In the Mie prefecture of Japan, you can find the Ise Jingu, a grand shrine to the Shinto goddess Amaterasu-omikami.

The shrine was built 2,022 years ago. But it was also built two years ago. Because the Ise shrine, which is made entirely of wood, is disassembled and then rebuilt anew every twenty years.

When the Ise shrine was being erected for the first time, Augustus was erecting his Roman Forum. Emperor Ping of the Han Dynasty was expanding the Weiyang Palace. In Africa, Natakamani, King of Kush, was planning his pyramid in Meroe. And in Mexican cities like Uxmal, the Maya were busy constructing temples of their own.

By now, you can still find the majestic ruins of all of those structures. But you can’t find the Roman Empire, the Han Dynasty, the Kush or the Maya; they’ve all gone extinct.

Two centuries back, when the Ise Shrine was built the first time, it was presided over by an order of Shinto monks. Shinto monks from the same lineage preside over the shrine today.

Nearly every culture has a history of grand architecture, of constructing impressive places they think will establish their perpetual permanence. But, perhaps, it’s not the structures that make a culture permanent, and the building of them that does. Held together by their purpose, by the regular schedule of care, of destruction and rebuilding, the Shinto monks have continued forward for two millennium. Unlike those extinct civilizations, their destination is impermanent. But their journey is perpetual.