised at the crossroads of tradition and modern thought, no longer wanted women to be mere echoes of others’ voices within culture. From the start, she was guided by what we might today call cultural feminism: rather than imitating masculine ideals, she sought to elevate the value of distinctly “female” experiences — motherhood, caregiving, bodily autonomy — and sever them from their culturally assigned inferiority. Her strategy was not a simple import of Western debates. Instead, she reworked her own tradition and invoked the myth every Japanese person knew best — the story of Amaterasu.
This was both subversive and deliberate. The Meiji authorities had transformed Amaterasu into an instrument of state legitimacy; Raichō reached for the same symbol but shifted its meaning: from a national myth, she forged a myth of emancipation.
The Manifesto
The Manifesto
Her manifesto opening the first issue of Seitō strikes with its simplicity and power: “In the beginning, woman was the Sun. Today, she is the Moon.”This is no ornamental phrase. It is a poetic compression of the cosmic order — and of Japan itself.
Woman as the Sun: the source of life, autonomy (“she shines of herself”), agency, directness. This is precisely Amaterasu — she does not reflect another’s brilliance; she is that brilliance. In a culture where — unlike so many others — the sun is a goddess, this metaphor carries an immediate resonance.
Woman as the Moon: existing “through others,” reflecting another’s light. This symbolizes the social arrangement in which a woman is cast as a mirror — an aesthetic accessory rather than a subject in her own right.
Raichō’s formula is both diagnosis and program: it points to a lost position and issues a call for return. Within a short text, she condensed a theory of symbolic power: whoever decides who shines and who merely reflects light decides the distribution of roles within society. Notice a subtle rhetorical detail: Raichō uses the singular — “woman.” This is not a statistic; it is an archetype. That is why it works so powerfully: it speaks both to “every woman” and to “this one” — to you.
The Cave as a Metaphor of Exclusion
The Cave as a Metaphor of Exclusion
In the myth of Amano-Iwato, Amaterasu, wounded by Susanoo’s violence and chaos, retreats into a cave. The world plunges into darkness; the gods panic. In a feminist reading, this becomes a striking image of withdrawal: when the woman — the “sun” — is pushed aside, humiliated, threatened, she hides in a place beyond reach, and the world loses its light.
The gods lure her out through a ritual of joy and laughter: the dance of Ame-no-Uzume, festivity, noise, the mirror. From the perspective of emancipation, the communal aspect is crucial: the return of light is made possible by collective action. This anticipates later women’s movements — solidarity as the condition of change. And then there is the Yata no Kagami, the sacred mirror: Amaterasu emerges when she sees the radiance of “another Amaterasu.” Symbolically, the woman recognizes her own face instead of seeking validation in someone else’s gaze. It is the antithesis of “moonlike” dependence.
Yet the myth also reveals an ambivalence: Uzume amuses the gods through a gesture traditionally described as playful, even obscene. In a feminist reading, this tension lies between the use of the female body as spectacle and the reclamation of agency through performance. Raichō saw this paradox but transformed it: the essence is not erotic display but the ritual of restoring light.
The relationship between Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi — sun and moon — completes the metaphorical picture. After Tsukuyomi kills the goddess of food, the sun and moon are forever separated; day and night will never meet again. For Raichō, this becomes an apt metaphor: replacing the sun with the moon in public roles means that women are allowed to “shine” only when someone else’s light permits it. That is precisely the condition her manifesto names and challenges.
Why does this myth work so powerfully in an emancipatory context? Because it is not an elitist citation but a core of cultural memory. Raichō’s strategy was to reverse the current: to turn a myth that served the state into a myth serving individual subjectivity.
What Came After Raichō
Raichō’s influence did not lie in immediate legal reforms; it lay in changing the language and the imagination. The “solar” metaphor permanently entered Japanese discourse on femininity — alongside debates about labor rights, education, and reproductive freedom.
The following decades brought new waves, new emphases: from the protection of motherhood (in line with Raichō’s cultural feminism), through postwar struggles for full citizenship, to the radical slogans of the 1960s and 70s (including heated debates on contraception and abortion rights). In sociological terms, as Muta Kazue notes, it is precisely here that we see the latent power of feminist history — its ability to generate new “lights” within the public sphere.
And what remains of Amaterasu? Not just rebellion, but potential: the idea that womanhood is not about reflecting someone else’s brilliance but about generating one’s own; that “emerging from the cave” is often a process rather than a single act; that the mirror — even the one at Ise — is less a fetish than an invitation for women to recognize their own worth.
Raichō achieved something brilliantly simple: she retuned the symbolism without breaking the melody. Amaterasu had been the state’s sun; she became the feminine light of consciousness. And that is precisely why this metaphor still resonates — in literature, in social movements, in everyday choices. Because the question she posed remains timeless: do I shine with my own light, or do I merely reflect another’s?
Amaterasu in Contemporary Japan
Japan has many shintō shrines, but Ise Jingū remains exceptional. Here, in the heart of Mie Prefecture, Amaterasu has been venerated for over 1,500 years — and although the shrine itself has been rebuilt many times, its rituals continue almost uninterrupted. Every twenty years, in accordance with the tradition of shikinen sengū (式年遷宮), the entire complex is reconstructed from scratch, board by board, using ancient carpentry techniques. The most recent reconstruction was completed in 2013, and the next is scheduled for 2033.
What is remarkable is that even in today’s secular world, Ise Jingū continues to draw record numbers of worshippers. In 2013, over 14 million pilgrims visited the shrine. Some come out of genuine faith; others seek to touch a living tradition they view more as cultural heritage than religious duty. Indeed, the rituals at Ise today possess a dual character: they are both religious ceremonies and state events.
Amaterasu’s symbolism remains alive in imperial ceremonies. During the enthronement of Emperor Naruhito in 2019, the central moment was the Daijōsai (大嘗祭) — the ritual offering of freshly harvested rice to Amaterasu. Even in the 21st century, this sparked debates about the separation of religion and state, yet the ceremony was conducted almost exactly as it would have been in the 8th century.
In elementary schools, children still learn about Amaterasu as part of lessons on national mythology. Textbooks emphasize her role as the divine ancestress of the imperial line and guardian of cosmic order. Sociological studies reveal — as one might expect in such a modern society — that younger generations (and in Japan, “younger” often means under sixty) tend to view this knowledge more as cultural inheritance than as an act of faith.
Contemporary Japanese women, especially those engaged with feminism, increasingly reinterpret Amaterasu as a symbol of autonomy and creative power, drawing directly on the legacy of Hiratsuka Raichō.
Amaterasu in Pop Culture
In the 21st century, Amaterasu has transcended the boundaries of religion and tradition. Her figure — or at least her name — now functions as a cultural code, recognizable even to those who have never set foot in Ise or read the Kojiki. In anime, video games, and films, the motif of Amaterasu is sometimes treated with reverence, but often freely reimagined — and, at times, even playfully or ironically.
“Naruto” — the Goddess’s Black Flames
In Naruto, the second most popular anime and manga series after Dragon Ball, Amaterasu is the name of a powerful ninja technique. It manifests as black flames that never extinguish until they have completely consumed their target — metaphorically echoing the divine light that both illuminates and devours all. The character Itachi Uchiha wields this ability as his ultimate weapon. While the narrative does not delve into religious detail, the very name operates as an instant cultural signal: in Japan, it immediately evokes associations with absolute divine power.
“Ōkami” — Amaterasu as the Wolf Goddess
In the game Ōkami (Capcom, 2006), Amaterasu appears in perhaps the most creative reinterpretation of the myth. The player takes on the role of a white wolf — the incarnation of the sun goddess — tasked with restoring balance and light to the world. The game is a remarkable fusion: landscapes styled after Japanese ukiyo-e woodblock prints, music inspired by gagaku court compositions, and countless references to the myths recorded in the Kojiki. Ōkami has achieved cult status and is still regarded as one of the most artistically significant video games ever created about Japan.
“Smite” — the Goddess in the Battle Arena
In the popular MOBA game Smite, Amaterasu appears as one of the playable gods. Her design merges classical shintō motifs — stylized armor, radiant beams of light — with fast-paced, action-driven gameplay. Here, she is depicted as a warrior goddess, blending sacred imagery with dynamic power.
“Persona 4” — Amaterasu as an Archetype of Power
In the Persona series, which intertwines Jungian psychology with Japanese symbolism (more about the game here: Japanese Folklore in Shin Megami Tensei: Playing Persona in the Rhythms of Shinto), Amaterasu is the name of the ultimate, fully awakened form of the character Yukiko Amagi’s Persona. This reference is subtle but potent: the goddess who “regains her light” becomes a symbol of discovering one’s true identity. It resonates on a deep psychological level with Yukiko’s personal narrative arc, underscoring themes of self-realization and autonomy.
In contemporary popular culture, Amaterasu functions as an archetype: sometimes embodying raw, overwhelming energy; sometimes appearing as a protective goddess; and, at other times, surfacing with an ironic, knowing smile. In fantasy literature, goddesses inspired by Amaterasu frequently emerge, while in Japanese cosmetic advertising, her name is often used to suggest “flawless radiance.”
Interestingly, Amaterasu increasingly appears in Western pop culture as well — for example, in Neil Gaiman’s American Gods and its television adaptation, where she is portrayed as one of the deities “living among humans” in the modern world. Amaterasu, then, operates within two parallel spheres: within Japan, she remains part of ritual, collective memory, and national identity; while in global pop culture, she functions as a universal symbol of light, power, and divine energy, detached from her strictly religious context.
The Long Journey of Light
The light of Amaterasu has traveled a long road through Japanese history — from the local cult of the Ama fishermen, to the myth recorded in the Kojiki, to an ideological tool of Yamato authority and a symbol of the emperor’s divine origin during the Meiji era. In her story, the history of Japan itself is reflected: religion becoming politics, myth shaping law, and a narrative continually reinterpreted by each generation.
Yet Amaterasu is not merely a figure from distant antiquity. She still lives — in the rituals of Ise Jingū, in imperial ceremonies, in school textbooks, in popular culture, and in everyday language. Her mirror, the Yata no Kagami, remains one of the Three Sacred Treasures of Japan, yet it is also more than that: it is a symbol of the unending question of identity — both collective and personal.
Perhaps this is why Hiratsuka Raichō saw in Amaterasu more than a goddess — she saw an archetype: a light that can be lost but always reclaimed. Her words, “In the beginning, woman was the Sun,” are not only a manifesto of emancipation but also a call to autonomy, one that transcends questions of gender or politics.
In the myth of the goddess hiding in the cave, each of us can find ourselves: in moments of withdrawal, in losing our voice, in standing in shadow. And each of us can also find the path back — to our own radiance. For Amaterasu, though a goddess for centuries, continues to teach us that light is never something granted once and for all. It is something to be rediscovered within ourselves — each time, anew.
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未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
Write us...
Ciechanów, Polska
dr.imyon@gmail.com
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inari.smart
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