Episode 81: The Politics of the Early Yamato Court

March 1, 2023 Joshua Badgley

Artist’s speculative image of Kinmei Tennō in the 19th century. Image in the public domain. File from Wikimedia Commons.

This episode we start our look at the reign of Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Niha, aka Kinmei Tennō. We’ll start off with a look at his ascension to the throne and some of the politics that we can see going on in the court. We’ll also discuss some of the theories regarding this reign, particularly its chronological placement in the Chronicles, which may not be exactly as it seems. Still, we are in what many consider to be the historical period, meaning that the records the Chroniclers were working from are assumed to be more accurate—they were likely using more written material, including books we no longer have extant. However, that doesn’t mean everything is factual, and it is clear there are still some lacunae in the texts and some additional massaging by the Chroniclers themselves.

Dramatis Personae

Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō - Eldest son of their father, Wohodo no Ōkimi, aka Keitai Tennō. His rule was short, but there were still a few things to note.

Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennō - Full brother to Magari no Ohine, he was their father’s second eldest, and he succeeded his brother to the throne.

Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Niha, aka Kinmei Tennō - Son of Wohodo no Ōkimi and his queen, Tashiraga—or at least that is what the Chronicles tell us. He was one of the youngest sons of Wohodo, and probably came to the throne in his 20s or 30s. He is our current sovereign this episode—and for a few episodes to come.

Kasuga no Yamada no Himemiko - Wife to Magari no Ohine, she could have possibly taken the throne, but she deferred to Ame Kunioshi—or so we are told. She appears to be part of the Kasuga family.

Ōtomo no Kanamura no Ōmuraji - Long time minister of Yamato, Kanamura has built a successful career through two dynasties, often with a focus on his exploits on the continent. However, by this reign he is old, and it is unclear that his sons will be able to maintain the family’s position of prominence.

Mononobe no Okoshi no Ōmuraji - Successor to Arakahi, the Mononobe have an illustrious history, going back to the earliest sovereigns. They are quite involved both in the archipelago and on the peninsula at this point. There are numerous individuals using the Mononobe family name on the continent who end up with Baekje titles, rather than Yamato ones.

Soga no Iname no Sukune no Ōmi - For anyone reading ahead, you know where this is going. Soga no Iname is the first Soga to achieve the rank of Ōmi. The fact that he has a personal rank of Sukune is not insignificant, either, though it is unclear when he actually achieved that—there is a tendancy in the Chronicles to use the last title a person had when talking about them. Still, there is little doubt that he will feature prominently in stories to come.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 81, the Politics of the Early Yamato Court.
Last episode, before our Nara tour interlude, we covered the life of Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennō. He picked up where his brother, Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, had[EB1] left off, and is said to have reigned for about two and a half years, from 536 to 539. During that time we see more of the rise of the family of Soga no Omi but we also see the Ōtomo no Muraji and the Mononobe going quite strong. The sons of Ōtomo no Kanamura ended up involved with the government in Tsukushi, aka Kyuushuu, as well as the war efforts across the straits, mainly focused on Nimna and the surrounding areas. Indeed, as we talked about last episode—episode 80—it is said that Ohtomo no Sadehiko went to Nimna and restored peace there, before lending aid to Baekje[EB2] .
This preoccupation with Nimna and events on the Korean peninsula are going to dominate our narrative moving forward, at least initially. Much of the next reign focuses on events on the peninsula, rather than on the archipelago. Oddly, this preoccupation isn’t d everywhere. In the Sendai Kuji Hongi—and other copies of the same work—there appears only a brief mention of Nimna, aka Mimana, in the record, which otherwise simply talks about inheritance and similar issues.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Before we dive into all of that, to include all of the peninsular goodness that we have coming our way, let’s briefly talk about some of the things a little closer to home. Mainly, let’s talk about the succession and who our next sovereign appears to be.
So first off, his name is given as Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niha, and he is posthumously known to us as Kimmei Tennō. For my part, rather than repeating the whole thing, I’m going to refer to him simply as Ame Kunioshi, though I’m honestly not sure if the best way to parse his name, assuming it isn't just another type of royal title. He is said to have been the son of Wohodo no Ōkimi, aka Keitai Tennō, and his queen, Tashiraga, a sister to Wohatsuse Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennō. This would all seem pretty straightforward if it weren’t for the fact that two of his half-brothers had taken the throne before him. Prince Magari and his brother, Takewo, were descended through another line, that of Menoko, daughter of Owari no Muraji no Kusaka. Menoko did not appear to meet the Nihon Shoki’s Chroniclers’ strict requirements for being named queen—namely, they don’t bother to trace her lineage back to the royal line in some way, shape, or form. As such, the Nihon Shoki tries to pass off the reigns of the two brothers as though they were just keeping the seat warm while Ame Kunioshi himself came of age.
None of the language used, however, really suggests that they were not considered legitimate in the eyes of their respective courts, and in all aspects they played the part of sovereign, and it is quite likely that if they had reigned long enough, or had valid heirs, themselves, we may be reading a slightly different story. As it is, the Chroniclers likely manipulated the narrative just enough to ensure that things made sense in terms of a linear progression.
And that manipulation hardly stopped at his ascension. The account of Ame Kunioshi on the throne is filled with questionable narration. Beyond just the fantastical—accounts of kami and of evil spirits—much of the reign is focused on events on the Korean peninsula, and these are almost always portrayed as actions by the Kingdom of Baekje, one of the three largest kingdoms across the straits, along with Silla and Goguryeo. Baekje, in turn, is portrayed in the Nihon Shoki as a loyal vassal state, constantly looking to the sovereign of Yamato as their liege and attempting to carry out their will.
For the most part, this is a blatant attempt by the Chroniclers to place Yamato front and center, and in control of events on the mainland. Taken at face value, it has for a long time fueled nationalist claims to the Korean peninsula, and may have even been designed for that very purpose. Remember, a history like this was written as much for a political purpose as it was record for posterity, and the narration is about as trustworthy as that of a certain fictional radio host in a sleepy desert community.
And yet, we want to be careful about throwing the proverbial baby out with the bathwater, here. The Nihon Shoki is a treasure trove of stories about this period and what was happening on the mainland, even if we have to be careful of taking everything at face value. The details given in the text are sometimes more than any other sources we have for this period, and they are certainly closer to the source. Korean sources, such as the Samguk Sagi, the Samguk Yusa, and the Tongkam all have their own gaps in the literature of the time, as well as their own political aims and goals, such that even they are suspect. Sure, the flowery speechification is probably a little too much, but much of the back and forth seems reasonable, and there are numerous times where the Nihon Shoki directly quotes the copy of the Baekje annals that they had at the time—a text that is no longer extant, and which seems to have items that did not make it into later collections. By following the back and forth and the flow of allegiances and deceptions, and looking at who was said to have been involved—both the individuals and the countries—we might be able to draw a picture of this era.
And what a picture it will be. I probably won’t get to it all today, but there is conflict over Nimna, with Baekje and Yamato typically teaming up against Silla and Goguryeo, but there are other things as well. For one thing, nothing in this era is cut and dried, and while there are overarching themes, alliances were clearly fluid, and could quickly change. Furthermore, all this activity spawned a new level of interaction, particularly between Baekje and Yamato, and we see a new era of Baekje sharing their knowledge with Yamato. For instance, this reign we see the first mention of Yin-Yang Divination studies—the famous Onmyouji—as well as calendrical studies in the archipelago. We also see the arrival of Buddhism to the islands. Well, at least we see the formal introduction of Buddhism; given all of the people in the archipelago who came over from the continent, there were likely more than a few Buddhists already living in the archipelago, but it hadn’t grown, yet, to be a State religion, as it would be in later centuries.
To try to do this period justice, I’m going to try to break things down a bit so that we can focus on various themes as we move through the stories here. It will probably take us a few episodes to get through. Furthermore, at some point here I want to talk about this new religion, Buddhism, and how it traveled all the way from India to the islands of Japan. But for now, let’s focus on the Chronicles.
Not all of what is talked about in this reign is focused on the mainland, so I’m going to start us off talking about the stories about this period that are taking place in the islands themselves, starting with how Ame Kunioshi came to the throne. Or rather, with some events just before he came to the throne.
The first story about Ame Kunioshi comes when he is simply a prince—it is unclear during which reign this is supposed to have happened, only that it happened before he came to the throne. The Chronicles say that Ame Kunioshi had a dream in which he was told to seek out a man named Hata no Ōtsuchi.
We’ve seen in the past these kinds of oracular dreams, where the gods, or kami, will speak directly to a person—often to the sovereign or someone close to the sovereign. By all accounts, the ability to act as a conduit for the kami was an important aspect of rulership and political power at this time, and we’ve seen the supposed consequences of not listening to such an oracle as well. And so he sent people out to find this man, who was eventually found in the Kii district of the land of Yamashiro.
Now this area is not surprising. It is identified as the area, today, in the modern Fushimi district of Kyoto. In fact, it includes the area of the famous Fushimi Inari Taisha—the Fushimi Inari shrine. That shrine is also connected to the Hata family.
For those who don’t recall, the Hata family appear to have been descended from weavers who were brought over from the continent. The kanji used for their name is the same as that of the Qin dynasty, from which we get the modern name of China, though the pronunciation is taken from the word “Hata”, which appears to refer to a type of cloth, and also resembles the word for banners or flags. We mentioned them some time back in episode 63, when we talked about one of the early heads of the Hata, who was given the name Uzumasa. That name is still used to identify a district in Kyoto to this day.
And so here we are, back in the Kyoto area, near Fushimi shrine, which is also, as it happens, connected to the Hata family. That story is found not in the Nihon Shoki, but rather it is attributed to fragments of the Yamashiro no Fudoki. In that account we hear tell of a wealthy man named Irogu, whom we are told is a distant relative of Hata no Nakatsu no Imiki—no doubt a contemporary to the Yamashiro Fudoki, and the reason the story made the cut. Irogu, it seems, had made himself wealthy through rice cultivation. In fact, he had so much rice that he was using mochi—pounded glutinous rice cakes—as targets for his archery practice. As he was shooting at the mochi, suddenly one of them turned into a swan and flew up into the sky, up to the top of a nearby mountain. Where it landed rice, or “ine”, began to grow.
That mountain is none other than the site of Fushimi Inari Shrine, a shrine that will show up again and again in various stories, as it was quite prominent. Though the shrine was only founded in the 8th century, the story may indicate that there were older rituals, or perhaps that it was a focus of worship much like Mt. Miwa, down in the land of Yamato, to the south, and that shrine buildings were simply added to the mountain at a later date. Fushimi is, of course, the place, and Inari is the name of the god, or kami, worshipped at the shrine. Inari is a god of farming—specifically of rice cultivation—and today small Inari shrines can be found throughout Japan. They are typified by red gates—usually multiple gates, one after the other, often donated by various individuals. In addition, one might see Inari’s servants and messengers, foxes, which take the place of the lion-dogs that often guard shrine precincts. Importantly, these foxes are not the kami themselves, but simply the kami’s messengers. Still people will often bring gifts of oily, deep fried tofu—abura-age—said to be a favorite of foxes, to help ensure that their prayers—their messages to the kami—are swiftly and properly delivered.
I could probably do an entire episode on Fushimi Inari and Inari worship in Japan. There is so much material on the phenomenon on foxes, or kitsune, and fox-spirits, especially with the co-mingling of both continental and insular belief, which is sometimes at odds. For now, however, we can confine ourselves to the fact that Fushimi clearly had connections to the Hata family, who have shown up a few times in the past, but are still largely taking bit roles in things at the moment. Nonetheless, since the Chroniclers were writing from the 8th century, things like this, which were no doubt important to the powerful families of their day, were often included.
Getting back to our main story, when Hata no Ōtsuchi came before the prince, Ame Kunioshi, he told a story of how he had been traveling the land, coming back from trading in Ise, when he came upon two wolves, fighting each other on a mountain. The wolves were each covered in blood from their hostilities, and yet, through all of that, Hata no Ōtsuchi recognized them as visible incarnations of kami. Immediately he got off his horse, rinsed his hands and mouth to purify himself, and then made a prayer to the kami. In his prayer he admonished them for delighting in violence. After all, while they were there, attacking each other, what if a hunter came along and, not recognizing their divine nature, took both of them? With his earnest prayer he got them to stop fighting and he then cleaned off the blood and let them both go, thus saving their lives.
Hearing such a story, Ame Kunioshi determined that his dream was likely sent by the same kami saved by Ōtsuchi, or perhaps another spirit who had seen his good deed, who was recommending this good Samaritan to the prince. And who was he to deny the kami? So when he came to the throne, Ame Kunioshi put Hata no Ōtsuchi in charge of the Treasury.
That would have to wait until he actually ascended the throne, however; an opportunity that preserved itself with the death of his half brother, Takewo no Ōkimi. When Takewo passed away in 539, we are told that the ministers all requested that Ane Kunioshi take the throne, but at first he deferred, suggesting that the wife of his eldest half brother, Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, take the throne, instead.
This was the former queen, Yamada, daughter of Ōke no Ōkimi, aka Ninken Tennō, so no doubt she had a good sense of how the government should work. Yet she, too, waved off the honor. Her reasoning, though, is a very patriarchal and misogynistic diatribe about how women aren't fit four the duties of running the country. Clearly it is drawn from continental sources, and it always makes me wonder. After all, the Nihon Shoki was being written in the time of rather powerful women controlling the Yamato court – which, I imagine irked some people to no end, especially those learned in classic literature, such as the works of Confucius.
So I wonder why this was put in. Did he truly defer to her? Or was this just to demonstrate his magnanimous nature? Was she pushed aside by the politics of the court? I also wonder why they went to her, and not Takewo’s wife. It is also interesting to me that the Chroniclers only note her own objections to her rule, and there isn't a peep out of the assembled ministers.
There appears to be another possible angle. Some scholars have pointed out inconsistencies with the timeline and events in the reign of Ame Kunioshi that may have actually happened much earlier, including the arrival of Buddhism. They suggest that perhaps there was a period of multiple rulers, possibly rival dynasties, with Magari no Ohine and his brother, Takewo, handling one court and Ame Kunioshi ruling another. If that were the case, then was Yamada the senior person in the other line? At the very least she represents the transfer of power and authority over to Tashiraga’s lineage.
Moving forward, we’re going to want to pay close attention to these kinds of political details. Often we’ll see how how princes of different mothers will end up as pawns in the factional infighting that will become de rigeur in the Yamato court, with different families providing wives in the hopes that they might eventually be family members to the next sovereign.
So, however it really happened, Ame Kunioshi took the throne. He reappointed Ōtomo no Kanamura and Mononobe no Okoshi Ōmuraji and named Soga no Iname no Sukune back to his position as Ō-omi. He set up his palace at a place called Shikishima, in the district of Shiki in the middle of the Nara Basin in the ancient country of Nara—still within sight of Mt. Miwa and, by now, numerous kofun built for previous kings, queens, and various nobles. Both the Emishi and the Hayato are said to have come and paid tribute—apparently part of the enthronement rituals—and even envoys from Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo and Nimna are said to have stopped in with congratulatory messages. These were probably fairly pro forma messages to maintain good—or at least tolerable—relations between the various states of the day, not unlike today when various people call a newly elected president or prime minister to congratulate them on their own entry to office.
He also took as his Queen his own niece, daughter of his half-brother, the previous sovereign, Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennō. Her name was Ishihime, and she would provide Ame Kunioshi with several children, including the Crown Prince, Wosada Nunakara Futodamashiki no Mikoto, aka the eventual Bidatsu Tennō.
By the way, for anyone concerned that Ame Kunioshi was” robbing the cradle”, so to speak, remember that he was already 33 years younger than his brother. It is quite possible, assuming the dates are correct, that he and Ishihime were roughly the same age. To put it another way, if Ame Kunioshi was a Millennial, his brother Takewo had been a Boomer, meaning that Ishihime was likely either Gen X or a Millennial herself, to extend the analogy.
Of course, they were still uncle and niece, so… yeah, there’s that. I could point out again that at this time it was the maternal lineage that determined whether people were considered closely related or not. Children of different mothers, even with the same fathers, were considered distant enough that it was not at all scandalous for them to be married, and that we probably should be careful about placing our own cultural biases on a foreign culture—and at this point in history many aspects of the culture would be foreign even to modern Japanese, just as a modern person from London would likely find conditions in the Anglo Saxon era Lundenwic perhaps a bit off-putting. Still, I don’t think I can actually recommend the practice.
Now it is true he was coming to the throne at relatively young age. He was probably about 30 years old when he took charge of the state, while his brothers, their father’s eldest sons, had come to the throne much later in life, in their 50s or 60s. And if Ame Kunioshi was actually ruling earlier then he might have been younger, running the state of Yamato—or at least some part of it—when he was still in his early 20s.
Along with Ishihime, Ame Kunioshi took several other wives. The first two were Ishihime’s younger sisters, Kurawakaya Hime and Hikage. Then there were two daughters of Soga no Iname—and yes, *that* Soga no Iname, the re-appointed Ō-omi. At least three of the next four sovereigns would come from those two unions, and I’ll let you take a guess at how the Soga family’s fortunes fared during that time.
Finally, the last wife was was named Nukako, and she was the daughter of Kasuga no Hifuri no Omi.
Kasuga was also the family name of Kasuga no Yamada no Himemiko, who had turned down the throne to allow Ame Kunioshi to ascend, though we don’t hear too much else from the Kasuga family. This could be connected to that, although it is hard to be certain. For the most part the Kasuga family seems to stay behind the scenes, but the fact that they are inserting themselves into the royal line at different points would seem to be significant.
The Soga, on the other hand, are going to feature quite prominently in matters of state moving forward.
While it is unclear just when the various marriages occurred—they may have happened before or after his ascension to the throne—it is interesting to see how much influence the Soga family may have had in the royal bedchamber, something we would do well to remember as we look into this period.
And while the Soga family was on the rise, other families were not doing so well. In particular, it seems that something happened to the Ōtomo family.
Now don’t get me wrong, Ōtomo Kanamura, that veteran courtier, was reappointed as Ōmuraji at the start of the reign, and given all of his influence up to this point, he clearly had been doing something right. But then we have a single incident at the start of Ame Kunioshi’s reign that makes me wonder.
It took place during a court visit to Hafuri-tsu-no-miya over at Naniwa—modern Ōsaka. Hafuri would appear to refer to a Shinto priest, so apparently they were at the palace—or possibly shrine—of the Priest, at least as far as I can make out. When Ame Kunioshi went out, much of the court came with, including Ōtomo no Kanamura, Kose no Omi no Inamochi, and Mononobe no Okoshi. Of those three, Kose no Inamochi seems a bit of an odd choice, but we’ll go with it, for now.
While they were there, away from the palace, talking over various subjects, the conversation turned towards talk about invading Silla. At this, Mononobe no Okoshi related the story of how Kanamura had basically orchestrated giving up four districts of Nimna over to Baekje. Those were the Upper and Lower Tari, Syata, and Muro. This had pissed off Silla, who no doubt wanted as much of a buffer state between them and their allies as possible, and who also may have felt that Nimna and other border states were theirs to manipulate. Through all of these talks and deliberations, which apparently went on for some time, Kanamura stayed at home, out of the public eye, feigning illness. Eventually, though Awomi no Ōtoshi no Magariko came to check in on him and see how he was doing, and Kanamura admitted that he had simply been feigning illness to get out of the humiliation of having given up the provinces so many years ago.
Hearing of this, Ame Kunioshi pardoned Ōtomo no Kanamura of any guilt. He could put the past behind him and speak nothing of it.
And he did. Speak nothing of it, that is. Or at least nothing that was recorded in the Chronicles. From here on out, we don’t hear of Kanamura—and barely of Ōtomo. There is a brief mention of Kanamura’s son, Sadehiko, who had gone to the Korean peninsula to fight back in the previous reign. Then, another member of the Ōtomo pops up again in the reign of Bidatsu, but this appears to be the last time we see an “Ōtomo no Ōmuraji”—no other Ōtomo would be recorded as having taken that position, even though others, particularly the Mononobe, would continue to be honored with the title up through at least the 7th century.
Ōtomo no Kanamura’s exit at this point in the narrative seems somewhat appropriate, as the narrative will go on to focus on Nimna, and the violence on the peninsula. That fighting would consume much of the next century, with Silla eventually winding up on top, but that was not always a foregone conclusion. In the meantime there were numerous battles, back and forth. Sometimes it was Silla and Goguryeo against Baekje and Yamato. Other times, Silla and Baekje fought against Goguryeo. Then there were the smaller states of Kara, Ara, Nimna, and more.
With all of that chaos, the Chronicles record numerous people from the peninsula coming to stay in the archipelago, but also there were many ethnic Wa people—possibly from Yamato, especially based on their names—that went to live and fight on the peninsula as well. Family names such as the Mononobe, Ikuba, and even Kibi show up with Baekje or Silla titles, intermingled with other names of unknown, though likely peninsular, origin. This intermingling would appear to indicate that the states of the Korean peninsula were multi-ethnic states, with individuals from all over. Despite—or perhaps even because of—all the fighting, there seems to be an increased intercourse between the various states, as well as with states like the Northern Wei, to the West, in the Yellow River Basin, and Liang, to the South, along the Yangtze.
We’ll dive into all of that chaos and confusion—and try to draw a few more concrete facts and concepts—next time.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 1

February 16, 2023 Joshua Badgley

Torii gate for Ōmiwa shrine in Sakurai. The modern gates tower over the surrounding buildings.

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Ōmiwa Shrine entrance

The entrance to the main Ōmiwa shrine grounds.

Ōmiwa shrine torii

A view of the giant torii of Ōmiwa shrine, looking down the Omote-sando

Hebi no Sugi

A sacred cedar connected to stories of the spirit of Mt. Miwa appearing as a snake. Snakes were common forms of kami in early stories.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is a special episode: Traveling through the ancient Nara Basin, part 1
First things first, apologies as I had fully intended to jump into the story of Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niha, aka Kimmei Tennō. However, I’ve been recently overcome with a bout of Real Life, which has prevented me from doing the full prep work that such an episode deserves. The entry for Kimmei Tennō in the Nihon Shoki is easily one of the longer entries, and there is a lot to digest, and I don't want to jump in until I've been able to do a bit more research.
Instead, I figured I would do something different and introduce you to a little tour of the Nara Basin and all of the wonderful sites that one can go and check out, many of which are still there and quiet accessible. In fact, I recently spent some time there doing *cough* “research”, by which I mean traveling around and walking through the ancient landscape to see what remained.
Now many people may be familiar with Nara, the city which gave the basin its name. Founded in 710, it was the site of the first long term, permanent continental style capital on the archipelago. Today it is a beautiful city, nestled against the mountains, with ancient temples, shrines, and the occasional kofun, which predate the founding of the ancient capital.
It is also home to what we’ve come to call the Nara attack deer. Within the main historical park area, between Kōfukuji Temple, Tōdaiji Temple, and Kasuga Shrine, hunting is strictly outlawed, and the deer wander boldly throughout the streets. Unafraid of humans, they are generally polite, until they find an easy mark: typically a timid soul who has foolishly purchased a set of Shika Senbei, or deer crackers, hoping to gently feed the deer in an Instagram-worthy video post. The deer, however, often have other ideas, especially the young bucks, who might even use their antlers to prod such people, hoping to startle them into dropping all of the crackers.
All joking aside, the deer in Nara are just as much a draw as the rest of the city, which draws thousands of tourists every year, but it is only a small part of a larger area. Today we are going to explore a little bit outside the standard tourist route, in the southeast corner of the basin, between the cities of Tenri and Sakurai.
This is the area mentioned in the oldest stories in the Chronicles, from the time of the “first sovereign”, Mimaki Iribiko, and his successor, Ikume Iribiko. Archaeological excavations have turned up evidence of people from across the archipelago living here—or at least interacting—since the third century, which we talked about in Episode 28. That's right around the time of Queen Himiko and the emergence of the giant round keyhole shaped tumuli, or Zenpō-kōen Kofun, thought to contain the remains of the kings of ancient Yamato.
Today, this area remains relatively rural. Between the cities of Tenri and Sakurai, they still have less than half the population of Nara, their northern neighbor. Urban areas around the train stations quickly give way to rice fields and fruit orchards. The lack of urban development is often a good thing for archaeologists, suggesting that there remain many potential sites under the soil. It can be a bit of a challenge, however, for the modern traveler. While there are trains and local b uses, expect to experience much of the area as the ancient people of Yamato would have: by walking.
To start us off, then, let's imagine ourselves traveling down, by train, to Sakurai, and to the ancient shrine of Ōmiwa. As you approach, keep an eye out for the massive Shintō torii gate that towers over the buildings around it, marking the entrance to the omote-sandō, the outer approach, to Ōmiwa and the sacred Mt. Miwa that is the focus of worship, there.
Even today, Miwa dominates the landscape. While the large torii are clearly modern—and even the famous triple torii gates at the foot of the mountain are probably a later addition—it nonetheless demonstrates the continued importance of the shrine and the sacred mountain in this region.
Fortunately, today, you need not walk the entire approach, as the train station drops you off much closer to the shrine, along the latter part of the omote-sandō.
Speaking of which, I should perhaps describe this common feature at many famous shrines and temples.
The omote-sandō, or outer approach, is both a part of the shrine and yet not at the same time. It is typically the main road to the shrine, or at least the traditional approach. Unlike the main ground of the shrine, these are public roads with numerous shops lining the sides, typically geared towards those making a pilgrimage to the shrine itself. You can usually find various souvenirs, restaurants, as well as local sweets and delicacies to take back as gifts.
These paths may have one belonged to the shrine, especially if it used to be a larger institution that could then use the land rents to help pay for their own upkeep, and you may find auxiliary shrines or temples along the way, but there seems to have always been a kind of symbiotic relationship with places of worship and the merchants catering to the pilgrims visiting them. It is not dissimilar to how restaurants, motels, and gift shops spring up around various attractions anywhere else in the world.
Fortunately, at Ōmiwa shrine, as I said the train station is actually well along the outer approach, meaning you don't have to walk the entire thing if you do not wish.
As you approach the main shrine, you'll come to a second torii gate, leading you into the forested area of the main shrine grounds, which leads you to the Edo period haiden, or prayer hall.
One of the unique things about Ōmiwa shrine is that they never built an actual building to contain the spirit of the kami of the shrine, which in this case is Ōmononushi. Instead, the kami lives on the mountain itself. This is thought to be the older style of worship, where the kami were thought to live in the mountains, close to the sun and the sky. Many stories talk about the kami alighting from the heavens onto mountains, and early depictions of them taking corporal, or visible, form are often as animals—snakes and other such things—living on or near the mountain.
There is a teaching, in fact, that as rice cultivation grew in Japan, many communities would create a sacred space in or near the rice fields, designating a pillar and setting up a sacred fence, and call the kami down from the mountain to reside close to the workers, who were growing there rice. At harvest time, the village would celebrate, offering a part of the harvest to the kami, who had helped it grow, and sending the kami back to the mountain.
Over time, the pillar was covered with a roof, to avoid the rot and deterioration that comes with being outside throughout most of the year, and eventually that grew into a building, where ceremonies could be conducted. This is one story for how the modern shrine came to be.
In most places, even at sacred mountains, they will have an actual shrine building for the key focus of worship, but, as I said, at Ōmiwa they have maintained an older style of worship. Therefore, where most prayer halls are simply placed in front of the main building, where the spirit is enshrined, the haiden of Ōmiwa sits in front of the entrance to the mountain itself. If you find yourself with the time and the inclination, you can hike the trails up Mt. Miwa, though they are clear to indicate that this is a religious place, and not just a hike through the wilderness, and people are expected to treat it appropriately.
Regrettably, when I was there I had limited time, and so I didn't get a chance to hike up, but maybe that will be a trip for another day.
From Ohomiwa shrine, you have several options. The most scenic is to travel north along the Yamanobe no Michi, the ancient mountain road.
This road—though mostly more a walking path—is touted as the oldest road in all of Japan. This designation comes from the fact that it is the first road mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, with various kofun and ancient palaces sited in relation to it over the years. It travels up along the foot of the mountains all the way to Nara city, and takes you through some absolutely beautiful countryside. I was last there in the fall, and people were walking the trail looking for pictures of fall foliage there and in the mountains.
It is unclear to me just how stable the route of this Yamanobe no Michi actually has been over the years. Certainly there have been paths along the foothills, but the designation of this particular path seems, perhaps, arbitrary. What I will not dispute is that this path winds through countryside that has a long history, which you can see all around you. Aside from the larger, more obvious kofun of the ancient kings, the landscape is dotted with smaller examples as well. As I walked along the trail, I made something of a sport of “kofun hunting”—looking for mounds in fields and then checking to see if it was a kofun or a natural feature. Of course, more often then not, it was a kofun—even if it is now in the middle of some farmer’s persimmon orchard. It was fascinating to see just how many were there—especially when you consider that many mounds may have collapsed or been worn away over the years.
Not all of the kofun I wanted to see were along the ancient path ways, however. Specifically, I was on the lookout for one of the oldest of the giant keyhole tomb mounds: Hashihaka kofun.
Hashihaka is a bit of a detour from the old Yamanobe no Michi—if you take the train it is about halfway between Miwa and Makimuku JR train stations. Coming up on it, and not knowing anything else, you might dismiss it as little more than a large, tree-covered hill, though the water-filled moat might alert you that something is up. Of course, from up above, or looking at a map, one can clearly make out the keyhole shaped features of the kofun mound.
As I said, this is thought to be one of the oldest of the keyhole shaped mounds. It has been dated to the mid to late 3rd century, and many people believe that this must be the resting place of the famous Queen Himiko, or at least someone from around her time. The fact that the Chronicles say that there is a woman buried there who demonstrated shaman-like powers in her interactions with the kami lend a lot of credence to that—something we first discussed back in episode 13, when we talked about the evidence for Queen Himiko.
When it was new, of course, the mound would not have been covered in trees. The various levels would have been carefully graded, with clear steps showing the levels up to the top of the mound. It may have started out at its core as a small hill that was then reshaped, or it may have been built from the ground up—I’m not sure if we can tell without more intrusive investigations. The surface would have been covered with small stones, which likely inhibited too much growth, although it still would have required maintenance, and likely some number of households were identified to regularly provide labor and rice for the mound’s upkeep.
An early kofun like this would not have had the elaborate haniwa of later evolutions. There have been found some haji-ware style pots that have holes drilled into the bottom, thus indicating that they were not likely being used to store anything—or at least not in the way a normal pot would. These were along the squarish front shape of the kofun. Later, we find cylindrical stands, which become the basis for the actual haniwa that cover so many other kofun. Still, even without this, the shape and the material and other such aspects would have called out that this was a special place.
Hashihaka kofun sits in the shadow of Mt. Miwa, though it isn’t directly oriented towards it. Possibly there is religious significance in its direction, but some of that may have been dictated by other local features at the time, some of which may no longer be evident, including the shape of any original hill or mound used in the kofun’s creation. It is clear, however, that it would have been visible for quite some distance, and even today it towers over most of the one-to-two storey buildings that surround it.
It would also have been clearly visible from the site of our next stop, at Makimuku JR train station.
Makimuku is a small station, and mostly just a stop in the region for those living in the area. Still, when you are in a land as steeped in history as the Nara basin, there is always something around, and at Makimuku it is the remains of an ancient third century palace.
Uncovered near the JR train lines and the station, the Makimuku palace is largely indicated by postholes, indicating at least three distinct raised buildings on the site. Numerous excavations have been carried out in the area, indicating habitation through the 3rd and 4th centuries, with a shift closer to the mountains in the latter part of the area’s focus. There is indication of trade with people on Korean peninsula, and indication of goods from as far away as Southeast Asia, at least. Many of these excavations are now beneath homes and other buildings that have sprung up over time, but you can still see where the Makimuku palace was, though access is a little strange. From the station, one walks around and through the nearby streets—you actually walk away from the ruins and then eventually back towards them. The actual entrance to the site is more like an empty lot between two buildings, providing access to an area with the location of the main postholes indicated in concrete. There is a small board where someone is ensuring that information about the site is being kept up for any interested travelers.
This is definitely a site for someone with a keen interest in history and not necessarily a site that most tourists would likely come to visit. There are no reconstructed buildings—anything that someone did build would simply be conjecture, as it is merely the postholes and some various fragments of pottery and other trade goods that have been found. And yet from there you can get a sense of the size of how large the Makimuku area, at the foot of Mt. Miwa, might have been. From there to Hashihaka kofun is a comfortable walk, and both Hashihaka and the sacred Mt. Miwa would have been clearly visible at the time. Nearby is the Yamato River, to provide another form of early transportation. And all around is flat land that makes for excellent rice farming, which would have spurred on the ancient economy and may explain how Yamato was able to grow so large so quickly.
Around the countryside, we have plenty of reminders of this period. Besides Hashihaka kofun, there are numerous others, many of them from the late 3rd to 4th centuries and attributed to some of the figures from the Nihon Shoki, including Mimaki and Ikume Iribiko. Of course, there are also various signposts that detail where tradition states this or that palace was or some other event. Given the lack of detail in the chronicles, it is hard to know how accurate any of this is, but walking around at least gives you some idea of the area and where all of this was taking place.
Many of these are just north of Sakurai proper, and in the area of Tenri city, in Nara, but I’m going to hold off on talking about that at this point, as we’ll probably make that the focus of a second part of this little travelogue.
I do want to point out, though, a few more things in the area. For instance, there is a shrine to sumou, recounting the supposed first sumou match mentioned in the Chronicles. There are also several supposed palace sites closer to the mountains themselves.
Looking away from the mountains, across the Yamato River, we can see the flat plain of the Shiki district. “Shiki” is an area that pops up time and again in the Chronicles, and the area of Tawaramoto is well built up, today. Across the flat plain you can see the mountain ridge that would separate the Nara basin and the land of Yamato from the area of Kawachi and modern Ohosaka proper. Beyond them both is the Seto Inland Sea.
I’ll have some photos from this trip up on the podcast website for those who want to get an idea of what it is like on the ground, but it is a fairly easy area to reach from a variety of different locations. North is Tenri and Nara, each with their own areas of historical interest, and west and south you have the areas of Kashihara and Asuka, which both feature prominently in the chronicles, especially in some of the later sections. I’ll try to do a little bit of each of them as I can, interspersing these geographical descriptions in between other episodes to help give a better sense of the area and perhaps give you a bit of guidance for your own travels.
And that is going to do it for this episode. Thanks for taking this detour with me - I’m going to keep looking into the reign of Ame Kunioshi, and hopefully we can get to him next time.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

Episode 80: The Asuka Period

February 1, 2023 Joshua Badgley

Marker indicating the spot tradition holds was the site of Senka Tenno’s palace at Ihorino in Hinokuma. Photo by Takanuka, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

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This episode we take a look at the reign of Takewo Hiro Oshikuni Tate, aka Senka Tenno, and we take our first steps into what is referred to as the Asuka Period, due to the large number of rulers who had courts in the region of Asuka in the southern Nara Basin.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 80: The Asuka Period Begins!
When last we looked at the Chronicles, we were in the reign of Magari no Ohine, aka Ohoye—though we’ve gone with Ohine so I’m going to stick with that—aka Ankan Tennou. Assuming the dating in the Chronicles is correct, he was born about 465, and would have come of age in the era of Wakatakiru no Ohokimi, aka Yuuryaku Tennou. When his father, Wohodo no Ohokimi, first took the throne in 507, Ohine would would have been in his early forties—his father only in his mid to late 50s. And so when his father passed away about 25 years later, Ohine was already into his late 60s, himself. It is unclear whether his father reigned for 25 or 28 years; the Chronicles say 25, officially, but then note that there is another source that claims it was 28. It goes on to skip over about three years, during which Ohine himself didn’t take the throne, allowing for 28 years to have passed. That discrepancy of three years may not seem like much, but it is still curious.
Realistically, though, he had his hand on the tiller of the ship of state for much longer. We see his hand in stories dated to about 513, when he is shown politicking on national issues, taking a royal princess as his wife, and being established as the heir apparent. So he is actively participating in the government, and while it does appear that the long tradition of co-rulership, which we’ve discussed a few times, may have died out around this period, there seems little doubt as to his influence in the court.
And yet, Ohine’s reign only lasted two years. He was perhaps 68 or 69 years old when he took the throne, and he would die in the following year. Despite his influence, his father’s long reign had kept him off the throne for much of that time, and he was likely considered venerable even as he took the throne. He was succeeded by his maternal brother, the second eldest son of Wohodo no Ohokimi, who full name was Take-wo Hiro Kunioshi Tate. Based on his age and the dating in the Chronicles, he was only about one year younger than his older brother. So everything I said above about Ohine coming to the throne at a late age applies to Takewo as well - he would have also been through almost 7 decades by that point, so he was no spring chicken.
It is unclear what Takewo’s role was, growing up. He was the second son. His older brother was the heir apparent, and had his elder brother had children, no doubt those children would have been expected to inherit. However, such as not meant to be, as Magari no Ohine died childless.
Here I should point out that there were other brothers, since in the stories we’ve seen so far there has not necessarily been an insistence on the eldest brother taking the throne. One of these brothers was the young Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa no Mikoto. Born to Wohodo and his formal queen, Tashiraga, he would have been 26 at the time of Magari no Ohine’s death. Young, in comparison to Takewo, but not impossibly so, and certainly old enough to have taken the throne. In fact the Chronicles treat it as a forgone conclusion, though that is likely more twenty-twenty hindsight than anything else. Besides, although his mother was queen, that appears to have been a blatantly political marriage, designed to join Wohodo’s line with that of the previous sovereigns. Even Ohine had married a royal princess from the previous ruling line, and Takewo would be little different.
Still, it seems likely that Takewo and Ohine were likely from the more favored line, at least at the time, and as they took the throne, had they had heirs who could follow after them those heirs would have likely been the new royal lineage.
So: both Ohine and his brother came to the throne quite late in their lives, and neither would hold it for very long. That doesn’t mean, though, that there aren’t some important tidbits for us in their stories. As we’ve discussed in the last few episodes, a lot happened during Ohine’s reign, particularly with the establishment of various royal granaries. His entry in the Nihon Shoki is over twice the length of Takewo’s, even though the latter’s reign was longer, though not by much—lasting from the twelfth month of 535 to the spring of 539—a little more than three years, all told.
Still, Takewo’s reign has a few notable events. First such thing is the enthronement ceremony in the twelfth month of 535, as the Ministers of the court delivered up to Takewo the regalia—the sword and the mirror. Notice that there is no mention of the jewel, and neither is their mention of the seal, which was the item given to Takewo’s father, Wohodo, on *his* ascension, which we discussed back in Episode 75. This continues something of a trend, where the sword and the mirror are the truly public regalia.
Then, they moved the palace, as was customary. The Chronicles say that they set it up in Ihorino, in Hinokuma. This has traditionally been identified as being in the Hinokuma district of Asuka, near Omiashi jinja. Omiashi jinja claims to be the family shrine of the Aya, one of the families that trace their lineage back to the weavers brought over from the Korean peninsula. That family, much like the current dynasty, traced their own lineage back to the time of Homuda Wake, and I wonder if there wasn’t some kind of connection that would have made Hinokuma important to the sovereign and the court back in the early 6th century.
It is also near the site of the ruins of Hinokuma temple, said to have been established over a century later, in 686. Temples often were their own kind of symbol, and likely spoke to some importance for this area at the time it was founded, though it is likely that was coincidental to the site’s use by Takewo and his court, assuming the Chronicles can be trusted on that point.
Now some of you, like me, may have picked up on the location of this palace; that is to say, Asuka. As in the Asuka period. This is the period, between the 6th and 7th centuries, when many of the sovereigns based their capitals out of this region south of Kashihara in the Nara Basin, and hence the name. We’ll talk more on this periodization—as well as the various dates and what they mean—later on in the episode. For now, just know that this area, which is rich in archaeological evidence for this period, is going to be of particular importance to us—so much so that scholars have named an era after this region.
After setting up the palace, we are told that Takewo appointed his ministers. Two of the names are no surprise—Ohotomo no Kanamura and Mononobe no Arakahi were still around, and had continued in positions of power. Two new names join the list, however: Soga no Iname no Sukune was made Oho-omi, and Abe no Ohomaro no Omi was made Daibu.
Soga no Iname comes from the famous Soga clan. They claimed descent through none other than the famous Katsuragi no Sotsuhiko, and have popped up now and again. For more on Sotsuhiko, check out episode 47. The last mention appears to be during the reign of Wakatakiru no Ohokimi, when they mentioned Soga no Karako—which looks like it may be talking about someone born on the Korean peninsula. Given their connections to the continent and their eventual connection with Buddhism—as we’ll see in later episodes they played a large role in bringing it over and popularizing it in Japan—it seems quite likely that they had ties to the Korean peninsula. Here, we see Soga no Iname being made Ohoomi, the head of the Soga no Omi family, and what appears to be a rank of prime minister, although so far the actual authority of the Oho-omi in State affairs seems a bit hit or miss.
Abe no Ohomaro, on the other hand, is being made Daibu. This term is interesting—they are not making Ohomaro the head of the Abe clan, which would also be Ohoomi, one assumes, just like the Ohomuraji of the Ohotomo and Mononobe, though there are a lot of “Omi” ranked families that have been mentioned, but only a handful who have been mentioned as Oho-omi. The term “daibu” has shown up a few times in the Chronicles before, and generally just seems to refer to high ranking court officials, generally, though here it seems to be a specific court title. It would certainly be used that way, later, but it is also possible that, like Omi, it was originally just a more general term for high ranking ministers.
The Abe family has shown up here and there. Much like the Mononobe, their family name appears to suggest that they were originally formed as one of the “-Be” corporate family groups, though of course they show up in the Chronicles well before that would seem to have been the case, and have been prominent enough to marry daughters off to various sovereigns, so they at least claim something of a pedigree. They would continue to be important at court, and appear to have been close allies with the Soga clan, at least in this period.
There are a host of famous Abe throughout history. From the poet, Abe no Nakamaro, to the famous Onmyoji, or Yin-yang diviner, Abe no Seimei. There was a branch of Abe in the Tohoku region that regularly caused problems for later courts. And of course there is the modern political dynasty, as well, including the late Prime Minister, Abe Shinzo. However, it is somewhat difficult to know just who is actually related. The poet Nakamaro may be named for a village, rather than for his relationship to the court family. There are even different ways of spelling and pronouncing the Abe name, even in the Nihon Shoki itself. The Abe family was large enough that it would not have been difficult for someone to claim a relationship that didn’t exist, particularly in some of the more chaotic times. Still, we’ll try to keep track of them as best we can, at least as they interact with our narrative. In this case, that means keeping an eye on Abe no Ohomaro and his position at court.
Besides affirming the ministers, there was also the appointment of a queen. Here we again see the trend to connect this dynasty with the previous, as Takewo’s primary wife was none other than Tachibana no Nakatsu, a daughter of Ohoke no Ohokimi, aka Ninken Tennou. Together they had one son and three daughters, so technically it would appear that he did have an heir when he passed, but as we’ll see, that isn’t quite how the succession ended up working out.
One of the major events of this reign seems rather substantial. That’s the creation of a government house—basically an administrative center—in northern Kyushu, specifically in Nanotsu no Kuchi. Ostensibly it was to organize granaries to consolidate and distribute food as necessary. Of course, it can’t be forgotten that rice was not just food, but also the basis of the economy. So granaries were just as much a place that taxes could be collected, and that would have given officials there a tidy sum, some of which was no doubt destined for Yamato, but which I imagine was also used to help grease the wheels of local government.
We’ve seen this coming for some time. We see the military subdual of Kyushu in the old stories, and we see various people sent out to bring it to heel or otherwise administer at least the northern areas, which would have been part of the critical trade routes between Yamato and the mainland. Mononobe no Arakahi had been sent down with what we are told was a “battleax” of office to put down the Iwai Rebellion. That was about ten years ago, and we see Arakahi still in the government. Now, however, Yamato seems to be consolidating its hold over the area, instituting economic controls, beyond just the threat of military force.
There are also the various areas and families that they drew upon to fund and kickstart this venture. Most of it is from the Yamato region—Mamuta, in Kawachi; Owari, near modern Nagoya; Nihinomi, likely near Ohosaka; and Iga. The families in charge of this include Aso no Kimi, who must have had some leverage in Mamuta; Soga no Iname, who held influence of the Owari no Muraji; Mononobe no Arakahi, who apparently was in charge of the Nihinomi no Muraji; and then the Abe family, who directed the Iga no Omi. Of these, I find the Aso no Kimi most intriguing, as the others are all related to the great ministers of state. Aso no Kimi feels out of place, to me. It may be a reference to Mt. Aso or similar. But I also can’t help but notice that we have one Great Minister missing: Ohotomo no Kanamura, though not for long.
The rest of the setup of this government house—what sounds suspiciously like the area we’ll later come to know as the Dazaifu—included commandments that the local regions of the island of Kyuushuu also provide funds, which is to say rice. They consolidated reserves from Tsukushi, Hi, and Toyo, which is mostly northern Kyushu.
This was all in the year 536. Whether that is when it was commanded or that is when it was setup is not quite clear to me. One suspects that it would have fallen to Mononobe no Arakahi to administer things from this new government center, if it weren’t for that fact that Arakahi passed away only about a month later.
It is unclear who administered this new government house immediately, but in the year following, 537, and with Silla breathing down Nimna’s neck, Takewo’s government assigned Ohotomo no Kanamura’s sons, Iwa and Sadehiko, to assist Nimna. Iwa took charge of the government in Tsukushi, which would have been supplying any adventures on the peninsula, including raising troops and making preparations. Meanwhile his brother, Sadehiko went to Nimna and, we are told, “restored the peace” there, as well as lending aid to Yamato’s ally, Baekje.
This is rather vague. I don’t see anything in the Samguk Sagi that clearly equates to this. In 532, the Silla Annals talk about the King of Keumgwan Kara surrendering to Silla, though Kara would continue to be a going concern for at least another sixty years or so. It is possible that this had something to do with this new expedition around 537, but it isn’t clear.
Takewo would pass away in 539. His kofun near Mt. Unebi, just a little ways north of his palace at Hinokuma. It is identified as one in modern Toriyacho. It is said that he was buried together with his wife, Tachibana, and one of their children, who died while still quite young.
And that’s where we might end things, but there are a few other points to note for this period. For one thing, this is a great time to discuss periodization in Japanese history, since some people claim that the Asuka period started during this reign—specifically referencing the date of 538.
Periodization of historical eras often seems straightforward, but more often than not it is anything but. Periods may be designated for political reasons or even cultural. Political reasons may include things like a change in government, or even a change in the location of government. Certainly the Nara period, starting in 710, is based quite squarely on the foundation of Heijo-kyo, the continental style capital in modern Nara city. Likewise the Heian and Kamakura eras are often dated from the founding of the governments in those areas.
However, just because the government moved does not necessarily mean that things changed overnight, or even much at all. Likewise there were smaller changes that often happened within these periods, so within the Heian and Kamakura periods, you get terms like the Fujiwara and Insei periods to denote specific aspects of who was controlling the government at any given time.
For some, that means that the Asuka period doesn’t start until the reign of Toyomike Kashikiya-hime, aka Suiko Tenno, in 593, and by the narrowest definition only continues until the Taika reforms in 645, which are easily defined political dates with broad agreement across the scholarship for when they occurred.
And yet, we know that there were governments based out of the Asuka period before that, if the Nihon Shoki is to be at all believed. So if this is about the location of the capital, why not start it with Takewo and his palace? Shouldn’t that be the start of the so-called “Asuka Period”? After all, during this period the sovereigns continued the practice of building new palaces upon their ascension, with most, though not all, being in the Asuka area. And yet, that probably wouldn’t really help break up the period in the most meaningful ways. After all, if we go with that idea, why not start when Wohodo no Ohokimi built his palace in Iware, just a little to the north? What was so different from one to the other?
On the other hand, cultural periods tend to focus on changes in things like art or even thought. These often overlap well, but not exactly, with political periods. For instance, you may hear about the Higashiyama period, a time in the Muromachi when the Higashiyama era of Kyoto was ascendant, and it was influencing artistic growth and evolution across the country. But even that is a hard thing to tack down.
For the Asuka period, perhaps the biggest change – and one we will spend a lot of time discussing – was the introduction of Buddhism, that foreign religion from India, transported across Eurasia to the Korean peninsula and then over to Japan. The primary figure to whom the spread of Buddhism in Japan is attributed is the enigmatic Shotoku Taishi, who served as a regent for Toyomike Kashikiya hime, and instituted myriad reforms, often along continental models. And yet, if we want to look at the start of Buddhism, that actually goes further back—and for many it goes back all the way to the years included in this reign—specifically the year 538.
Now the year 538 in the Nihon Shoki contains no mention of Buddhism. In fact, the Nihon Shoki wouldn’t have a record of anything related to Buddhist teachings coming to Japan until about 13 or 14 years later, in the reign of the following sovereign, known as Kimmei Tenno, whom we will be getting to shortly. This chronicle states that it was in about 552 when an envoy from Baekje brough an image of the Buddha as well as Buddhist scriptures to the court.
However, these days it seems that many scholars prefer a date of 538 for this particular event. The 538 date comes from the records of Gangoji Temple—the Gangouji Garan Engi—as well as the Jouguu Shoutoku Houou Teisetsu, aka the Jouguu-ki. This latter is purported to be a biography of Shotoku Taishi, and comes from the 8th century, so contemporary with the Nihon Shoki, the Kojiki, and the Sendai Kuji Hongi. Both of these sources lend credence to the idea of 538 being when these Buddhist icons first came over, and so many people will start the Asuka period at this date.
To be clear, it isn’t as if Buddhism came over once and that was the end of it and everybody became Buddhist. This is just the first recorded instance of Buddhist items and ideas entering Japan—it wasn’t until later, as the court was adopting more and more continental ways, that Buddhism really gained acceptance and spread. Eventually it seems that state sponsorship of temples would override the construction of large kofun, as economic resources and labor were shifted to these new institutions of the state, bringing the Kofun era to its eventual end. But that is still down the road for us. Right now we are just at the beginning of the introduction of Buddhism, and while things are changing and the state is definitely growing, life didn’t suddenly take a turn one way or the other.
As for the date of 538—why was this, in hindsight, incredibly important religious and cultural event not mentioned in the reign of Takewo? Why was it instead mentioned in the reign of his successor? I’ve seen a few theories, but nothing that can concretely answer this question. Of course, there is the possibility that Takewo just wasn’t as impressive. The Chronicles seem to take issue with both his lineage and his elder brother’s, suggesting they weren’t true heirs because they did not have the full pedigree that someone like their brother, Ame Kunioshi, had. Of course, that could also have something to do with the path history took—to the Chroniclers it only made sense, but I think we can all see how that could have turned out differently.
There is also a theory that Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tenno, was actually co-ruling. Some have even suggested that Takewo and his brother, Magari no Ohine, were fictional, though why they would need to pad things out is anybody’s guess. It certainly does not seem unreasonable to think that some tradition of co-rulership had briefly continued in some form. As such, it may be that it did happen during Ame Kunioshi’s reign, but that said reign overlapped with his brother. If that were the case, the Chroniclers may have been teasing the two apart to provide a more direct narrative.
In the end, it is hard to know exactly why the dates don’t correspond between the different documents, but for our part I think we can say that we have now at least dipped our toes into the Asuka Period, especially as we get into the reign of Takewo’s younger step-brother, the youngest son of Wohodo no Ohokimi, or so we are told: Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa, aka Kimmei Tennou
But that will be for another episode, and there is so much to talk about: More contact with the continent, further discussion of the coming of Buddhism, and perhaps a look at some of the archaeology, including some volcanic events that don’t seem to have made it into the Chronicles themselves. All of that, coming up.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 79: Ankan's Glass Bowl

January 16, 2023 Joshua Badgley

Glass bowl from central Asia, said to be from the tomb of Ankan Tennō. Photo by author.

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This episode we talk about the bowl (above) said to be from the tomb of Ankan Tennō, but we also talk about more than that. The above bowl is said to be from an early 6th century tomb, and appears consistent with at least 5th century Sassanid glassware.

Similar glassware is found elsewhere and in a Sassanian context

Sassanid glass bowl fragment found on Okinoshima island

Glass fragment found on Okinoshima island, forming part of a Sassanid glass bowl. From the National Museum of Japanese History in Sakura. Photo by author.

Glass plate and bowl

Glass plate and bowl, with origins in Central Asia (likely Sassanid Persia), excavated from Niizawa Senzuka Kofun and on display at the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author.

Sassanid Glass Bowl

From the British Museum. Photo by Geni, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Sassanid Glass Bolws

From the Tabriz Museum. Photo by Alborz Fallah at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 79: Ankan’s Glass Bowl.
We are currently in the early part of the 6th century. Last episode was our New Year’s wrapup, but just before that we talked about the reign of Magari no Ōye, aka Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō. According to the Chronicles, he was the eldest son of Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennō, coming to the throne in 534. For all of the various Miyake, or Royal Grannaries, that he granted, his reign only lasted about two years, coming to an unfortunate end in the 12th month of 535. The Chronicles claim that Ohine was 70 years old when he died, which would seem to indicate he was born when his father, Wohodo, was only 13 years of age. That seems rather young, but not impossibly so.
It is said that Ankan Tennō was buried on the hill of Takaya, in the area of Furuichi. And that is where my personal interest in him and his short reign might end, if not for a glass bowl that caught my eye in the Tokyo National Museum.
Specifically, it was the Heiseikan, which is where the Tokyo National Museum hosts special exhibitions, but it also hosts a regular exhibition on Japanese archaeology. In fact, if you ever get the chance, I highly recommend checking it out. I mean, let’s be honest, the Tokyo National Museum is one of my favorite places to visit when I’m in Tokyo. I think there is always something new—or at least something old that I find I’m taking a second look at.
The Japanese archaeology section of the Heiseikan covers from the earliest stone tools through the Jomon, Yayoi, Kofun, and up to about the Nara period. They have originals or replicas of many items that we’ve talked about on the podcast, including the gold seal of King Na of Wa, the Suda Hachiman mirror, and the swords from Eta Funayama and Inariyama kofun, which mention Wakatakiru no Ōkimi, generally thought to be the sovereign known as Yuuryaku Tennō. They also have one of the large iron tate, or shields, on loan from Isonokami Shrine, and lots of bronze mirrors and various types of haniwa.
Amongst this treasure trove of archaeological artifacts, one thing caught my eye from early on. It is a small, glass bowl, round in shape, impressed throughout with a series of round indentations, almost like a giant golf ball. Dark brown streaks crisscross the bowl, where it has been broken and put back together at some point in the past. According to the placard, this Juuyo Bunkazai, or Important Cultural Property, is dated to about the 6th century, was produced somewhere in West Asia, and it is said to have come from the tomb of none other than Ankan Tennō himself.
This has always intrigued me. First and foremost there is the question of provenance—while there are plenty of tombs that have been opened over the years, generally speaking the tombs of the imperial family, especially those identified as belonging to reigning sovereigns, have been off limits to most archaeological investigations. So how is it that we have artifacts identified with the tomb of Ankan Tennō, if that is the case?
The second question, which almost trumps the first, is just how did a glass bowl from west Asia make it all the way to Japan in the 6th century? Of course, Japan and northeast Asia in general were not strangers to glassmaking—glass beads have a long history both on the Korean peninsula and in the archipelago, including the molds used to make them. However, it is one thing to melt glass and pour it into molds, similar to working with cast bronze. These bowls, however, appear to be something different. They were definitely foreign, and, as we shall see, they had made quite the journey.
So let’s take a look and see if we can’t answer both of these questions, and maybe learn a little bit more about the world of 6th century Japan along the way.
To start with, let’s look at the provenance of this glass bowl. Provenance is important—there are numerous stories of famous “finds” that turned out to be fakes, or else items planted by someone who wanted to get their name out there. Archaeology—and its close cousin, paleontology—can get extremely competitive, and if you don’t believe me just look up the Bone Wars of the late 19th century. Other names that come to mind: The infamous Piltdown man, the Cardiff Giant, and someone we mentioned in one of our first episodes, Fujimura Shin’ichi, who was accused of salting digs to try to claim human habitation in Japan going back hundreds of thousands of years.
This is further complicated by the fact that, in many cases, the situation behind a given find is not necessarily well documented. There are Edo period examples of Jomon pottery, or haniwa, that were found, but whose actual origins have been lost to time. Then there are things like the seal of King Na of Wa, which is said to have been discovered by a farmer, devoid of the context that would help to otherwise clear the questions that continue to surround such an object. On top of this, there are plenty of tombs that have been worn down over the ages—where wind and water have eroded the soil, leaving only the giant stone bones, or perhaps washing burial goods into nearby fields or otherwise displacing them.
So what is the story with the tomb of Ankan Tennō, and this glass bowl?
To answer this, let’s first look at the tomb attributed to Ankan Tennō. The Nihon Shoki tells us in the 8th century that this tomb was located at Takaya, in the area of Furuichi. This claim is later repeated by the Engi Shiki in the 10th century. Theoretically, the compilers of both of these works had some idea of where this was, but in the hundreds of years since then, a lot has happened. Japan has seen numerous governments, as well as war, famine, natural disaster, and more. At one point, members of the royal household were selling off calligraphy just to pay for the upkeep of the court, and while the giant kofun no doubt continued to be prominent features for locals in the surrounding areas, the civilian and military governments of the intervening centuries had little to no budget to spare for their upkeep. Records were lost, as were many details.
Towards the end of the Edo period, and into the early Meiji, a resurgence in interest in the royal, or Imperial, family and their ancient mausoleums caused people to investigate the texts and attempt to identify mausoleums for each of the sovereigns, as well as other notable figures, in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki. Given that many of those figures are likely fictional or legendary individuals, one can see how this may be problematic. And yet, the list that eventually emerged has become the current list of kofun protected by the Imperial Household Agency as imperial mausolea.
Based on what we know, today, some of these official associations seem obviously questionable. Some of them, for instance, are not even keyhole shaped tombs—for instance, some are circular, or round tombs, where the claim is often made that the other parts of the tomb were eroded or washed away. Still others engender their own controversy, such as who, exactly, is buried in Daisen-ryō, the largest kofun, claimed to be the resting place of Ōsazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennō. Some people, however, claim that it is actually the sovereign Woasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyō Tennō, who is buried there, instead. What is the truth? Well, without opening up the main tomb, who is to say, and even then it is possible that any evidence may have already been lost to the acidic soils of the archipelago, which are hardly kind to organic matter.
By the way, quick divergence, here—if you look up information on Daisen-ryō, aka Daisen Kofun, you may notice that there are drawings of a grave, including a coffin, associated with it. That might get you thinking, as I did at one point, that Daisen kofun had already been opened, but it turns out that was a grave on the slopes of the square end of the kofun, and not from the main, circular burial mound. Theoretically this may have been an important consort, or perhaps offspring or close relative of the main individual interred in the kofun, but most likely it is not for the person for whom the giant mound was actually erected. So, yes, Daisen kofun remains unopened, at least as far as we know.
As for the kofun identified for Ankan Tennō, today that is the tomb known as Furuichi Tsukiyama Kofun, aka Takaya Tsukiyama Kofun. While the connection to Ankan Tennō may be somewhat unclear, the kofun has had its own colorful history, in a way. Now most of the reports I could find, from about ’92 up to 2022, place this kofun, which is a keyhole shaped kofun, in the correct time period—about the early to mid-6th century, matching up nicely with a 534 to 535 date for the reign given to Ankan Tennō. But what is fascinating is the history around the 15th to 16th centuries. It was just after the Ounin War, in 1479, when Hatakeyama Yoshihiro decided to build a castle here, placing the honmaru, the main enclosure, around the kofun, apparently incorporating the kofun and its moats into the castle design. The castle, known as Takaya Castle, would eventually fall to Oda Nobunaga’s forces in 1575, and most of the surrounding area was burned down in the fighting, bringing the kofun’s life as a castle to an end.
Some of the old earthworks still exist, however, and excavations in the area have helped determine the shape of the old castle, though there still have not been any fulsome excavations of the mound that I have found. This makes sense as the kofun is designated as belonging to a member of the imperial lineage.
There are, however, other keyhole shaped kofun from around the early 6th century that are also found in the same area, which also could be considered royal mausolea, and would seem to fit the bill just as well as this particular tomb. In addition, there are details in the Chronicles, such as the fact that Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, was supposedly buried with his wife and his younger sister. This is, however, contradicted by records like the 10th century Engi Shiki, where two tombs are identified, one for Ankan Tennō and one for his wife, Kasuga no Yamada, so either the Chronicles got it wrong, or there were already problems with tomb identification just two centuries later. So we still aren’t entirely sure that this is Ankan Tennō’s tomb.
But at least we know that the glass bowl came from a 6th century kingly tomb, even if that tomb was only later identified as belonging to Ankan Tennō, right?
Well, not so fast.
The provenance on the bowl is a bit more tricky than that. You see, the bowl itself came to light in 1950, when a private individual in Fuse, Ōsaka invited visiting scholar Ishida Mosaku to take a look. According to his report at the time, the bowl was in a black lacquered box and wrapped in a special cloth, with a written inscription that indicated that the bowl had been donated to a temple in Furuichi named Sairin-ji.
There are documents from the late Edo period indicating that various items were donated to Sairin-ji temple between the 16th to the 18th centuries, including quote-unquote “utensils” said to have been washed out of the tomb believed to be that of Ankan Tennō. Ishida Mosaku and other scholars immediately connected this glass bowl with one or more of those accounts. They were encouraged by the fact that there is a similar bowl found in the Shōsōin, an 8th century repository at Tōdai-ji temple, in Nara, which houses numerous artifacts donated on behalf of Shōmu Tennō. Despite the gulf of time between them—two hundred years between the 6th and 8th centuries—this was explained away in the same way that Han dynasty mirrors, made in about the 3rd century, continued to show up in burials for many hundreds of years afterwards, likewise passed down as familial heirlooms.
Still, the method of its discovery, the paucity of direct evidence, and the lack of any direct connection with where it came from leaves us wondering—did this bowl really come from the tomb of Ankan Tennō? Even moreso, did it come from a 6th century tomb at all? Could it not have come from some other tomb?
We could tie ourselves up in knots around this question, and I would note that if you look carefully at the Tokyo National Museum’s own accounting of the object they do mention that it is quote-unquote “possibly” from the tomb of Ankan Tennō.
What does seem clear, however, is that its manufacture was not in Japan. Indeed, however it came to our small group of islands on the northeastern edge of the Eurasian continent, it had quite the journey, because it does appear to be genuinely from the Middle East—specifically from around the time of the Sassanian or Sassanid empire, the first Iranian empire, centered on the area of modern Iran.
And it isn’t the only one. First off, of course, there is the 8th century bowl in the Shousoin I just mentioned, but there are also examples of broken glass found on Okinoshima, an island deep in the middle of the strait between Kyushu and the Korean peninsula, which has a long history as a sacred site, mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, and attached to the Munakata shrine in modern Fukuoka. Both Okinoshima and the Shōsōin—at least as part of the larger Nara cultural area—are on the UNESCO register of World Heritage sites, along with the Mozu-Furuichi kofun group, of which the Takaya Tsukiyama kofun is one..
Okinoshima is a literal treasure trove for archaeologists. However, its location and status have made it difficult to fully explore. The island is still an active sacred site, and so investigations are balanced with respect for local tradition. The lone occupant of the island is a Shinto priest, one of about two dozen who rotate spending 10 days out at the island, tending the sacred site. Women are still not allowed, and for centuries, one day a year they allowed up to 200 men on the island after they had purified themselves in the ocean around the island. Since then, they have also opened up to researchers, as well as military and media, at least in some instances.
The island is apparently littered with offerings. Investigations have demonstrated that this island has been in use since at least the 4th century. As a sacred site, guarding the strait between Kyushu and the Korean peninsula, fishermen and sailors of all kinds would make journeys to the island and leave offerings of one kind or another, and many of them are still there: clay vessels, swords, iron ingots, bronze mirrors, and more. The island’s location, which really is in the middle of the straits, and not truly convenient to any of the regular trading routes, means that it has never really been much of a strategic site, just a religious one, and one that had various religious taboos, so it hasn’t undergone the centuries of farming and building that have occurred elsewhere.
Offerings are scattered in various places, often scattered around or under boulders and large rocks that were perhaps seen as particularly worthy of devotion. Since researchers have been allowed in, over 80,000 treasures have been found and catalogued. Among those artifacts that have been brought back is glass, including glass from Sassanid Persia. Pieces of broken glass bowls, like the one said to have come from Ankan’s tomb, as well as what appear to be beads made from broken glass pieces, have been recovered over the years, once more indicating their presence in the trade routes to the mainland, although when, exactly, they came over can be a little more difficult to place.
That might be helped by two other glass artifacts, also found in the archaeological exhibit of the Heiseikan in the Tokyo National Museum: a glass bowl and dish discovered at Niizawa Senzuka kofun Number 126, in Kashihara city, in Nara.
This burial is believed to date to the latter half of the 5th century, and included an iron sword, numerous gold fittings and jewelry, and even an ancient clothes iron, which at the time looked like a small frying pan, where you could put hot coals or similar items in the pan and use the flat bottom to help iron out wrinkles in cloth. Alongside all of this were also discovered two glass vessels. One was a dark, cobalt-blue plate, with a stand and very shallow conical shape. The other was a round glass bowl with an outwardly flared lip. Around the smooth sides, the glass has been marked with three rows of circular dots that go all the way around, not dissimilar from the indentations in the Ankan and Shōsōin glass bowls.
All of these, again, are believed to have come from Sassanid Persia, modern Iran, and regardless of the provenance of the Ankan bowl, it seems that we have clear evidence that Sassanian glassworks were making their way to Japan. But how? How did something like glass—hardly known for being the most robust of materials—make it all the way from Sassanid Persia to Yamato between the 5th and 8th centuries?
To start with, let’s look at Sassanid Persia and its glass.
Sassanid Persia—aka Sassanid or Sassanian Iran—is the name given to the empire that replaced the Parthian empire, and is generally agreed to have been founded sometime in the early 3rd century. The name “Sassanid” refers to the legendary dynastic founder, Sassan, though the first historical sovereign appears to be Ardeshir I, who helped put the empire on the map.
Ardeshir I called his empire “Eran sahr”, and it is often known as an Iranian or Persian empire, based on their ties to Pars and the use of the Middle Persian, or Farsi, language. For those not already well aware, Farsi is one of several Iranian languages, though over the years many of the various Iranian speaking peoples would often be classified as “Persian” in English literature. That said, there is quite a diversity of Iranian languages and people who speak them, including Farsi, Pashto, Dari, Tajik, and the ancient Sogdian language, which I’m sure we’ll touch on more given their importance in the ancient silk road trade. Because of the ease with which historical “Iranian” ethnic groups can be conflated with the modern state, I am going to largely stick with the term Persian, here, but just be aware that the two words are often, though not always, interchangeable.
The Sassanid dynasty claimed a link to the older Achaemenid dynasty, and over the subsequent five centuries of their rule they extended their borders, dominating the area between the Caspian Sea and the Persian Gulf, eastward to much of modern Afghanistan and Pakistan, running right up to the Hindu Kush and the Pamir mountains. They held sway over much of Central Asia, including the area of Transoxiana. With that they had access to both the sea routes, south of India and the overland routes through the Tianshan mountains and the northern and southern routes around the great Taklamakan desert – so, basically, any trade passing between Central and East Asia would pass through Sassanid territory.
The Persian empire of the Sassanids was pre-Islamic—Islamic Arab armies would not arrive until about the 7th century, eventually bringing an end to the Sassanid dynasty. Until that point, the Persian empire was largely Zoroastrian, an Iranian religion based around fire temples, restored after the defeat of the Parthians, where eternal flames were kept burning day and night as part of their ritual practice.
The Sassanids inherited a Persian culture in an area that had been dominated by the Parthians, and before that the Hellenistic Seleucids, and their western edge bordered with the Roman empire. Rome’s establishment in the first century BCE coincided with the invention of glassblowing techniques, and by the time of the Sassanid Empire these techniques seem to have been well established in the region.
Sassanid glass decorated with patterns of ground, cut, and polished hollow facets—much like what we see in the examples known in the Japanese islands—comes from about the 5th century onward. Prior to that, the Sassanian taste seems to have been for slightly less extravagant vessels, with straight or slightly rounded walls.
Sassanid glass was dispersed in many different directions along their many trade routes across the Eurasian continent, and archaeologists have been able to identify glass from this region not just by its shape, but by the various physical properties based on the formulas and various raw materials used to make the glass.
As for the trip to Japan, this was most likely through the overland routes. And so the glass would have been sold to merchants who would take it up through Transoxiana, through passes between the Pamirs and the Tianshan mountains, and then through a series of oasis towns and city-states until it reached Dunhuang, on the edge of the ethnic Han sphere of influence.
For a majority of this route, the glass was likely carried by Sogdians, another Iranian speaking people from the region of Transoxiana. Often simply lumped in with the rest of the Iranian speaking world as “Persians”, Sogdians had their own cultural identity, and the area of Sogdia is known to have existed since at least the ancient Achaemenid dynasty. From the 4th to the 8th century, Sogdian traders plied the sands of Central Eurasia, setting up a network of communities along what would come to be known as the Silk Road.
It is along this route that the glassware, likely packed in straw or some other protective material, was carried on the backs of horses, camels, and people along a journey of several thousand kilometers, eventually coming to the fractious edge of the ethnic Han sphere. Whether it was these same Sogdian traders that then made their way to the ocean and upon boats out to the Japanese islands is unknown, but it is not hard imagining crates being transferred from merchant to merchant, east, to the Korean Peninsula, and eventually across the sea.
The overland route from Sogdia is one of the more well-known—and well-worn—routes on what we modernly know as the Silk Road, and it’s very much worth taking the time here to give a brief history of how this conduit between Western Asia/Europe and Eastern Asia developed over the centuries.
One of the main crossroads of this area is the Tarim Basin, the area that, today, forms much of Western China, with the Tianshan mountains in the north and the Kunlun Mountains, on the edge of the Tibetan plateau, to the south. In between is a large desert, the Taklamakan desert, which may have once been a vast inland sea. Even by the Han dynasty, a vast saltwater body known as the Puchang Sea existed in its easternmost regions. Comparable to some of the largest of the Great Lakes, and fed by glacial run-off, the lake eventually dwindled to become the salt-marshes around Lop Nur. And yet, researchers still find prominent boat burials out in what otherwise seems to be the middle of the desert.
Around the Tarim basin were various cultures, often centered on oases at the base of the mountains. Runoff from melting ice and snow in the mountains meant a regular supply of water, and by following the mountains one could navigate from watering hole to watering hole, creating a natural roadway through the arid lands. In the middle of the Basin, however, is the great Taklamakan desert, and even during the Han dynasty it was a formidable and almost unpassable wasteland. One could wander the sands for days or weeks with no water and no indication of direction other than the punishing sun overhead. It is hardly a nice place and remains largely unpopulated, even today.
While there were various cultures and city-states around the oasis towns, the first major power that we know held sway, at least over the northern route, were the Xiongnu. Based in the area of modern Mongolia, the Xiongnu swept down during the Qin and early Han dynasties, displacing or conquering various people.
An early exploration of the Tarim basin and its surroundings was conducted by the Han dynasty diplomat, Zhang Qian. Zhang Qian secretly entered Xiongnu territory with the goal of reaching the Yuezhi—a nomadic group that had been one of those displaced by the Xiongnu. The Yuezhi had been kicked out of their lands in the Gansu region and moved all the way to the Ferghana valley, in modern Tajikistan, a part of the region known as Transoxiana. Although Zhang Qian was captured and spent 10 years in service to the Xiongnu, he never forgot his mission and eventually made his way to the Yuezhi. By that time, however, the Yuezhi had settled in to their new life, and they weren’t looking for revenge.
While Zhang Qian’s news may have been somewhat disappointing for the Han court, what was perhaps more important was the intelligence he brought back concerning the routes through the Tarim basin, and the various people there, as well as lands beyond. The Han dynasty continued to assert itself in the area they called the “Western Regions”, and General Ban Chao would eventually be sent to defeat the Xiongnu and loosen their hold in the region, opening up the area all the way to modern Kashgar.
Ban Chao would even send an emissary, Gan Ying, to try to make the journey all the way to the Roman empire, known to the Han court as “Daqin”, using the name of the former Qin dynasty as a sign of respect for what they had heard. However, Gan Ying only made it as far as the land of Anxi—the name given to Parthia—where he was told that to make it to Rome, or Daqin, would require crossing the ocean on a voyage that could take months or even years. Hearing this, Gan Ying decided to turn back and report on what he knew.
Of course if he actually made it to the Persian Gulf—or even to the Black Sea, as some claim—Gan Ying would have been much closer to Rome than the accounts lead us to believe. It is generally thought that he was being deliberately mislead by Parthian merchants who felt they might be cut out if Rome and the Han Dynasty formed more direct relations. Silks from East Asia, along with other products, were already a lucrative opportunity for middlemen across the trade routes, and nobody wanted to be cut out of that position if they could help it.
That said, the Parthians and, following them the Sassanid Persians, continued to maintain relationships with dynasties at the other end of what we know as the Silk Road, at least when they could. The Sassanid Persians, when they came to power, were known to the various northern and southern dynasties as Bosi—possibly pronounced something like Puasie, at the time, no doubt their attempt to render the term “Parsi”. We know of numerous missions in both directions between various dynasties, and Sassanian coins are regularly found the south of modern China.
And so we can see that even in the first and second centuries, Eurasia was much more connected than one might otherwise believe. Goods would travel from oasis town to oasis town, and be sold in markets, where they might just be picked up by another merchant. Starting in the fourth century, the Sogdian merchants began to really make their own presence known along these trade routes. They would set up enclaves in various towns, and merchants would travel from Sogdian enclave to Sogdian enclave with letters of recommendation, as well as personal letters for members of the community, setting up their own early postal service. This allowed the Sogdian traders to coordinate activities and kept them abreast of the latest news.
And so this is how our glass bowls and other goods likely made their way from Sasanid Persia. Most likely they were sold to merchants who took them to Afrasiab, known today as Samarkand, in modern Uzbekistan, a Sogdian city that would become one of the major cosmopolitan centers on the Silk Road. From there they likely traveled through the Ferghana valley, where the Yuezhi had once settled. This area was renowned for its horses, known as “Heavenly Horses”, which fetched high prices in Eastern markets.
To pass from Ferghana into the Tarim Basin, one must cross over the Alai mountains and descend to the city of Kashgar. From there one can take the southern route, through Khotan and the area generally controlled by Tibet or the northern route, hitting the oases of Aksu, Kuqa, and more. Unless one looped further north to pick up some famous hami melons, the merchant caravan would likely find its way to Dunhuang, where the various routes through the Tarim basin converge. From there, it was a matter of taking the roads through the Gansu corridor to the Yellow River and beyond.
I’m not sure we have a clear indication how long this trip would take. Theoretically, one could travel from Kashgar to Xi’an and back in well under a year, if one were properly motivated and provisioned—it is roughly 4,000 kilometers, and travel would have likely been broken up with long stays to rest and refresh at the various towns along the way.
I’ve personally had the opportunity to travel from Kashgar to Turpan, though granted it was in the comfort of an air conditioned bus. Still, having seen the modern conditions, the trip would be grueling, but not impossible back in the day, and if the profits were lucrative enough, then why not do it—it is not dissimilar to the adventurers from Europe in the 16th century who went out to sea to find their own fortunes.
And so the glass bowl likely made its way through the markets of the Tarim basin, to the markets of various capitals in the Yellow River or Yangzi regions—depending on who was in charge in any given year—and eventually made its way to the Korean peninsula and from there to a ship across the Korean strait.
Of course, those ships weren’t simply holding a single glass vessel. Likely they were laden with a wide variety of goods. Some things, such as fabric, incense, and other more biodegradable products would not be as likely to remain, and even glass breaks and oxidizes, and metal rusts away. Furthermore, many of the goods had likely been picked over by the time any shipments arrived in the islands, making things such as these glass bowls even more rare and scarce.
Still, this bowl, whether it belonged to Ankan or not, tells us a story. It is the story of a much larger world, well beyond the Japanese archipelago, and one that will be encroaching more and more as we continue to explore this period. Because it wasn’t just physical goods that were being transported along the Silk Road. The travelers also carried with them news and new ideas. One of these ideas was a series of teachings that came out of India and arrived in China during the Han dynasty, known as Buddhism. It would take until the 6th century, but Buddhism would eventually make its way to Japan, the end of the Silk Road.
But that is for another episode. For now, I think we’ll close out our story of Ankan and his glass bowl. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little diversion, and from here we’ll continue on with our narrative as we edge closer and closer to the formal introduction of Buddhism and the era known as the Asuka Period.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

小寺知津子 (2023)。「カラス来た道:古代ユーラシアをつなぐ輝き。ISBN 978-4-642-05963-3
徳田　誠志 (2020).「伝安閑天皇陵出土ガラス碗」再発見の経緯と東京国立博物館への収蔵について ― 加藤三之雄教授（第二代社会学部長）の関与。「関西大学博物館紀要」。Vol. 26, pp 1-15. http://hdl.handle.net/10112/00020235
劉東波 (2017)。井上靖「玉碗記」論 : 対の器物から生まれた人物。http://hdl.handle.net/10191/5053
井原稔 (2014)。羽曳野市教育委員会 2014 『羽曳野市埋蔵文化財調査報告書73：古市遺跡群35』羽曳野市教育委員会。https://sitereports.nabunken.go.jp/17337
吉澤則男 (1992)。羽曳野市教育委員会 1992 『羽曳野市埋蔵文化財調査報告書27：羽曳野市内遺跡調査報告書平成3年度』羽曳野市教育委員会。 https://sitereports.nabunken.go.jp/en/17369
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

New Year's Recap 2023

January 1, 2023 Joshua Badgley

View of the top of the mound (or the treetops atop the mound) of Daisen kofun, from a pedestrian overpass near the northwest corner of the site. Photo by author.

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Greetings! And welcome to our New Year’s Recap Episode for 2023, where we look back at the past year, and a little at what is to come. We also talk a bit of the behind the scenes

Shinnen akemashite omedetou gozaimasu! Happy New Year!
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is our New Year’s Recap Episode for 2023.
This year we covered topics from the 5th to the 6th centuries—from the time of Woasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune, aka Ingyou Tennou, back in episode 56, all the way up to Wohodo and his son, Magari no Ohoye, aka Keitai and Ankan Tennou, in episode 78. These are the 19th through 25th and 26th sovereigns, according to the official reckoning, though as we’ve mentioned there are possibly a few missing—and maybe even a few added. Still, in this time, we’ve seen the growth of the Yamato state, as well as various changes involving their relations with those on the other side of the continent. So let’s take a moment to look back at this and pull up from the individual stories to see how the larger narrative is coming along.
Before we get into that, a quick note of thanks for all of our listeners out there. We appreciate you—thank you for staying with us through this journey. It is just so great to know there are others out there who are interested in all of this. Also thanks to those who’ve reached out with assistance or with suggestions. While not everything fits into the format or what we are currently doing, I have a list of things that I’m looking for ways to do or insert into the narrative at some point.
I also thought I’d try to lift the curtain for you all a bit on the production of this little show, to help you understand a bit more about what goes into it.
So first off, for those who haven’t realized already, we aren’t part of a major podcast network and we don’t have a crew of people putting this together. For the most part it is me and my wife, both of whom have other jobs and responsibilities, doing our best to put it out there. Typically I’m looking for downtime to do the research and put a given episode together, and after I write my first draft I give it to her for a sanity check and editing. Once she’s had time to go over it, I record the podcast, which isn’t always smooth, and edit out as many of the mistakes as I can. Then we upload it—we are currently using Libsyn for distribution, and schedule it for release on either the first or the sixteenth of every month.
Once the episode is recorded, that’s usually where we start working on a blog post for the episode; I’m not sure how much people read the blogposts, vice just listen, since this is an audio medium more than anything else, but that is where I’ve tried to put up various names and individuals for people to follow along with what is going on, since we have so many different characters.
One of the things that takes the most time is searching through and finding the images for the podcast blogs. In some cases, I pull from our own extensive library of photos taken at various times and places, and otherwise I usually am looking for images in the public domain or at least using a license that can be used on the website.
Depending on the amount of time all this takes, I try to focus first and foremost on getting the audio out on a consistent and regular basis, and sometimes I have to come back to the blog post later.
I am hoping to add into this the transcripts for the show, to make things more accessible, as well as adding content up on YouTube, though that requires turning things into “video” which is all doable, just time consuming, especially with 78 episodes to update. The transcripts should also allow me to add captions on YouTube, but I’m still figuring that out.
And of course all of this is done as a labor of love at the moment—I still have a day job that pays the bills for hosting, new research material, etc., though Patreon and Ko-Fi donations are always appreciated.
So those are the things that go into making the podcast. If you have thoughts, advice, or questions, please feel free to reach out.
Now, looking at the past year, we’ve spent a lot of time with the family that many scholars know as the Kawachi dynasty. This is a term derived from the fact that early on they are said to have ruled from around the Naniwa area, and the giant keyhole tombs that popped up were largely in the Mozu-Furuichi tumulus group in modern Osaka, in the old land of Kawachi. This includes the largest tumuli ever built, including Daisen-ryou.
Daisen-ryou is the largest kofun in Japan and about the largest mausoleum for a single person in the world—on par with tomb of the Qin Shihuangdi, the first emperor of Qin, in modern Xi’an, for sheer size. It is several stories tall, and really is like a man-made mountain. It is also surrounded by numerous other kofun.
Compare this to the Great Pyramid, in Egypt. The Pyramids are taller, rising over 140 meters in the air compared to Daisen’s 47 meter height, but the pyramid rises from a square base about 53,000 square meters. Daisen’s mound, meanwhile, covers about 100,000 square meters, and with the moats, covers approximately 460,000 square meters in total.
I finally had the opportunity to visit the Mozu tumulus group in November this past year and it really is impressive. One thing about these tombs is the manpower that was clearly required to build them. They are *massive* and it required an enormous engineering effort. Before all the trees grew up on the mound and the surrounding earthworks—not to mention all of the modern buildings—these tombs would have been clearly viewable from miles around. This ability to mobilize individuals in a single effort is one of the key factors that archaeologists look at to assess the strength of the early state in the archipelago.
One other thing about these mounds, and something I’m not quite sure we addressed—recent investigations appear to indicate that most of them were built with solar and lunar considerations. While this might not be entirely obvious when looking at a map—they appear almost to be random at that point—a team out of Italy published an article in the journal, Remote Sensing, in January of this past year, 2022, that used satellite imagery to study the orientation of the major keyhole tombs in the Japanese archipelago. They determined that the orientations were not random, and that there appears to be a connection to both the sun and the moon, so that the main corridor would be illuminated by both throughout the year. Daisen Ryou is even oriented specifically to the summer solstice sunset.
Of course, some of these astronomical alignments may be affected by other factors. For example, those kofun near the eastern edge of the Nara basin won’t see the sunrise until it crests over the mountains, which may affect their orientation. Others may have also been influenced by things like proximity to sacred sites, like Mt. Miwa. And of course, subsidiary tombs, like the others in the Mozu Kofun group, were oriented in relation to the main tomb. None of this was done willy-nilly; there is still a lot to be considered, and it is also possible that the importance of various directions and points on the calendar changed over the centuries of kofun building and even with differences in local practice. There is still a lot of work to be done here, but it is fascinating to see continued work on this topic, including the use of modern technology, especially with the restrictions placed on modern archaeologists when it comes to excavating these kofun that remain so closely tied to the Japanese imperial family.
For all that we don’t know, the Mozu and Furuichi kofun groups do leave their mark on this period, which covered much of the last year. Even the Chronicles, as questionable as they may be in their narrative, describe courts at least attached to the Kawachi area, especially Naniwa, generally identified as modern Ohosaka, where the Yodo river empties into the Seto Inland Sea.
The first tenno we talked about in 2022 was Woasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune, aka Ingyou Tennou—curious for the apparent use of a courtly title, Sukune, in his name. Woasatsuma was supposedly disabled, although then miraculously healed, I guess? Either way, he wasn’t exactly expected to succeed his brothers, and yet he did.
Woasatsuma’s own death led to the kind of violent succession struggle that we’ve come to associate with this period. His own son, Anaho, aka Ankou Tennou, took the reins, but immediately went after the Kusaka line, supposedly because of some dastardly deeds by a rogue courtier, named Ne no Omi. After Anaho’s forces killed Prince Ohokusaka, it was only later that they found out it was all just a big misunderstanding. However, that’s not how Ohokusaka’s son, Mayuwaka, saw it, and he, at an extremely young age, took revenge and killed Anaho. This set off yet another bout of bloodletting that saw Anaho’s brother, Ohohatsuse Wakatakeru, murder his way through the royal family until he was the only surviving viable heir to the throne.
The rise of Wakatakeru, aka Yuuryaku Tennou, would seem to make him out as quite the villain. The Chroniclers certainly spill plenty of ink telling his story, but in hardly the most flattering of terms. And yet, his reign is one of the lengthier and more impactful reigns. He is also the first or second sovereign who appears to be confirmed by contemporary sources. The first might be Woasatsuma Wakugo, though this is questionable – the famous mirror from the Suda Hachiman Shrine has an inscription that can be read in several different ways, but may recall his marriage in one interpretation. For Wakatakeru, however, we have at least two swords from different parts of the archipelago that mention his name. This seems to confirm that there was not only a sovereign named Wakatakeru—or possibly Wakatakiru—around the right time, but they had enough influence that their name was apparently known across the archipelago.
This is also the time of the Five Kings of Wa from the Liu Song chronicles. How exactly these sovereigns line up with the Ohokimi of the Chronicles is still unclear—many assume that Bu must be Wakatakeru, since Bu and Takeru use the same character, at least in modern interpretations. A wrench in this theory is that Wakatakeru’s name on the two swords, mentioned above, use characters in a phonetic, rather than meaningful, way. So it isn’t entirely clear that Wakatakeru used that character during his reign. In fact, it is possible, though seemingly unlikely, that the five kings mentioned could be from another area of the Wa ethnic sphere altogether.
Whosoever the Liu Song were interacting with, the discussion of the Wa and their requests give us some interesting detail about their ambitions on the peninsula and the archipelago. Clearly someone on the Wa side was gathering enough support to not only make a trip to the Liu Song capital, situated as it was on the Yangtze river, but they were apparently credibly powerful enough for the Liu Song to take them seriously. It is interesting that they were willing to also grant them titles over groups like Silla, Nimna, and Kara—titles that, arguably, the Liu Song had no authority to actually enforce, let alone grant—and yet they balked at legitimating titles over Baekje’s territory. Of course they also continue to refer to the territories of Mahan and Jinhan, which may not have actually been a going concern at the time. They also differentiate between Nimna and Kara, which many later scholars would conflate into a single territory. As such, most of this just brings up more questions for the 5th century than it answers.
The archipelago’s relationship with the continent in the fifth century is complicated. Men of famous families are listed as having served in wars and fighting over on the continent, and there was certainly influx in the other direction, as well. There is plenty of evidence for Baekje and other groups moving to the continent and making a name of themselves.
They seem to have brought with them ideas for expanding Yamato’s control over the archipelago. For instance, we see the corporate -Be groups, groups created as a familial unit but geared around production of a specific good or service. Some of these, like the horse keeper’s Be, and the Jewel-maker’s Be, are based around particular professions, but others are groupings of peasant groups, whose agricultural output was designated for a specific function—either the support of a royal individual or the support of an institution, such as the maintenance of a royal kofun.
In particular, those groups created around production of a specific good or service could be made up of individuals throughout the archipelago, who reported, it seems, to a single courtier and their family. This nominally gave the court centralized control over these production groups, and blunted the rights of local lords to make demands of them. It was a truly impressive claim, one that I am hesitant to say was fully enforceable, but which nonetheless spoke to the aspirations of the court to become a central government.
An example of this was the Hata family, whose name seems to reference cloth production, something that was sought after on the continent, but who also use the character for the Qin dynasty, often claiming that they came from there, or possibly from “Jin-han” on the Korean peninsula, where a similar story claims the Qin name as the origin of that “Jin” moniker. Hata no Sake, a courtier who had an in with Wakatakeru, was placed in charge of all members of the Hata lineage—so theoretically all of those weaver families who had come over from the continent. In turn, he ensured that they turned out goods as taxes for the central court. The Hata family themselves would build a power base in the area of modern Kyouto, and a district in Kyouto still carries their name: Uzumasa, the name given to Hata no Sake and spelled out with the characters of “Great Hata”, or “Ohohata”.
This is also the era of numerous stories, including the first instance of the story of Urashima Tarou, Japan’s very own Rip Van Winkle character, although the story here is only in its infancy. Fact and fiction were still quite clearly interwoven, making it difficult to tell what was actually going on and what are just stories of a time long long ago.
Love him or hate him, Wakatakeru’s reign largely defines the 5th century. Before his death he placed the Ohotomo and the Mononobe in positions of great authority. Ohotomo no Muruya, and his descendant, Ohotomo no Kanamura, wielded considerable power—arguably more than the sovereigns that followed after Wakatakeru. Of those we saw Wakatakeru’s son, aka Seinei Tennou, but then he was followed by two sons—and even the daughter—of Prince Ichinobe, who was, perhaps, a sovereign in his own right.
Ihitoyo briefly took the throne—she is remembered as a short-lived regent, but in all honesty was likely a sovereign ruler in her own right—and then her two brothers, Woke and Ohoke—aka Kenzou and Ninken Tennou. They came to the throne through adoption, rather than birth, we are told, having gone into hiding after their father’s murder at the hands of Wakatakeru. Their reigns would not be extremely long, however, and eventually the throne passed to Ohatsuse Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennou, the capstone on the Kawachi dynasty, which, despite its name, had theoretically moved back to the area of modern Sakurai, in the southeast corner of the Nara basin.
With Wakasazaki’s death, the court, under Ohotomo no Kanamura’s apparent leadership, sought out a new candidate, and they had to go pretty far afield to do it. They eventually settled on Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, and set him up on the throne. While there are some who doubt even the existence of Keitai Tennou, considering him a potentially legendary founder of yet another dynasty, he is the bridge the Chroniclers use between the Kawachi dynasty and our last line of Yamato sovereigns—ones that would lead us up through to the present day. Not that there weren’t schisms and weird branchings or power-sharing arrangements between various lines after this time, but from about this point on we generally agree that the sovereigns appear to be related back to a common ancestor in at least the 6th century. Beyond that, well, let’s just say that we don’t exactly trust everything that the Chroniclers put to paper.
This new dynasty brought in new traditions, including abandoning the burial mound groups in the Mozu and Furuichi regions, and possibly abandoning, as well, a tradition of co-rulership, which appears to show up in the burials, but is not exactly attested to in the written Chronicles, possibly because it was too messy. Such simplifications can be seen even in the modern day. For instance, in some of the old martial arts, or koryu lineages, where there once were two distinct lineages, they may be conflated when they later came back together, with different generations interspersed amongst each other in an attempt to honor all those who came before. Those without access to the history might look and think that it demonstrates a single, unbroken line, whereas the truth is messier and much more complicated. Given what the Chroniclers had to work with, and the distance they were from the 6th century at that point, one has to wonder just what they actually knew.
Although it may have been new, this dynasty appears to have acted much as the prior one did, possibly thanks to the continued presence of the Ohotomo family—specifically Ohotomo Kanamura. He would continue to guide the ship of state as it entered a new era.
All of this covers a critical period of state formation, as Yamato has gotten larger and more powerful, and exerts more and more influence it is also finding new ways of governing. The key is that none of this happens at once, or in a vacuum. It isn’t like one day a chieftain had an idea: Hey, let’s build giant mounds and then proclaim ourselves rulers of everything on these islands! It was an evolution, and one that didn’t necessarily always trend in a single direction towards a foregone conclusion, though of course that’s how it often appears after the fact.
At many points during this process, something could have happened—and sometimes did. For instance, an unexpected death with no heirs, or military defeats on the continent. Shifting alliances and changes in the balance of power could also destabilize things. And yet, here we are, with court in Yamato sitting as at least primus inter pares, if not more, and with enough prestige to influence most of the archipelago, from the Kantou plain to Kyushu, and even to make an appearance in continental politics.
And that’s where stand, so far. As we look into the New Year, we stare out into a new era of Japanese history. This is still the Kofun era, yes, but in the coming year we can make out shapes of what is to come. Influences from the continent will continue to shape the archipelago, including the influence of foreign thoughts from even beyond the edge of the upcoming Sui and Tang dynasties. We see figures like the illusive, and possibly even fictitious, Shotoku Taishi, and the establishment of courts in the Asuka era. This is the era of the coming of Buddhism, the rise of the Soga, and all of the benefits and strife that would bring to the archipelago and to the court. All of that an more, soon to come.
That’s all for now. I just want to wish all of you, once more, a bright New Year—Shinnen Akemashite Omedetou Gozaimasu—and thank you again for listening. Episode 79 we’ll continue with this new dynasty, and look at possible connections with the continent, including some rather distant lands, next time on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Baratta, Norma Camilla, Giulio Magli, and Arianna Picotti. 2022. "The Orientation of the Kofun Tombs" Remote Sensing 14, no. 2: 377. https://doi.org/10.3390/rs14020377

Episode 78: Eminent Domain in Ancient Japan

December 16, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Conjectural reconstruction of a 5th century storehouse based on posthole finds in Osaka, at the site of the Osaka National Museum, near the later Naniwa Palace site. Photo by author.

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This episode we say goodbye to Wohodo and say hello to his successor, Magari no Ōye, aka Magari no Ohine.

On Succession

We’ve talked in the past about succession and the Chronicles’ conception of what was appropriate. In that formula, only the son of the current sovereign and the designated Queen was considered a viable candidate for the throne, and a Queen wasn’t just the wife of the sovereign. The Queen had to be specifically designated as such and they had to be of royal descent themselves.

There is no evidence that I see which directly suggests that Menoko had those qualifications in the Chroniclers’ eyes. Rather, they clearly see Tashiraga no Iratsume as the One True Queen. Nonetheless, where they could have easily erased Prince Ohine and his brother from the record, they did not. They left them in, albeit with short reigns—possibly an accurate reflection of the time.

Some later sources put Tashiraga’s son, the future sovereign known as Kimmei, aka Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa, as the direct inheritor from his father, Wohodo, aka Keitai. There are even some clues, hidden though they may be, that Ame Kunioshi had his two elder brothers killed in a struggle that the Chroniclers chose not to report for some reason.

The Nihon Shoki makes the claim, of course, that Ame Kunioshi was simply too young, and that he hadn’t come of age. This seems a bizarre claim given that they count Homuda Wake as sovereign from the time he was about 3 years old. Granted, much of Homuda’s story has more than a little of the fantastical about it, and so the veracity of that claim is questionable, but still it is left in without comment by the Chroniclers. Why would they not have commented on that?

This is a thread we’ll continue to pull on as we move closer to Ame Kunioshi’s assumption of the throne.

Miyake (屯倉) - The Royal Granaries

These are often translated as the Royal (or Imperial) Granaries or something similar, though there is no direct account of just what it was and what they were like. Many assume, however, that they were an early form of local governance set up by Yamato—and possibly others—in more far flung territory.

As seen above, the idea of storehouses appears in the archaeological record from at least the Yayoi period. Early raised structures were likely places to store grain where vermin could not easily get to it and it kept things dry.

Storehouses were a common good for a village. We see don’t see a storehouse attached to every household, so they were likely shared resources. But as states started to form, it wasn’t just villages and surrounding farms. Rice was the currency of the day, and taxes—largely rice, but likely other commodities as well—would be collected in central locations run by the central government. Essentially these would be local tax centers.

This could be what the structures in Osaka, pictured at the top of this post, were for. There were at least 10 of them, and it may be that they were the local center both taking in rice and distributing it when necessary. It is also possible, seeing that this was in Naniwa during the time when the ancient court is said to have been there, that these represent the endpoint of a network of storehouses.

That appears to have been the function of the “miyake”, which oversaw selected acreage of rice-land and the income that the state demanded. Based on later examples, we can make an assumption that local administrators would likely set the amount of rice to be collected and take a cut of the collected rice for operating the miyake itself. This would be some amount over what the court expected to receive.

Furthermore, these miyake didn’t collect generic tax revenue. Rather, the revenue generated by the miyake was designated to specific purposes or even to specific persons. So you might have land for the upkeep of the Queen’s quarters, or even for maintaining a particular kofun. In other cases you might have land that is designated for the use of a given noble or official, so that they could live in a style appropriate to their position.

In the brief reign of Ohine, aka Ankan Tenno, we see the largest number of miyake mentioned—more than during any other reign. They are occasionally mentioned elsewhere, but not nearly so heavily, let alone so many in the course of one or two years. While the language in the Nihon Shoki can make it seem as if the miyake were, in many cases, previously extant and simply repurposed, I suspect that in many, if not most, cases this is the point of their effective creation.

Generally speaking, these are miyake that are being created for the benefit of members of the royal family, which is effectively the court. It demonstrates a way that the court was further expanding its administrative and bureaucratic structures, much as the creation of the Be had similar effects. Later, provincial governance would be further structured and organized.

Another aspect we see here is the assertion of royal prerogative over any and all land. The ability to assign or re-assign land and titles is a key lever of power by which the sovereign and the court could require compliance. Now, how this worked in actual practice vice tentative legal theory is another question altogether. I suspect that such things would have to be reinforced from time to time with actual violence, rather than just threats of removing land or title.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 78: Imminent Domain in Ancient Japan
First off, a huge shout out to listener, Zach. When I asked everyone about suggestions for transcripts, he went out and found a tool to auto-generate them, tried it out already, and sent me example results. So I’ll be going over the tool and seeing what I can do to get transcripts uploaded for the podcast, hopefully making everything a bit more accessible. Thanks again, Zach!
Second, I want to address the way “Keitai” (as in Keitai Tennou, the first sovereign of this current dynasty) reminds me of “keitai” as in “keitai denwa”, or “cell phone”. This leads to some interesting notes on Japanese language, especially for those of us coming at it from outside. While both of those words sound the same to my English-speaking ear, especially in an English sentence, and are spelled the same in hiragana, they are slightly different, and as a Japanese instructor recently pointed out to me, they don’t sound the same in Japanese. This has to do with a certain tonal quality to Japanese that isn’t typically taught, and it is almost more about the difference between accents than anything else. In fact, there are even regional differences, all having to do with tone.
Or perhaps, more precisely, having to do with pitch. As one listener pointed out, this is more properly referred to as a “pitch accent”, and falls somewhere between a truly tonal language, like Putonghua, aka Mandarin, or the Thai language, and a stress-accented language like English and most European languages.
As an example, take the word “ame”. It can mean “rain” or it can mean “candy”, depending on the tone you use. Back when I was studying in Japan, I knew a couple who were from different parts of Japan, and the wife had a bit of an accent. She would say “ame ga furu”—the rain is falling—and her children would laugh because, as they had been brought up, it sounded like “ame ga furu”—candy is falling from the sky. Now, obviously they knew what she was saying, so if you don’t hear a difference, don’t worry, you will probably still be understood. Nonetheless, I think it is a curious feature of Japanese that often doesn’t get mentioned that these sorts of things exist, and I thought this might be a good time to share.
So, for anyone else who thinks I overreached in seeing Keitai Tennou as the cellphone sovereign, you just might be correct. I’m still going to giggle a little bit when I hear it though.
Anyway, back to history.
The last few episodes have been covering the reign of Wohodo no Ohokimi in the beginning of the 6th century, and today we’ll wrap up his reign and talk about his successors. To recap: Wohodo is said to have come to the throne in 507 and reigned up until his death in either 531 or 534. His ascension is strange—with the death of Wohatsuse, aka Buretsu Tennou, without any heirs the court scoured the land for a suitable candidate. They claim that Wohodo was a descendant of Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, some 5 generations back, and even descended from Ikume Iribiko through his maternal line. However accurate this was, it is clear that the line of Ohosazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou, the sovereigns responsible for the giant keyhole tumuli in the Kawachi region, such as Daisen Ryo, had come to an end with Wohatsuse—at least along the paternal line. So Wohodo had to be brought in from the distant land of Kochi, on the Japan Sea side of central to eastern Honshuu.
This raises some interesting questions about the relationship between Yamato and other Wa polities in Japan. Some scholars have suggested that Wohodo was a part of a separate royal family in Kochi—that many of the regions, including Izumo, Kibi, and Northern Kyushu all had their own independent polities that were only loosely tied to Yamato, which may have been primus inter pares—first among equals. It is also possible by this time that Yamato had some kind of a paramountcy; that is to say that they had become central enough that the other states were not seen as equals. Still, local governance would have more directly revolved around the local chieftains.
An example of this local independence is seen during this reign when Iwai, the lord of Northern Kyushu, flexes his muscles and tries to take control of the shipping routes between the archipelago and the continent. This is ultimately put down by a military expedition, suggesting that Yamato did possess some amount of military coercive power, along with any spiritual or religious cachet they may have had.
It also seems quite likely that another component holding things together among these different polities were the various marriage alliances. We’ve seen this in the ancient stories and so it is quite possibly true that Wohodo did have both paternal and maternal connections to Yamato. It is also possible that these were just two in a web of relationships that could have been called on, and doesn’t necessarily mean that he had the strongest claim to the throne. In fact, the Chronicles even point out that there was another candidate who also was selected before him, but who fled due to the Yamato court’s poor communication tactics.
Overall, it is unclear why Wohodo was chosen as sovereign, and even his hand in things seems relatively light. In the Chronicles, the focus during this reign is much more on those serving the court. This includes individuals like Hodzumi no Omi no Oshiyama, Mononobe no Ohomuraji no Arakahi, Kena no Omi, and, of course, Ohotomo no Ohomuraji no Kanamura. Even then, most of the reign seems to be dealing with the interactions between Yamato and the continent. Tamna, Baekje, Nimna, Kara, Silla, Ara, and other polities are all brought up, some appearing in the narrative for the first time here. Even the rebellion of Iwai, in Northern Kyushu, was focused on its effects with continental relations.
The Sendai Kuji Hongi focuses just on the events in the archipelago and, even then, on the actions of the sovereign and the royal family. Most of it is genealogical, though it does note specifically that Prince Magari Ohoe—also known as Ohine in the Nihon Shoki—was moved in to the palace for the Heir to the Throne.
And this brings up the matter of succession, which we discussed somewhat before. Wohodo had two important wives or consorts. First, when he took the throne, Wohodo was already married to at least one wife, Menoko, the daughter of Owari no Muraji no Kusaka. Owari is the land focused on the modern area of western Aichi prefecture, including Nagoya. She is named in the Kuji Hongi as being raised up to the status of “Royal Consort” when Wohodo took the throne—normally the primary wife of the sovereign is raised up as the queen, but of course, our story took a turn and the court suggested that Wohodo marry a second woman, Tashiraka hime and raise her up as his queen.
This strikes me as an overtly political action. Tashiraka hime was either the daughter of Woke no Ohokimi, aka Ninken Tennou, and thus sister to the previous sovereign, Wohatsuse, or, by inference, the daughter of Shiraga no Ohokimi, aka Seinei Tennou, though this seems less likely to me. Whatever the case, she is presented as a daughter from the previous royal line, so by suggesting that Wohodo marry her, the court may have been trying to help legitimize his rule—either that, or this is a fictional connection inserted by the Chroniclers to try to sort things out later.
Because you see, when Wohodo no Ohokimi died, which happened in either 531 or 534—there is some disagreement—it wasn’t his son by his second wife and full Queen Tashiraka hime who succeeded him. Rather it was Magari no Ohine, his eldest son by his first wife and consort Menoko, who came to the throne and is known as Ankan Tennou. Skipping ahead, we’ll see that both of Menoko’s sons would take the throne, albeit briefly. Prince Ohine took the throne for about 2 years, and his brother, Take Ohiro Kunioshi Tate would reign for three, being named Senka, or Senkwa, Tennou by the Chroniclers. It was only after those five years that the son of Wohodo and his Queen, Ame Kunioshi Hirakihiro Niha, actually took the throne.
The Nihon Shoki claims that this son, aka Kimmei Tennou, was the rightful heir, but that he was too young, and so his brothers took the throne until he was old enough. This seems more than a little suspicious, however. First of all, both of the brothers are counted as full sovereigns—as Ohokimi—and part of the line of succession, as opposed to simply being counted as regents, holding the throne until their little brother came of age. It is said their father died at the age of 82, so it is quite possible they were already in their 60s by the time they took the throne themselves, depending on when they were actually born—though records claim they were in their 70s.
It is also curious that Ohine, the first to succeed his father, was clearly counted as the Crown Prince—he was set up in the palace reserved for the Crown Prince and was clearly involved in governmental affairs, as Crown Princes have been known to do before.
In fact, it seems to me that Ohine and his full brother were legitimate heirs, and that something later happened to put Ame Kunioshi on the throne—and we can talk about that later.
By the way, I mentioned there is some disagreement about the actual dates of Wohodo’s demise. The Nihon Shoki uses 531, which seems drawn from the Baekje Annals and their account, which the compilers found more trustworthy. However, it mentions that other accounts give another year, the 28th year of the reign instead of the 25th, which would have made it 534, instead. This year is the same one given in the Sendai Kuji Hongi, but it is also significant because according to all accounts, Magari no Ohine ascended the throne the same year that his father, Wohodo no Ohokimi, passed away. If this is, indeed, the 28th year then everything appears to work out just fine, but otherwise we end up with a three year gap, at least if the stem and branch system is to be believed.
Now, truth be told, Magari no Ohine’s time on the throne was not long, but there is a fair amount discussed during his reign, nonetheless. We’ve already talked about a couple of things that happened during his father Wohodo’s reign, while Ohine was a prince.
First off, you may recall from last episode that Ohine had courted and wed Princess Kasuga, herself also a daughter of Oke no Ohokimi, aka Ninken Tenou, though only a half-sister to Wohatsuse no Ohokimi and Princess Tashiraga. He did it himself, without any urging by the court, it seems, but it still seems that there is more evidence here of them intertwining the various lineages; two of Wohatsuse’s sisters have now been made queens, greatly increasing the chances that one of their progeny will rule in the future. This speaks, it seems, to the importance of the maternal line itself. The Chronicles take time to note that Wohodo’s mother was descended from Ikume Iribiko, and to be raised up as a “Queen” one had to be able to draw a connection to a royal lineage. Even if those connections are, shall we say, less than accurate, the need for at least the fiction is itself telling in terms of what was valued.
The other thing we notice is that Ohine showed up to intervene when Kanamura gave away part of Yamato’s territory to Baekje. Without getting too much into whether or not it was actually Yamato’s territory to give up, Ohine was certainly protesting any attempt to diminish the power of Yamato and clearly playing an important role in the government. We talked last episode about how he sent someone to stop the ambassadors on their way, but they said that it was “better to be beaten with a smaller stick than a larger one”. While this speaks to the authority of Wohodo no Ohokimi over the then Prince Ohine, it seems to also indicate that Prince Ohine himself held some clout as well, just not enough to overturn Ohokimi’s decision. Note that none of the other princes are mentioned at all, other than for genealogical purposes.
So, Ohine comes to the throne. Magari no Ohine is also given the name Magari no Ohoye Hiro Kunioshi Take. “Ohoye” may just reference his position as the eldest sone of Wohodo no Ohokimi.
As was typical, Ohine—or Ohoye, but for now I’ll stick with the name we first got to know him by—moved the court to a palace in Magari no Kanahashi, which is likely where he gets his name, one possible reading of which could be “the elder son of Magari”. While Kasuga no Yamada was his main squeeze and raised up as queen, he had several other consorts, including two daughters of the late Kose no Obito, who had been Oho-omi during his father’s reign, as well as a daughter of Mononobe no Itahi, who had been made Ohomuraji back in the reign of Woke no Ohokimi—that is to say, Ninken Tennou.
There are several stories from Ohine’s reign that I’m going to talk about, and they all center around the royal granaries, or Miyake. These appear to have been centralized mechanisms for storing and distributing rice, sources of income for the court and its various members that could be granted or transferred as needed. More importantly, they were attached to certain lands and the income from that land. Presumably whoever owned or controlled a given storehouse would benefit from the rice that came to it.
Since Ohine had no children—or at least no heirs—Kanamura suggested that all of the consorts be given grants of Miyake. I presume this was to ensure that they had a means of supporting themselves after he passed away. He also had various familial -Be groups created, including the Magari no Toneri-Be and the Magari no Yuki-Be, presumably to commemorate his name, Magari no Ohine.
He also is credited with creating a group called the Inukahi-be, or the Dog Keeper’s -Be. This is an interesting one, and some ancient explanations suggest it might be tied in with all of the Miyake that were being created. Even back in those days, guard dogs were apparently a thing, and so having a hereditary group of dog keepers who were responsible for ensuring that dogs were guarding the granaries seems to make as much sense as anything else. It also would explain why, in the following line, we are told that Sakuri Tanabe no Muraji, Agata no Inukahi no Muraji, and Naniwa no Kishi were put in charge of the revenues from the Miyake. “Agata no Inukahi” would seem to mean the “district dog keeper”, and if the Inukahi-Be were assisting with the operation of the Miyake, it would make sense that they would also be one of those in charge of the revenues, and likely ensuring that they were properly administered.
Another take on this, though, could be a more standardized and centralized approach to administration of the Miyake and their revenues. After all, centralization has been a continuing theme throughout the formation of the Yamato state.
One of the first granary stories from Ohine’s reign concerns Kashiwade no Omi no Ohomaro. Ohomaro sent a messenger to Ishimi in the land of Fusa, in what would later be Kazusa province, part of modern Chiba prefecture on the Boso peninsula. The messenger asked for local pearls, presumably for the court, but the lord of Ishimi—which is to say the Ishimi Kuni no Miyatsuko—delayed their shipment. Ohomaro was quite upset when he learned what had happened, and ordered that the Kuni no Miyatsuko be bound and interrogated.
Here, according to Aston’s translation, one “Wakugo no Atahe” and other Kuni no Miyatsuko who were at the court fled and hid in the Queen’s private apartments. When the Queen, Kasuga no Yamada saw them, she fell down in shame, or possibly shock. In atonement for their intrusion into the Queen’s quarters they offered her the Miyake, or royal granaries, of Ishimi as her private property.
Looking at the original characters, I have to say I’m a bit perplexed. Reading between the lines, I wonder if Wakugo no Atahe isn’t the Kuni no Miyatsuko of Ishimi that was going to be bound and interrogated for holding back the pearls, or else it could refer to his son—the Kuni no Miyatsuko no Wakugo no Atahe. That would better explain why this person would want to hide, especially given what we’ve seen about the use of ordeals during this time to prove guilt or innocence. It would also explain why he would have any authority to give up the granaries of Ishimi, along with the rice land that fed into them.
This anecdote also notes the severity of entering the Queen’s private quarters, or the Hinter Palace, unannounced.
Later, another grant of a Miyake would be established to help pay for the erection of a “Pepper Court”—a Han dynasty term for royal apartments for the Queen. The term may have originated from the idea of either smearing the walls with pepper, hoping it would help keep the occupants warm, or perhaps it was because pepper flowers were delivered, in the hopes that the Queen would be as fruitful as the plant itself.
Whatever the reason, including the question of why one was needed, as it seems the Queen had perfectly good apartments already, the court selected commissioners to go out and find good rice land to select for this project.
Now let’s be clear, they weren’t looking for land that *might* be good for growing rice so they could open new fields. No, they were looking for land that was already quite profitable. Rice was already one of the main commodities and the basis for the economy. You may as well be looking for a nice big wad of cash that you could just take.
And so you might imagine that not everyone would be exactly pleased to simply give up their own source of income and livelihood. Such was the case with Ohoshi Kawachi no Atahe no Ajihari. The commissioners suggested that Ajihari offer up his own rice land of Kiji, but Ajihari had othe ideas. He lied to the commissioners and told them that the land might look nice, but it was prone to drought and other problems. And so their report recommended against it, and apparently they kept searching.
About 6 months later, during the intercalary 12th month—that is to say an extra twelfth month added in to get the lunar calendar and the solar calendar synched up again—the sovereign himself went to Mishima, accompanied by our old friend, Ohotomo no Kanamura.
There they inquired about the rice-land of Ihibo, the Agatnushi, or district lord. In response he offered them Upper and Lower Mino, Upper and Lower Kuwabara, and Takefu—a total of 40 cho of land, where 1 cho, or “village”, of land is equal to a square, roughly 60 steps by 60 steps to a side. Later on, this would measure out as not quite 10,000 square meters, or about 1 hectare. So we can say that this was roughly 40 hectares or around 90 to 100 acres of land.
The Chronicles then record a speech by Kanamura, though I suspect it is more moralizing on the part of the Chroniclers. In the speech he notes how freely Ihibo offered up his land, and notes that it is established precedent that all land actually belongs to the sovereign. Essentially there is no such thing as private ownership—any appearance of ownership was just a grant by the Crown to use the land. Thus they could also institute imminent domain whenever they wanted and basically take whatever they deemed necessary. Of course, in practice, this was a bit more difficult, but that was the theory that allowed them to do it.
Here Ajihari is called out in contrast to Ihibo, with Kanamura accusing Ajihari that he “didst suddenly entertain a grudging as regards the lands of the Crown”. Because of this, Ajihari was stripped of his position as local governor. He prostrated himself and offered up five hundred labourers every spring and autumn. He also presented six cho worth of rice-land in Sawida to Kanamura, personally.
Meanwhile, Ihibo was overjoyed and offered up his son, Toriki, as a servant to Kanamura.
So what are we to make of all of this? For one thing, it is establishing the precedent of the throne’s ownership of the lands—something that has come up before, but this reinforces it. We also see how rewards and punishments could work within the framework of the court. I actually have to wonder if Ajihari wasn’t originally the Agatanushi, which was then stripped from him and given to Ihibo because of this loyalty. It is hard for me to say for certain, but it does appear that all of this is happening in and around what was then known as the land of Kawachi.
We also see evidence how, to get out of punishment, elites might offer up what are effectively bribes to the court and court officials. Here we see that both Ihibo and Ajihari are outright giving things to Ohotomo no Kanamura, and not just to the Crown. Once again, Kanamura’s own prominence is hard to miss, here.
Miyake being given in exchange for leniency, or as part of some judgment is a continued theme. For instance, we have another story during this reign: during the same month when everything we’ve just been talking about went down with Ajihari and Ihibo, Hata Hime, daughter of Ihoki-Be no Muraji no Kikoyu, stole a necklace belonging to Mononobe no Okoshi. Okoshi would later be made Ohomuraji a few reigns later, so he was someone of note.
This crime was discovered when Hata hime attempted to give the necklace to the Queen, Kasuga. When the deed was made public, Hata-hime’s father Kikoyu gave up his own daughter to be a servant of the Uneme—so a servant to the Queen’s servants. He also gave up the Miyake of Ihokibe over in the land of Aki, in the western part of modern Hiroshima prefecture. This was given to the sovereign.
And even though he technically had not done anything wrong, Okoshi, the owner of the necklace that got stolen, also presented the sovereign with various Be and villages, such as the Towochi Be, as well as the villages of Kusasa and Toi; and also Nihe no Hasebe, in the modern prefecture of Ise.
Then there is the story of the Omi and his relative, Wogi, who both were vying for position as the Kuni no Miyatsuko of the province of Musashi. Their dispute continued for years, until finally Wogi reached out to Wokuna, the Kuni no Miyatsuko of Kamitsukenu, aka Kozuke, and he suggested that they assaniate Omi, making Wogi the new lord. Omi heard about this and fled to the court, where he pled his case. There they decided to make Omi the rightful Kuni no Miyatsuko, and Wogi was put to death.
In thanks for the ruling, Omi offered up four Miyake—those of Yokonu, Tachibana, Ohohi, and Kurasu.
A few other things occurred during this reign. For one, we see an embassy from Baekje, bringing the standard “tribute”. We also see the sovereign installing cattle on the islands of Ohosumi Island and Hime Island, at Naniwa.
The cattle are interesting. Up to this point we haven’t seen too much on cattle. Mostly they required a fair bit of resources. They were needed as oxen for the cart, but there are some beef and even milk recipes that show up—largely medicinal purposes. The royal family themselves would maintain herds of cattle for medicinal use for several centuries before entirely dropping it. Japan wouldn’t really pick up a taste for beef and dairy again until much later.
And that covers the reign of Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennou. He was buried, they say, at Takaya Hill at Furuichi in the land of Kawachi. We are told that his queen, Kasuga no Yamada, and his sister, Kamisaki, were both buried with him.
Next episode we will recap the year, as we are approaching that time. And then we’ll get into Ohine’s brother, also known as either Senka or Senkwa, depending on the romanization. Before we do that, though, I would like to talk a little bit about a piece of glass, attributed to none other than Ankan himself. So expect something on that as well.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. It is always great to hear from people and ideas for the show.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Barnes, Gina L. (2015). Achaeology of East Asia: The Rise of Civilization in China, Korea and Japan
Kiley, C. J. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25–49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 77: Cross-Strait Relations, Part II

December 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Image of a boat from the Kofun period. Photo by author from the Sakai City Museum of History.

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(Apologies, no blogpost yet, but check back later. In the meantime check out the episode, above)

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 77: Cross-strait Relations, Part II
We are still in the early part of the sixth century, in the nominal reign of Ohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, and last episode we talked about about the island of T’amna—or Tanimura—aka Jeju, as well as linguistic possibilities and the strange archaeology of South Jeolla, including keyhole shaped tombs, similar to those found in the archipelago, but with distinct Baekje features.
This episode we’ll see what the Japanese Chronicles—specifically the Nihon Shoki—have to say about cross-strait relations during this time. Much of this actually comes from the Baekje Annals quoted by the Chroniclers, which I actually trust a bit more than some of the oral histories, but even then we have to be careful about where the Chroniclers decided to bolster Yamato’s reputation. There is a lot about Nimna, and about some of the individuals who seem to have been working between the various states on and off the peninsula.
The Chronicles kicks this reign off with a note about T’amna, or Tanimura, contacting Baekje for the first time, in 509. (By the way, Korean records suggest this date is wrong—that contact happened much earlier in the 5th century, so it is unclear just why it is of such importance, but it does fit the theme, here of a focus on Baekje and the continent.)
Then, in 511 it is noted that an envoy from the Wa was sent to Baekje. His name is given as something like Kuramachi – the name was translated into the language of Baekje and then coming back to us in annals written in Sinitic characters. Unfortunately, we know little else, other than that someone with an ethnic Wa seeming name was claiming to be an envoy in 511.
Perhaps more importantly in this particular section, there is a mention of Baekje families who had been living in the lands of Nimna for the past three or four generations. These families had, quote-unquote, “fallen off” the Baekje registries, and were all moved back to Baekje and replaced on the registers – so it would seem that Baekje, in a sense, was regathering its own. The importance, for us, would seem to be the resurgence of Baekje’s power, pulling back in those who had left its orbit, and more. We’ll also see that this seems to be connected with other events, later on.
A year after Kuramachi’s embassy, there is another one in about 512. This is the year when Hozumi no Omi no Oshiyama, whom the Nihon Shoki names as the “governor of Tari”, or Tari no Kuni no Kami, aka Tari no Kokushu, goes to Baekje with a tribute of 44 horses. Tari, as we’ll see later, is an area—or polity—associated with Nimna, a connection that we will definitely be exploring in more detail, especially in regards to Oshiyama, who shows up again and again in the record of this reign, and whose loyalty to the Yamato court might be more than a bit questionable.
As for the gift, well, horses, of course, had originally been brought the other way (from Baekje to the islands) in the previous centuries, but by now the islands were breeding plenty of their own. The fact that they were from Kyushu—or Tsukushi—however, is interesting. Was Kyushu a large horse-breeding center at this time? Was there something special about Kyushu horses, compared to others? Certainly T’amna horses were highly prized, but that wasn’t until much later. Was it just the fact that they were able to send so many?
About 8 months after Oshiyama presented the horses, Baekje sent an envoy back to the islands—presumably to Yamato—along with Oshiyama, or so it appears. This embassy requested that four provinces of Nimna—Upper and lower Tari, Syata, and Muro—all be ceded to Baekje. After all, they were close to Baekje, geographically, and the people were already co-mingling. Oshiyama concurred with this assessment, and said as much to Ohotomo no Kanamura, who was clearly acting as something of the prime minister these days, who agreed and told the sovereign, Wohodo, that they should indeed acquiesce and hand them over. Wohodo concurred, and ordered Mononobe no Arakai, another powerful noble of the court, to go and make it happen.
That said, not everyone was pleased with this decision, and Monoboe no Arakai’s own wife urged him to reconsider. After all, hadn’t the kami themselves given that land to Yamato? Who was he to go and give them up? Arakai was swayed by her arguments, but found himself in a pickle. He couldn’t just deny the sovereign’s command. And so Arakai feigned that he was ill, forcing Wohodo to choose someone else to deliver the news.
Now when Prince Ohine, the eldest son of the sovereign, Wohodo, heard about all this, he, too, was rather surprised and taken aback. He immediately sent a messenger to stop the envoys before they left, but when the messenger met with the envoys they listened, but decided to follow through. After all, the plan to give up the four provinces was already approved by the sovereign, and he overruled the prince. As it says in the Nihon Shoki it is “better to be beaten with a smaller stick than a larger one”, meaning they would rather incur the Prince’s ire than the sovereign’s—not to mention the fact that the King of Baekje was unlikely to be pleased, either.
When the circumstances of all this got out, rumors started to spread that Oshiyama and Kanamura had been paid off by Baekje to push this whole thing through. Clearly not everyone was happy with the decision, but it seems that what was done was done.
So let’s talk about who these people are and the context around it. First off, we have Hozumi no Oshiyama, whom I mentioned earlier. He’s supposedly the governor of Tari, in Nimna, and he had apparently been sent to Baekje at some point as an envoy, bringing horses from Kyushu. The Baekje annals even given him a Baekje title. So I have to wonder whether he was even a vassal of Yamato, much as I wonder about the envoy mentioned earlier in the Baekje records, Kuramachi. If we don’t make the assumption that Yamato is the only Wa polity operating on the peninsula, it opens up the possibility that these could be envoys from some other group—perhaps even Nimna or Kara, or one of their smaller political units.
Of course, the Japanese side of the story, coming to us through the Chronicles, is that Nimna at this time was under the control of the “Mimana no Nihonfu”, or the Japanese Government Office of Nimna, aka Mimana. Besides the anachronism—Japan still wasn’t known as “Nihon” and at best this would be the “Wa-fu” or “Yamato-fu”—modern scholars have largely moved away from the notion that Nimna was a Japanese colony. It does appear to have been a close ally, and there may have even been a permanent diplomatic office set up to deal with trade and various cross-strait issues. It is even possible that it was largely made up of ethnic Wa people, or that they played a major role in the state, for all that we know. How tied this was to Yamato is another thing entirely. So Oshiyama may have been from Yamato, but he just as easily could have been from Kyushu or from one of the groups of Wa people in Nimna or other parts of the Korean peninsula. His name does appear to be reflective of a Japonic name, so we assume that he was ethnic Wa, regardless of whom he served, and he very well may have been an independent agent, the actual governor of the areas that were being ceded to Baekje. This makes more than a little sense to me, given his title and everything else. It is also possible that some of these titles came at a later point—perhaps even because of his work to help get them turned over to Baekje.
The second individual in our little drama is Ohotomo no Kanamura. He was the Ohomuraji of the Ohotomo, and appears to have been the one pulling the strings in Yamato. He was the one who put Wohodo on the throne, and he seems to be the one who headed up the negotiations; he simply informed Wohodo of his recommendation and received his guidance. We’ve talked about Kanamura before and he will come up again in the narrative. Despite the rumors of bribery that are mentioned, reading ahead we can see that he was still confirmed as Ohomuraji when Prince Ohine eventually came to power as Ankan Tennou, so clearly this whole episode didn’t ruin their relationship that much—or perhaps it is just that Kanamura was that powerful. It is hard to know for certain.
Then there is Mononobe no Arakai—or possibly Arakahi or even Arakabi back in the day. Like Kanamura, he has also been around since at least the previous sovereign, and he has some influence at court. He is one of the Big Three mentioned in bringing Wohodo to power—Kanamura, Arakai, and Kose no Obito, the apparent Oho-omi, though we don’t hear nearly so much from him. While it isn’t always the case, typically the Mononobe are brought in when there is some expectation of violence or martial activity, which makes Arakai an interesting choice, and a possibly telling one, suggesting that this may not have been a simple transfer, and perhaps the sovereign of Yamato’s word alone would not be enough to enforce this secession of these districts to Baekje. After all, we occasionally also hear of a “King of Nimna”, and if that were the case, well, what did they think about all of this? Still, Arakai appears to have declined, feigning illness, and we aren’t given much on the envoy who actually went.
Later on, Arakai will be taking a greater hand in matters across the straits, so that may have also been part of how he wound up connected with this story—and why he is also quite visibly disconnected from the decision to give up these territories.
The fourth person of interest in this little drama is the Imperial Prince Ohine. He’s the eldest son of Wohodo, born to Menoko, the daughter of Kusaka, of the Owari no Muraji. His full name appears to be Magari no Ohine, or possibly Ohoye, and he would later be known as Oshikuni-Oshitake-Kanahi no Mikoto, aka Ankan Tennou. He and his brother would actually succeed their father, Wohodo, before the ascension of their younger half-brother Amekunioshi Harani Hironiwa, aka Kimmei Tennou. More on that whole complicated situation in a later episode.
Key for us, here is that Ohine appears to be the senior Imperial Prince and, despite the Nihon Shoki’s insistence that his mother was not the Queen, he’s effectively made Crown Prince in the following year, 513. That’s the year he betrothed himself—without a middle man—to Princess Kasuga, daughter of the late 5th century sovereign known to us as Ninken Tennou. This was accomplished by spending the night together in classic aristocratic fashion. Later, he moved into the Spring Palace, and while he is never called the Crown Prince, the Spring Palace was typically reserved as the Crown Prince’s estate. So he was definitely a person of some influence, and it is interesting that he apparently had no knowledge of any of this until it was a fait accompli. Now you might think this would put him and Kanamura at odds, perhaps even political rivals, but they appear to have smoothed things over in the end.
Of course, some of this could be the Chroniclers’ own attempts to explain away how Yamato could have given up claim to territory that was supposedly given to them by the kami. I suspect that plays a not insignificant role in everything that was going on, since it was such a big part of Japan’s claims on the continent, whether factual or not.
Now this whole episode is simply the start of things with Nimna and the continent. In 513, the following year, Bakeje sent over two generals, along with Oshiyama, to bring tribute to Yamato in the form of a scholar of the “five classics”, Tan Yangni. Along with the presentation of an apparently ethnic Han scholar, they also brought news and a request. It seems that the land of Panphi had decided to annex the land of Imun, which Aston places northeast of Nimna—back in the reign of Mimaki Iribiko, Imun had requested assistance against Silla. It seems Baekje wanted Imun back under Nimna control--maybe. This is all a bit interesting, unless we consider that perhaps Oshiyama was working for Nimna—possibly even a Nimna official—and it may have been his request, rather than anything from the Baekje court.
Regardless, this goes to show the kind of disorder in parts of the southern peninsula where there wasn’t a clear power or state. The Kara, or Gaya, confederacy was just reaching the status of what we might term a Kingdom, but there were still a lot of independent districts where local elites held much more sway than any nominal overlords. In that situation, much as in the later Sengoku Period in Japan, it’s natural that there would be fighting and different groups attempting to annex territory and strengthen themselves.
The answer to this, in the Chronicles, was to gather up representatives from Baekje, Silla, Ara, and Panphi, and hold a conference of sorts. The Nihon Shoki paints this as all of them coming to the Yamato court to listen, but I wonder if it wasn’t something more like a meeting between equals. If so, it is interesting that both Ara and Panphi are included with Baekje and Silla, perhaps indicating the state of things at the time.
The decision from this conference was that the lands of Tesa—or Taisya—and Imun were to be given, instead, to Baekje. Note that they aren’t given to Nimna, as one might assume, and Nimna isn’t even mentioned—perhaps because they are the stand-in, here for Yamato, but that seems odd. Also, I’m not entirely sure where Tesa is, but the characters for it are “belt” and “sand” and it is later said to be an estuary, so that may be a hint. It is interesting that it is coming up in this context.
These conferences are intriguing. It is certainly possible, with everything going on, that it was not uncommon for multiple representatives to come together to hash things out, especially if the various states are not quite as powerful as they would like to portray themselves as being. It might also have ensured witnesses to any treaty or decision—third party arbiters, in case anyone went back on what they said, later. Or it could have just been something that Chroniclers inserted to make Yamato sound even more important. We’ve mentioned that the texts are somewhat problematic, right?
Anyway, while this was going on, Panphi tried to slip around behind and offer presents—aka a bribe—to Yamato to see if they would rule in their favor and ensure that Imun was confirmed to them, but Yamato refused. Panphi left, not exactly happy with the decision, and the following year, 514, they built castles—or at least defensive earthworks—at several locations, including the estuary of Tesa. They also built beacon towers to warn them of any possible coastal invasion—probably concerned about the Wa, who I’m sure were still well known for taking shiploads of warriors and quickly striking up river. Since many of these lands appear to have been built around various river basins, this gave the Wa access to a lot of the southern peninsula.
It wasn’t just the Wa that they were pushing against, though, as Panphi was also harassing the borders of Silla. Based on the accounts, it looks like a rising state using a militaristic approach to expand their territory and cement their status as a power player. Of course, given how much we don’t know about them, I think you have an idea of how well that worked out, in the end. Still, for a while it seemed to be a viable strategy.
In 515, a joint Yamato and Baekje force set out. It looks like they may have been going to harass Silla, but as they came to Sato island they heard about what Panphi had been up to. The Yamato general, whom we simply know as Mononobe no Muraji—though his given name may have been something like Tchitchi—turned towards Tesa, while the Baekje forces continued on to Silla. Once at Tesa, though, the Yamato general was taken by surprise. The Panphi soldiers looted their equipment and burnt their tents. The Wa soldiers had to flee to the island of Munmora. Eventually, a Baekje general found him and his men and escorted them to Imun, which I assume had been liberated from Panphi’s control. There they presented him with gifts of axe-iron, clothing, and woven stuff—perhaps to help them replenish the supplies they had lost. After all, I struggle to see why they would have otherwise rewarded him for what had happened.
After all of this campaigning, a Baekje general accompanied Mononobe and his forces back to Yamato and thanked Yamato for their assistance and in granting Imun to Baekje. He also brought another scholar, Ko Anmu of Han, whom they asked to trade for Tan Yangni, who apparently had had enough Island time.
This whole thing is a bit hard to interpret. Despite various attempts to place all of these little states and kingdoms on a map, there really isn’t enough evidence for where any of these things are. The main takeaways are that first, the alliance between Baekje and Yamato seems to be going strong, and second, there is plenty of conflict on the peninsula, and not just between the Big Three, as I noted before.
Additional evidence of the new Baekje-Yamato alliance came later in the year 516, when Baekje sent a general and two Wa envoys—Shinato and Ahita—to escort an embassy from Goguryeo to Yamato to cement amicable relationships. This is pretty big—there was earlier talk about envoys from Goguryeo, but it is hard to tell if it was real or just the Chroniclers putting their spin on things. I don’t know whether they went all the way to Yamato or just met with officials at the offices in Nimna, but I like to assume that they went all the way to talk to Wohodo himself—or possibly to Kanamura. Of course, I say Yamato—this is still in the era when the court was said to be in Yamashiro, towards modern Kyoto, rather than in the Nara basin, the actual land of Yamato. The capital wouldn’t move down there for another 10 years, in 526.
Shortly after the capital did move, which happened the following year, 527, another expedition was on its way back to the continent. This one was led by Afumi no Kena no Omi, and the Chronicles say he had some 60,000 men at his disposal. His goal was to travel to the peninsula and try to unite South Kara and the land of Toksathan to the greater Nimna confederacy, as those lands had been invaded and taken by Silla. However, as the ships tried to sail through the Seto Inland Sea and out to the peninsula, they found themselves thwarted in Tsukushi, aka Northern Kyushu. Apparently the local ruler of Tsukushi, named Iwai, had decided to rebel against Yamato, and was not allowing ships to pass. This put the entire operation on hold while the court decided what to do. It does, however, seem that Kena no Omi was able to make it through, and he set himself up in Nimna, in a place called Kusamura, but his supply lines back to Yamato were cut off.
Iwai, it seems, had allied himself with Silla, who was sending him resources—bribes according to the Nihon Shoki, with its distinctively pro-Yamato outlook. Iwai expanded from Tsukushi—the area around modern Fukuoka—and also took over the areas of Hi and Toyo. This would have given him control of most of the Seto Inland Sea passages around Kyushu, with the possible exceptions of the areas of modern Miyazaki and Kagoshima prefectures, though even those may have been under his sway. This would have meant that Iwai controlled all trade between the court and the continent, as ships of that time likely needed to stay within sight of land, and likely put in to resupply when they could. Doing so in enemy territory could be problematic, however.
Hearing of all this back in Yamato, it was clearly a serious concern. Kanamura recommended that the court send none other than Mononobe no Arakai to deal with the threat. In so doing, Arakai was given a battleaxe, a continental sign of military authority, and he was given authority over all of Kyushu and beyond. In fact, the proclamation states that the Yamato court would govern everything up to Anato, aka modern Yamaguchi prefecture, while Arakai would be responsible for everything beyond, with a fairly free hand to run things as he saw fit.
And so Arakai led his troops to Kyushu, and in 528 there was a large battle in Miwi, which appears to be in modern Kurume, where, after a lengthy and bloody battle, he slew Iwai, putting an end to the rebellion. Iwai’s son, Kuzu, capitulated. He gave up the granary of Kasuya to the court and offered his submission. Today there is a modern district of Kasuya in Fukuoka city, which was the ancient jumping off point for missions to and from the continent.
As we did earlier, let’s look at this whole incident and what it tells us. Well, first off, we have mentioned that Yamato’s control appears tenuous, at best. They are first amongst equals, but especially given the apparent disarray since the death of Wakatakeru and this newcomer now on the throne, it seems reasonable that other polities on the archipelago might want to flex their muscle and see what they can get away with.
In addition, Kyushu itself is in an interesting position, especially northern Kyushu. They had long had relations with the people of the southern Korean peninsula. And in the chaos of the late 5th and early 6th centuries, we have that particular link between Kyushu and South Jeolla. In many ways, it may be fair to see Kyushu—or at least the part known as Tsukushi—as just one more of the various states in this cross-strait cultural sphere. There is no reason for me to doubt that they had their own relationships, and while ties with Yamato may have once been strong, it might make sense for an ambitious Silla to make a pact with groups in Tsukushi to help keep Wa troops bottled up while they solidified their own control on the continent.
Later, the Tsukushi no Fudoki would note the location of Iwai’s tomb, about 2 ri south of the Kamitsuma district. Based on descriptions Aston proposes that it may have been a double mound and it was surmounted by stone statues, in lieu of the terracotta haniwa used in the Kinai region. Stone statues were a particular feature of Kyushu era kofun, so that fits with the local culture of the time as we know it.
With Iwai’s rebellion down, Arakai would now seem to be the person in charge—or at least the court representative—of the western edge of archipelago.
Here’s where it might be useful to go back to some of the early stories about Yamato. For instance, the Generals of the Four Roads, who seem to be used as legendary lineage figures for the most part. Still, I have to wonder if some of what we see in the reigns of the first dynasty pertaining to the subjugation of the archipelago, well, was any of that an anachronism from the activities of this current dynasty? How many of the stories that we see as “history” are actually reflective of the later policies implemented by the current dynasty, or even their immediate successors, that they were using to justify their own authority? Just something to keep in mind.
Following suppression of the Iwai rebellion, communication with Yamato’s allies on the peninsula could resume, and in 529 word came to Yamato from Oshiyama with yet another request from Baekje. You see, things were enough of a mess that between Baekje and Yamato any ships sent from Baekje territory would need to avoid the headlands—in other words they had to avoid areas where pirates and rival ships could be lying in wait to take them. This meant they had to sail further out from land, which put them in rougher waters, leading to problems that could ruin the various trade—or rather tribute—goods that they were carrying back and forth. I imagine that further out you did have taller waves, more rocking of the ships, and a greater chance of waves washing over and saltwater getting into and ruining whatever was being transported. And that is besides the inherent danger of a ship capsizing or sinking.
This all speaks to the idea that Baekje clearly did not have the kind of control of the Southwest peninsula that is typically portrayed if you just look at maps of what is depicted as Baekje “territory”. I suspect that they felt more confident if they could transport goods overland to a port closer to the Tsushima.
And so they proposed that they be allowed to use the port of Tasa in the land of Kara. Yamato agreed, which is rather wild when you think about it. What authority did Yamato have to allow Baekje to use a port in the land of Kara. Sure enough, we are told that the King of Kara opposed this whole enterprise. In a sign that they may have anticipated such a reaction, Yamato sent Mononobe no Ise no Muraji no Kasone, Kishi no Okina, and others to turn the port over to Baekje. Sending the Mononobe suggests to me that they expected a little resistance.
Sure enough, Kara resisted, protesting the idea of giving Baekje—which the Chronicles reference as Buyeo for some reason—free reign over their port. They blocked Kasone and kept him from handing it over. And so, Kasone camped out back on Ohoshima and apparently granted Baekje the rights they had asked for in absentia. It is unclear if this translated into actual action that turned over the port, but I assume that Baekje did wrestle it away from Kara. Kara, for their part, broke off friendly relations with Yamato and allied with their enemy, Silla. Silla even went so far as to send a royal princess to be the King of Kara’s queen, and the two of them had several children, leading to one of the few times where we are getting a look at things going on outside of Yamato itself.
You see, Kara’s alliance with Silla seems short-lived. It appears to have started with the 100 warriors who were sent to accompany the Silla princess. After delivering her to the King, they dispersed throughout Kara. Due to their status, they were allowed to continue to dress in their Silla clothes and style, which started to grate on various people in Kara. An individual named Arasateung—or possibly Arishito—railed against this practice, and at one point their garments were secretly sent home.
Well, that pissed off Silla, who took this treatment of their people as an insult to Silla itself. They attempted to recall the royal princess, but she was either pregnant with or had already given birth to at least one of the king’s children. There was no way that the King of Kara was going to hand over the mother to his children. Kara sent back a message saying as much to Silla, at which point Silla went on the warpath. They captured three castles, named something like Toka, Kophi, and Phonamura, and five unnamed castles on the northern frontier.
While this was going on, Yamato sent out Afumi no Kena no Omi to Ara to hold a conference, much as before, with Panphi, to urge Silla, in the name of Yamato’s sovereign, to re-establish Southern Kara and Toksathan. Afumi no Kena no Omi, you may recall, was the one who was initially traveling to the peninsula at a force 60,000 strong, but whose campaign had been put on hold thanks to Iwai’s rebellion—a rebellion egged on by Silla, or so we are told. A few years later, Afumi no Kena was finally trying to make good on his original mandate.
Now, Baekje sent envoys to these talks, as allies of Yamato, and the local Ara officials were there, but we are told that Silla didn’t send anyone of note—nobody who could represent the King of Silla, anyway. They did have some people to listen to what was said, but the Chronicles say that they were fearful of being forced to given up the land that they had already taken. And that is possible. It may also be a misrepresentation. After all, for all that these conferences seem to have been meant to find peaceful outcomes, in the end, these states had armies for a reason, and if they didn’t want to give it up they probably weren’t going to.
Apparently the elites in Ara had a raised hall—they call it a high hall—set up for the ambassador and the talks. The Ara elites were up there on the platform, and we are told that the Yamato ambassador, Afumi no Kena no Omi, ascended, followed by the King of Ara. This last seems odd, and strikes me as questionable. It is probably, once again, the Chroniclers putting their own spin on events, representing Afumi no Omi as the mouthpiece of the Yamato sovereign. In Japan, even during the period when the shoguns ruled, an envoy from the Tennou would often be treated with exceptional respect, with even the Tokugawa shogun taking a subservient position to them, at lest ceremonially. I don’t see why Ara would offer Yamato such an honor in this case, though, so I tend to wonder about it.
In any case, the main issue seems to be that while the Yamato and Ara elite were allowed up in the building the Baekje and Silla envoys both had to wait on the ground, in the courtyard. This is something that the Japanese courtiers would have recognized fairly quickly, as at their own royal court, only certain courtiers—those of the fifth rank and higher, and the Tenjobito, those with special permission because they were serving the royal household in some way—were allowed up in the raised buildings. The others were considered “jige”, and were expected to wait in the courtyard or on the ground. This created a visual difference in rank between the lesser and greater nobility. Here we see this playing out in a similar way, and no doubt the envoys would have felt more than a little slighted by such treatment.
This was even worse as the talks apparently took months, so the envoys had to endure this situation for that entire time and grew quite angry—and we aren’t even told what the outcome of the summit was.
Later in that same year, we have someone identified as the King of Nimna, but who may actually be the King of Kara, or at least their representative, who came to court and addressed Kanamura, telling him that Silla was up to their old tricks. They had been attacking their territory, and they were requesting assistance.
Once again, the Yamato court employed Kena no Omi to try to suss things out. Kena was staying in a place called either Kumanare or Kusamura, and he called the Kings of Silla and Baekje together to talk about just what was going on. Both kings sent envoys, but apparently Kena no Omi did not consider them appropriately ranked. After all, he was from Yamato, and was speaking with the voice of the sovereign. The other Kings should come themselves, or at least send appropriately ranked envoys. So he sent them home. New envoys did come, but this time they brought troops with them. Kena no Omi still refused to treat with them as they weren’t properly ranked but, at the same time, he retreated into a nearby castle just in case things with the armies got hairy. The armies continued to request the word from Yamato, and meanwhile the troops were growing tired and hungry. Eventually, one of Kena no Omi’s men started harassing the soldiers while they were out begging for food, and that turned into a full on riot. Soon, the Silla army was attacking and had captured four towns.
This is why, in 530, and envoy from Nimna came to Yamato to complain about Kena no Omi. His haughty, prideful attitude was just pissing everybody off, and they needed it to stop, and soon. He had apparently been in residence in Kusamura—or possibly Kumanare—for about three years. During that time he had grown particularly fond of the idea of trial by ordeal—particularly the ordeal of scalding water, where guilty people would be scalded and the innocent people would supposedly go unharmed. There must have been a lot of guilty people, because it seems like just about everyone was scalded, many to death, and the body count was starting to pile up with Kena no Omi’s administration.
Hearing all of this, Yamato tried to recall their wayward officer, but Kena no Omi refused to return. He still needed to complete his purpose, he said. But at the same time, he realized that if someone else got back before he had a chance to tell his side of the story it might not look so good for him. And that is why he had Mitsugi no Kishi, an individual whose name seems to be related to the idea of tribute, delayed by sending him out on an errand far out of his way. Still, it didn’t help. Silla and Baekje actually united against Kena no Omi, invading and taking control of much of Nimna. Kena no Omi held out, but Mitsugi no Kishi was able to get back to Yamato.
When Mitsugi no Kishi laid out to everyone what a half-assed job of it Kena no Omi was doing, it was clear. He was arrogant. He’d pissed off everyone. And he wasn’t fit to govern. And so the court sent a new administrator, Medzurako, and recalled Kena no Omi. This time, Kena no Omi could no longer refuse the summons and he headed back, but he was struck ill at the island of Tsushima, where he died. A very probable and yet extremely convenient end.
And it looks like this is a convenient ending for us. There is more to get into, but Wohodo passed away shortly after this, and further conflict took place outside of this reign. And so next episode we can talk about his death as well as the strange circumstances around his successor.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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Also, as I noted up front, we are starting to put videos up on YouTube. So far these are older episodes, and it does take some labor to convert them—and I have over 70 episodes to go through, so this will likely take some time. Still, if that works for you, you’ll be able to find us and subscribe at Sengoku Daimyo on YouTube—just look for the Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan playlist.
In addition to that, I’m looking for how best to get transcripts out there for you all. I’d like to make sure that our podcasts are accessible, and I know that is an issue without transcriptions available—and some of the original scripts for the first few episodes seem to be missing, so there’s that. If anyone knows of a good Speech-to-Text option (preferably free, but we’ll pay if need be), I’d really appreciate it.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Barnes, Gina L. (2015). Achaeology of East Asia: The Rise of Civilization in China, Korea and Japan
Vovin, Alexander (2013). "From Koguryǒ to T’amna*: Slowly riding to the South with speakers of Proto-Korean." Korean Linguistics 15:2. John Benjamins Publishing Company. doi:10.1075/kl.15.2.03vov
Bentley, John R. (2008). “The Search for the Language of Yamatai”. Japanese Language and Literature (42-1). 1-43. Retrieved from https://www.jstor.org/stable/30198053
Soumaré, Massimo (2007); Japan in Five Ancient Chinese Chronicles: Wo, the Land of Yamatai, and Queen Himiko. ISBN: 978-4-902075-22-9
Kiley, C. J. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25–49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 76: Cross-Strait Relations, Part I

November 16, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Tomb #1 of Gwanju Wolgye-dong Janggobun tumulus group - a 5th to 6th century keyhole shaped tomb similar to those in northern Kyūshū, Photo from Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode starts our look at the events that were said to have occurred during the reign of Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennō. Before we get into the text, though, we will be looking at some of the other evidence, so that we have a foundation for what we are reading about.

A Quick Note About Maps…

So maps can be extremely helpful to us. They often let us relate to the geography and what is going on at a macro level. I love looking at topographical maps of historic places to get a feel for some of what people saw back in the day. However, we have to be careful, because maps can also be a distraction and even an outright lie. Even geographical features may change over time, sometimes in ways that seem inconceivable.

This is even moreso with political boundaries. Even with legal structures detailing exactly where a boundary is supposed to go, is that agreed upon by all of the parties involved? There are plenty of disputed territories, with overlapping claims. This gets even more murky when we are seeing maps of territories that are supposedly being controlled by polities without a clear code of just what constitutes their territorial borders. In many cases it was likely more people and communities that made up early polities, not land, and the tenuous bonds that sometimes formed meant alliances could change and shift. Furthermore, political and ethnic boundaries often overlap in seemingly odd and inconsistent ways.

When someone makes a map without clear guidelines for where the boundaries are, they must rely on their own judgment. That judgment is often tinged with their own biases—in the case of our current studies, maps are often heavily influenced by ideas of national pride. Maps can easily be a type of propaganda, whether intentional or otherwise. Therefore we need to be careful. This is even more true when we are dealing with sources that are not exactly crystal clear.

Below, I’ve pulled four different maps that people have made of the Korean peninsula around the time we are talking about:

A map showing Goguryeo, Baekje, Silla, Nimna (Imna), and Japan. Here it makes Nimna a fairly large state that encompasses parts of what others have called Baekje and Kara (Gaya). This Japanese territory image above was made by Maximilian Dörrbecker (Chumwa), Image:Japan_admin_levels.svg, Wikimedia commons. The file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license., CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Evawen, CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons — This map shows the Three Kingdoms, as well as Kara and Nimna, but the latter are definitely small and reduced. By Evawen, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

This map purports to show the extent of Nimna in 520. Note that it is much reduced and gives over a lot of surrounding territory to either Silla or Baekje. With no apparent appreciation for Kara, again, which is assumed to be a part of Nimna. 520年的任那地图 by 金楼白象, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Another map of the Korean peninsula, but this one is trying to connect various settleents. It shows Kara/Gaya, but in the same color and in lesser font compared to Nimna/Imna. Silla and Baekje also appear reduced in size, comparatively. By マンスニード, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Taking a look at the maps you may notice how some have “Nimna” (任那) covering the entire southwest corner of the peninsula. Others give that to Baekje. The location of “Kara” (加羅) likewise is shifted around. Some maps even get rid of one and add both. Then there is the island of Jeju, or Tamna (耽羅), which may or may not even be included.

Of course, none of these “borders” really exist. There may be certain communities, but particularly at this time, loyalties appear to be fluid, given that, in the end, there was little capacity to really control what was going on at the far peripheries. For any polity we may be able to identify a strong presence in a given area, but the that will fade the farther you go from that central area.

This is further exacerbated by the fact that our written sources place everything in the context of the later kingdoms. For much of the territory, we have few written records—typically only when they come in contact with a larger polity and even then it isn’t like we are given clear directions on how to get there, because that wasn’t important.

The takeaway that I would recommend is to assume that there is a lot going on that we are not aware of, and that isn’t getting written down. There are a lot of smaller polities doing their thing, invisible to other forms of history.

Ethnic “Wa” and Peninsular Japonic Speakers

Issues with maps similarly affect other studies, including linguistics. While there is a general agreement that the Wa in the archipelago arrived via the Korean peninsula, it gets much trickier if we look at any traces of their existence on the peninsula. They must have been their—or at least their ancestors—for them to have come over, but what happened to them? Korean is not a Japonic language, despite some older theories and some superficial similarities, and at some point it is clear that the Korean language came to dominate the entire peninsula, likely through the rise of Kingdoms like Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo. Unfortunately, what we do have from the early period when Japonic may have been spoken is written down in classical Sinitic characters—kanji, or hanzi—and grammar. Without something like the Man’yoshu— a collection of poetry written in the Japanese vernacular, but using various kanji for their sounds— how do you know how a word is pronounced?

Aston and others often take the easy way out, and just use modern Korean, assuming that would be the closest. However, there is evidence that this isn’t the case. For instance, some of the Korean records talk about how the rulers would deliberately change the names of certain places into their own language, indicating that those old placenames held some vestiges, at least, of an earlier language.

Rather than a Korean pronunciation, it has been suggested that we look at Old or Middle Chinese. Assuming many of the earlier scribes are described as ethnic Han, and the local scribes would be learning the Chinese of their day, and so it seems likely that they would be reading it that way as well. When choosing what characters to use to represent a given word, they were probably using that pronunciation. That’s how we get things like “Nimna” v. the modern Korean “Imna” and “Kara” v. “Gaya”. Over time, Japanese and Korean readings Kanji/Hanja (Sinitic characters) started to drift apart, and we cannot always trust that modern On’yomi or Eum-dok readings were the same in the early period when these names were first being written down.

Viewed critically, there are words—primarily placenames—that scholars like Alexander Vovin have identified as seemingly quite Japonic in nature. On the flip side, scholars have also pointed to some placenames in Japan and suggested a Koreanic origin for them—that said, the Japanese chronicles do not deny that people from the Korean peninsula—likely some of them being Koreanic speakers—were settled in parts of the Japanese archipelago. Some were even made members of the Yamato court and eventually would be listed as the ancestors of prominent Japanese families.

And so there is a question as to why we think this wouldn’t work the other way around. After all, as Yamato expanded their power, someone was on the losing end of that arrangement. Why wouldn’t they flee to the peninsula? And then there are the people still on the peninsula, who may or may not have been directly under a given polity, who could also be ethnic “Wa” and speaking some Japonic language, possibly one that has since been forgotten.

And this brings us to the island nation of T’amna.

T’amna or Tanimura

Jeju island, site of the ancient kingdom of T’amna. Image in the public domain per Wikimedia Commons.

The island of Jeju sits off the southern tip of the Korean peninsula. Due to its location, it is easily isolated from much of what was going on, and yet not so far out that travel was not attainable. Its position meant that it remained largely independent right up into the first few years of the 15th century, when it finally came under direct control of the Joseon court.

The Kingdom of T’amna first enters the narrative in the 5th century according to the Korean chronicles—and in the 6th century in the Japanese. It is a great example of the kind of place on the periphery where we have little to no actual documentation until much later. By the time documents are being written down locally, they appear to have adopted a Koreanic language, but some words and placenames suggest that the people were, at one point, speakers of Japonic. Old renderings of the name suggest that it was something like “Tammura”, which Vovin connects with “Tanimura”. It certainly seems plausible, and there have been some investigations into the language of Jeju island. From the time of Unified Silla, however, it was a tributary state of peninsular powers, and it appears to have adopted peninsular language, culture, and more, though with its own unique character.

Yeongsan River Basin and Keyhole Shaped Tombs

Moving on from just linguistics, we can take a look at the archaeological evidence and see that there was a lot more going on in this region than just what the written sources tell us. The Yeongsan River basin has its own unique archaeological features. For instance, they have their own burial practices, similar to the other mounded tomb cultures around them, but still their own. Early on they used jar style burials—jars were used as coffins, basically—that accreted into a single mound, sounding not dissimilar from the funkyūbo burial mound at the Yayoi site of Yoshinogari in Kyūshū, though with their own characteristics. These evolved and changed over time.

In the late 5th to early 6th centuries we find a different kind of tomb mound that suddenly appears in this region: keyhole shaped mounds. These again bear a superficial resemblance to similar mounds in Kyūshū, which were, themselves, copies of what was going on in the kinai region of the archipelago. The mounds in the Yeongsan area—initially found in Gwangju and the surrounding Jeolla region—use local construction techniques to build mounds no larger than about 50 meters. They have a horizontal entry chamber and a coffin, similar to later kofun tombs, but they use a Baekje style coffin, complete down to using nails that had to be imported from Baekje for the task. The grave goods include items from Baekje, Silla, as well as the rest of the peninsula and the archipelago, suggesting that the people of this area were well connected.

Only 14 of this style of tomb mound have been identified, and it died out quickly in the early 6th century. The fact that they had this practice—unique for the region—and yet we don’t know more about it just heightens the mystery surround them.

And that really carries us through to the theme of this episode—there is a lot we don’t know, and which the Chronicles still won’t tell us. Even if we assume everything that is mentioned in the Chronicles themselves is valid and occurred, there were so many other things going on and interactions that never get mentioned or written down. Entire states could have flared up and died off without a mention in some of these regions, especially as the Chronicles were focused, themselves, on the central polities, for the most part.

What we can generally assume is that differences were more gradations than anything concrete. There had been cross-strait interaction for centuries, with no reason to believe that things suddenly came to a stop, and it is likely that smaller polities could move and change in ways that larger, more established nations would not. National culture and politics—something that we don’t yet see so much of at this point—is a different game, as it is often a very clear “us” v. “them” mentality that encourages individuals to pick and choose sides. In this period, most people were probably more loyal to their village and their immediate neighbors rather than to some far away sovereign or national identity, allowing them to also be much more fluid in other ways as well.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 76: Cross-strait Relations, Part I.
Before I get too much into it, some news: we are expanding to YouTube. I’m honestly not sure how this will work, but we are converting some of our audio into playable videos—not that the visuals are that exciting but it at least gets it out there in another format. More information towards the end of the episode.
Now, as a reminder, we are still in the start of the 6th century. Last episode we saw the elevation of Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, around the year 507.
These next two episodes we are going to look at what was going on—or at least what was recorded as going on—during the reign of Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou. Much of what we see in the Chronicles seems to really be more about the story of what was happening on the continent. In particular, we are seeing a lot of pushback against Wa and the Wa-aligned states on the peninsula. Understandably, these states are all mentioned in the Chronicles as though they are directly controlled by Japan, or Yamato, but this is definitely an anachronistic 8th century view. A lot of what we have appears to be from the Baekje Chronicles that the compilers of the Nihon Shoki were drawing from, but there is definitely a pro-Yamato spin to everything, so keep that in mind.
Also, this episode will likely be short, but that’s partly because some of this stuff is dense, and I don’t want to throw too much at you at once. Feel free to hit me up with any questions you might have and check out our podcast website for more information in an attempt to try to keep all of this straight.
Last episode, we discussed Wohodo’s background and how he apparently came to power to head up the third dynasty of sovereigns. During all of that, we noted how the Chronicles connect him with figures from the past, including Homuda Wake and Ikume Iribiko. Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, was famously considered to have been still in his mother’s womb when she supposedly went to war and brought the countries of the Korean peninsula to heel. Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tennou, was long credited with setting up the country of Mimana, aka Imna or Nimna, as a Wa state, an extension of Yamato’s power. However, it is much more likely that it was an existing state—possibly of Wa or at least a Japonic speaking people—and its existence is independently confirmed in numerous other records, though they don’t necessarily corroborate Yamato’s claim to it.
In this first episode, we are going to take a look at what was happening across the straits, between the southern tip of the Korean peninsula and the island of Kyushu, for the most part. This is a fraught area of discussion. Nationalist histories from both Japan and Korea have generally come to an uneasy truce that puts Korea and Korean culture and people on the peninsula and Japan and Japanese people on the archipelago. This all goes back to at least World War II and the use of Jingu and the Mimana Nihonfu, or the Japanese Government of Nimna, which was used as a justification for Japan’s invasion of the Korean peninsula.
Since then, scholars have generally agreed that there was no Japanese Government overseeing territory on the Korean peninsula. For one thing, there was no “Nihon” for there to be “Nihon-fu”—it would have been either Wa or Yamato, either of which have much different connotations. Furthermore, even if there was a government office of some kind on the peninsula, it was likely more of a diplomatic outpost than any kind of administrative unit. On top of all of that, we don’t’ even know where it was, other than some vague ideas.
If you go to Wikipedia, or do an Image Search for the Three Kingdoms period or just about anything we are going to discuss today, you often see well demarcated territories on the maps. Baekje will likely start somewhere up near Seoul and encompass the entire western half of the southern peninsula. Silla will likely be portrayed similarly, at least down to the Nakdong River Basin, where the map may show an area known as the Gaya Confederacy—sometimes even the Gaya Kingdom. Nimna—or Mimana—is often not shown at all, unless you are looking at Japanese maps of this time.
And yet the truth is that this is all much more complex. Most of our history for this period is based on texts. But those texts have flaws. The texts from the Sinic dynasties out of the area of modern China are perhaps the most reliable, but they have scant information to tell us exactly where things are, and while some states and proto-states are listed with fairly consistent names and descriptions, this isn’t universally true. Meanwhile the Baekje annals held by the Japanese court may have been a gold mine of information, but we only get the pieces that the Chroniclers chose to include, and from what we can tell it is clear that they often changed and quote-unquote “corrected” various details in order to present the story they wanted to tell, which was meant to aggrandize the royal line of Yamato.
Finally, there are the Korean sources, such as the Samguk Sagi and Samguk Yusa, as well as the Tongkam. These are all invaluable sources, but they are no less biased than the Japanese Chronicles. They were compiled centuries later—even later than the Japanese Chronicles—and it seems they were drawing from different versions of events in many cases. The fragments of the Baekje Annals that we have in the Nihon Shoki occasionally lines up with the Samguk Sagi, but often it speaks to periods where the Samguk Sagi is otherwise silent. It doesn’t help that all of these accounts are focused on the actions of the center, and often ignore the periphery. We don’t have written Chronicles out of Gaya—or Kara—for instance, nor any other polities that may have existed on the peninsula at this time.
It further obscures things that this was all written in a form of classical Sinitic—Chinese characters—that did not match up with the languages being used on either the peninsula or the islands. In addition, many of the Korean sources are often using names that were deliberately changed when Goryeo took over—obscuring many local details by replacing placenames, one of the things linguists often rely on, with their own, ensuring that even if there had been another linguistic group, its legacy was largely erased from the landscape, leaving us to puzzle through the scraps.
That we are, today, reading through yet another lens also obscures what we see. In Aston’s English translation of the Nihon Shoki he often makes the choice to render some words into the modern Korean equivalent of On’yomi, using the Korean “Chinese” pronunciation of the characters, especially where it is clear we need a phonetic spelling. Names are often assigned a nationality, as though the modern nations of Korea and Japan already existed as linguistic entities from back in this period.
This idea, that there were Wa or Japonic states on the peninsula separate from Yamato, is worth examining a little more, and here’s where we should touch once again on language. We talked somewhat about this back in Episode 9, where we discussed theories on the origins of the language of the Wa. Current scholarship seems to indicate that there was a Japonic—or proto-Japonic—speaking people on the Korean peninsula prior to the arrival of the Korean language. This may not have been the only language on the peninsula, and we certainly know of a variety of ethnicities that show up briefly in the record, but I’m not sure how we would even be able to tell what languages such people spoke, as Korean eventually moved along the peninsula, north to south, taking over and pushing out any indigenous languages. The state of Baekje may have had Japonic speakers, beyond those Wa who were recruited into the court and military structure, but it was likely largely speaking a language similar to Goguryeo, given their ties through purported Buyeo ancestry. Likewise there is some evidence in Silla for a Japonic substratum, though even they had largely adopted the language used by Goguryeo and Baekje by the 6th and 7th centuries. So even if the dominant language of the main states on the Korean peninsula was largely Korean and not Japonic, it certainly seems reasonable that there were some Japonic speaking holdouts on the peninsula, and perhaps they even identified with the larger Wa culture. I’ve seen less evidence for the lands of Nimna and the independent lands of the Kara confederacy, but that’s hardly surprising given the paucity of sources for what was going on in that region.
At the very least it seems reasonable that these lands, which were at one end of the standard trade routes between the peninsula and the archipelago, would have a special relationship with Yamato and the people of the Japanese islands. Kara, and the many lands there—Kara, South Kara, Ara, and more—are identified as independent and having their own sovereigns and rulers. Nimna, likewise, is noted as having a “king” at one point in the narrative, and continually shows up as separate, in ways that lands like Tsukushi, Kibi, and Izumo do not. This is mirrored in the way that the records of the Song also list Nimna and Kara as separate lands, as opposed to those on the archipelago.
Key here to realize is that language is not culture is not ethnicity. Just because someone speaks a Japonic language that does not make them Japanese—take, for example, the old kingdom of Ryukyu, which was an independent entity for centuries. There is a false dichotomy presented by the idea that all of the peninsula must speak Korean and all of the archipelago must speak Japanese that concludes that if there are any Japonic speaking people on the mainland then they must, obviously, be a part of Yamato’s growing confederacy. Similarly in the other direction. However, remember, that the immigration went fairly clearly from the peninsula to the archipelago, not vice versa.
Evidence of this might exist with one more location that we’ll introduce this episode, and that is the land of T’amna, known today as Jeju Island. T’amna is interesting—it was an independent state off the coast of the Korean Peninsula, and while it became a tributary state to the larger Korean court, the kingdom of T’amna retained local independence up through the start of the 15th century. So when we talk about the Three Kingdoms on the peninsula, even as the old states of Kara were absorbed into Silla and later Goryeo, T’amna retained an independent character up until the Joseon dynasty.
Unfortunately, we don’t seem to have much written down from T’amna itself, at least not in the early centuries. Later on, legends claim it was founded an impossibly long time ago, but it enters the historical record some time around the Han dynasty. The Samguk Sagi identifies early relations with Baekje by 476, and it seems solidly in the records from at least the 5th century onwards. Indeed, it pops into the Nihon Shoki fully formed.
Of interest, currently, besides the fact that it shows up in the Nihon Shoki at this time, is that recent investigations into the linguistics of placenames and other features of the island suggest that Tam’na or Jeju had a language different from much of the Korean peninsula, and that language may very well have been a Japonic or proto-Japonic language, along with many other groups in the peninsula. Indeed, even the name “T’anma” is sometimes expressed, early on, as something more like Tanmura, or possibly Tanimura. While it eventually adopted the Korean language that spread from the north and was taking over the peninsula, it may have retained some of these underlying Japonic elements for some time, especially if we assume that the spread of Korean took place from the Buyeo people through Goguryeo and Baekje southward, with the southeast of the peninsula containing the last hold-outs. It would make sense that an isolated island would retain pre-Korean traits for much longer.
Certainly the island had close ties to Baekje, and it seems to further support the idea that there were Japonic speaking people on the Korean peninsula. Furthermore, there is no evidence that I’ve seen that would make it part of the larger Yamato confederation. No doubt they interacted, as did all the various states of this period, but there is nobody I have seen making the claim that Yamato somehow claimed ownership of the island state of T’amna.
Given all of this, a better approach might be to see culture from the peninsula to the archipelago as more like a color chart. While there are centers, such as Baekje’s capital of Ungjin, Silla’s capital at Gyeongju, and Yamato’s capital in the Kinai region of Honshu, we don’t have hard lines of control between any of them, and rather we have gradations of difference. Those differences aren’t always easy to see on the periphery, where our sources tend to peter out.
Another source that we need to consider, besides the textual and linguistic, is archaeological. I admit I am not prepared to get into a full-blown archaeological discussion of the Korean peninsula as compared with the Japanese, and this is an area where a lot of work is still being carried out. Still, I think it is useful to consider some broad strokes.
First off, we can use archaeology to see some of the similarities and differences between different groups. We can see a difference in Silla pottery styles, even as they influenced the sueki ware in Japan that was likely the product of peninsular people in the Kawachi region. Armor from tombs in the archipelago has clear ties to armor found in the region of Kara, around the Nakdong River Basin. This all makes sense as Kara would have then been at one end of the easiest path across the straits, island hopping via Tsushima to Northern Kyushu and beyond.
There are some areas, though, where the archaeological record causes us to pause. For example, In the late 5th to early 6th century we even see examples of keyhole shaped tombs in the Yongsan River Basin, though with some very peninsular affectations, suggesting that it wasn’t just a whole-cloth importation of culture from the islands. As we’ve discussed, keyhole shaped tomb mounds on the archipelago are often interpreted as indications of the spread of Yamato influence, but in this case we have to wonder.
In the southwest of the Korean peninsula, along the Yeongsan River, that area is usually described as part of Mahan and later Baekje, but archaeologically, there are some distinct features in Southern Jeolla—or Jeollanamdo—particularly in this region, around modern Gwangju. Unfortunately, very little in the Chronicles from either side of the strait really gives us many textual clues for what was going on there. We can assume they had their own small states or proto-states, but they are often just lumped in with the larger Baekje. And so we are left with conjecture.
What we do know is that sometime in the late 5th century, people in Jeollanamdo started building keyhole shaped tombs with local construction techniques that otherwise look very similar in shape to those from the archipelago. Inside, however, the coffins follow Baekje patterns, to the point of using nails that would have been imported from Baekje, to the north. At the same time there are Wa style long swords and magatamas—the comma shaped jewels—Silla crowns, and Baekje prestige goods. They also had local style prestige goods as well.
So, it’s a fascinating mix of cultural influences – but scholars have no idea who these people were. Were they refugees from the archipelago, trying to create a new polity on the continent? Were they originally from Baekje, but just enamored of the style on the archipelago? Or perhaps even some combination of both? Maybe even none—perhaps they were local magnates who were borrowing ideas from all of their neighbors. In all, about 14 of these tombs have been discovered in and around Jeolla, and they were all built in the late 5th to early 6th century—so within the lives of only one or two generations. And then they disappear. There may be some clues in Northern Kyushu, however, where there have been found some tombs that share some of these Jeolla characteristics, and they have been found near settlements that appear to show evidence of ondol, a peninsular underfloor heating system that was quite popular on the peninsula, but which otherwise never caught on in the archipelago—or so we thought. But in some of these settlements in Northern Kyushu, which have traditionally had relatively close ties with sites across the straits, it seems someone may have at least been giving it a try. Unfortunately, just as Jeolla gets little mention in Korean sources, Northern Kyushu, or Tsukushi, often gets minimal attention by the Japanese written sources.
I bring all this up just to re-emphasize that there is a lot more going on than we have written down, with entire generations and cultural shifts happening. This comes into play in this period as we are going to get a lot of different actors coming onto our stage, sometimes with just a single line and then nothing more. The histories that are taught in classes will often streamline all of this, pruning what we don’t know so that we can focus on the threads that are most important. To a certain extent, I’m forced into this as well, but keep in mind that there is a lot going on, and a lot yet to discover. Hopefully archaeological discoveries will continue to advance our knowledge of this period, and we need to be careful about being too wedded to our interpretation of the textual sources, alone. Furthermore, just because we know the outcome, today, realize that in that moment there was potential for dramatic shifts and changes. States that may have seemed like the next big thing may have suddenly collapsed, like a well-hyped movie of a popular franchise that bombs at the box office, largely forgotten. This could be due to any number of reasons: war, natural disaster, or just general misfortune. And without clear indications, we may never really know the reason.
What we can see is that the Chronicles indicate is this was a period of regional instability. Baekje had been defeated and was reconstituting itself to the south, in Ungjin, but it would take until the early 6th century before things started really looking up again. Yamato’s last Great King to have much influence appears to be Wakatakeru no Ohokimi, aka Yuuryaku Tennou, in the late 5th century, and the chronicles then detail a succession of sovereigns whose reigns were notably short and often focused on Yamato, rather than the larger world. See Episodes 60 to 70.
And then of course we get our current ruler, Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, coming in from out of the blue entirely. Yamato was hardly stable, and when the center was in chaos, it traditionally means that the periphery had a freer reign to innovate and grow and try their own thing. And so it is not uncommon to see strongmen rise up and try to challenge major powers. Elites who are on the outs in the various courts may flee and in so doing, bring their own stamp of legitimacy to places on the outside, as well as bringing with them ideas of state formation and governance.
This is the environment we likely find ourselves in around the beginning of the sixth century, and much of the action appears to be focused on the Baekje annals in the Nihon Shoki at this point, which themselves seem largely focused on what was happening in what we assume is the southeast corner of the Korean peninsula.
We’ll talk about the various lands, such as Ara, Panphi, T’amna, and more. Much of this is focused on the smaller polities, though within the context of the manuevering between Baekje, Silla, and Yamato. That other states often have a seemingly equal—or even moreso—seat at the table could be an indication of just what kind of state the various powers were in. Even if they were ascendant, they did not have a free rein to just do whatever they wanted, and some of these local elites were clearly posing a challenge to their own ambitions.
Soon enough, the situation would change. Spoiler alert, but the largest state in the Gaya confederacy, Geumgwam Gaya (?? Kara?), which may have just started to rise as an independent kingdom, would soon fall to Silla, but that was not necessarily a foregone conclusion, something we should remember as we watch events unfold.
With this background, we can get into the actual stories from the texts in our next episode, where we’ll talk about what the Chronicles themselves have to say about all of this, primarily focused what was going on across the straits, between the archipelago and the peninsula. There is the continued story of what was going on with the various states of Nimna and Kara, with Yamato’s ally, Baekje, and their greatest rival, Silla. We’ll touch on the Iwai Rebellion, when Kyushu tried to cut off Yamato’s access, and more.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. It is always great to hear from people and ideas for the show.
Also, as I noted up front, we are starting to put videos up on YouTube. So far these are older episodes, and it does take some labor to convert them—and I have over 70 episodes to go through, so this will likely take some time. Still, if that works for you, you’ll be able to find us and subscribe at Sengoku Daimyo on YouTube—just look for the Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan playlist.
In addition to that, I’m looking for how best to get transcripts out there for you all. I’d like to make sure that our podcasts are accessible, and I know that is an issue without transcriptions available—and some of the original scripts for the first few episodes seem to be missing, so there’s that. If anyone knows of a good Speech-to-Text option (preferably free, but we’ll pay if need be), I’d really appreciate it.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Lee, D. (2018). Keyhole-shaped Tombs in the Yŏngsan River Basin: A Reflection of Paekche-Yamato Relations in the Late Fifth.Early Sixth Century. Acta Koreana 21(1), 113-135. https://www.muse.jhu.edu/article/756453.
Barnes, Gina L. (2015). Achaeology of East Asia: The Rise of Civilization in China, Korea and Japan
Lee, Dennis (2014). Lecture: “The Significance of “Korean” Keyhole-shaped Tombs in the Study of Early “Korean-Japanese” Relations”. https://vimeo.com/112210901
Vovin, Alexander (2013). "From Koguryǒ to T’amna*: Slowly riding to the South with speakers of Proto-Korean." Korean Linguistics 15:2. John Benjamins Publishing Company. doi:10.1075/kl.15.2.03vov
Bentley, John R. (2008). “The Search for the Language of Yamatai”. Japanese Language and Literature (42-1). 1-43. Retrieved from https://www.jstor.org/stable/30198053
Soumaré, Massimo (2007); Japan in Five Ancient Chinese Chronicles: Wo, the Land of Yamatai, and Queen Himiko. ISBN: 978-4-902075-22-9
Kiley, C. J. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25–49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 75: The Mirror, Sword, and ...Seal?

November 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Conjectural images of the sword, mirror, and jewel, and an image of the Han era seal for King Na of Wa. Were the Sacred treasures in the 6th century something like these or completely different?

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This episode we talk about the ascension of Ohodo, aka Keitai Tennō. That’s 「継体」, not 「携帯」. So why him, of all people?

Location, Location, Location

Before we get into the Who’s Who of this episode, let’s look at the locations we are talking about. Specifically, some of the locations regarding Ohodo, aka Keitai Tennō. First, there is Takashima (1), near Lake Biwa. This is where Wohodo’s dad is said to have lived, and where Ohodo was born, but when Ohodo’s father passed away, he and his mother went back to her hometown of Takamuku (2), in Mikuni. These are traditional locations, and not necessarily exact.

Once Ohodo ascended to the throne, his first palace is said to have been Kusuba (3), and then later he moved to Tsutsuki (4), and then Otokuni (5). First off, what is with all of this moving? Maybe the Nihon Shoki will give us some clues, but I’m not holding my breath. Second, why are they all outside the Nara Basin? They aren’t even in the Kawachi region. I guess one could argue that this indicates that Yamato’s influence had grown such that there were more places that could serve for the court, but that doesn’t quite sit right with me. Eventually, 20 years later, the did settle in Tamao (6), in Iware, just south of Mt. Miwa and the early seat of Yamato and just a bit northeast of the later Asuka courts and then the later Fujiwara Capital. Even his supposed kofun is located west of Kusuba, and on the other side of the Yodo River that flows from Biwa to the Seto Inland Sea at Naniwa.

Dramatis Personae

Ōtomo no Kanamura

Before we get into the sovereign, let’s briefly touch on Kanamura, likely son or descendant of Muruya. He appears to have been in charge of the court during Wakasazaki’s reign and now, here he is, choosing the next sovereign to sit on the throne. We unfortunately only know a little about him, but his actions speak volumes, in my opinion, and it will be something we see often enough. The service nobles of Yamato often realize they cannot make a direct claim to the throne, but yet it is through the throne that they earn their place. Thus, if you cannot sit on the throne, being the guy who puts people there is probably the next best thing—and possibly even a better thing, in a way, at least in later centuries. So just keep that in mind.

Tashiraga Ōiratsume

A sister to the late Ohatsuse Wakasazaki, the previous sovereign, and eventually the queen to the new sovereign, which will give her children a direct link to the previous dynasty through her, along with the connections brought to the table by her husband.

Ohodo

Prince Ohodo (or Wohodo) is, we are told, the newly chosen heir to the throne. But why? Well, it appears that his parentage connects him to both Homuda Wake and to Ikume Iribiko—a rather distinguished pedigree, assuming it is true. What follows is his presumed lineage.

Prince Ushi, aka Prince Hikonushi-bito and Hifuri Hime, aka Furu Hime

The parents to Ohodo. “Hikonushi” may come from “Hiko no Ushi”, and we’ve seen similar things elsewhere in the Chronicles, so it seems reasonable. “Hifuri” and “Furu” may have a bit more convoluted relationship, but nonetheless there are details that suggest they are the same person in different accounts.

We are told that Furu Hime’s lineage goes back to Ikume Iribiko, but I haven’t found it laid out in the same way as the paternal lineage. That said, it is an interesting claim, and one wonders if at some point the mother’s claim wasn’t as important—or possibly even moreso—than the father’s. After all, there is constantly a concern that the sovereign’s mother must have a royal lineage in order for their offspring to take the throne. The fact that it goes back to an even older dynasty makes me wonder.

Prince Oi

We aren’t given the wife of Prince Oi, only that he is the father of Prince Ushi, aka Hikonushi-bito.

Prince Ōhodo (or Oho-hodo)

We are told he was the father of Prince Oi, and again we are not given his wife. However, we are told that he was the brother of Oshizaka no Ō Naka tsu Hime, aka Osaka no Naka tsu Hime, wife of Oasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune, aka Ingyō Tennō. More on that, later. For now it is striking that Ōhodo’s name is so similar to Ohodo, seemingly indicating Hodo Sr. and Hodo Jr., though with several generations separating the two.

Waka Nuke (or Noke) Futamata and Momoshiko Mawaka Naka tsu Hime, aka Momoshiki Irobe

Futamata married Momoshiko (or Momoshiki) and gave birth to Prince Ōhodo and Princess Oshizaka. He appears in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shiki as a son of Homuda Wake, aka Ōjin Tennō. The Jōgūki lineage also says something similar, but instead of labeling Homutsu Wake as sovereign, or Ōkimi, it simply calls him another “Prince”. That certainly leaves us wondering if there was a mistake, or if all of the “Princes” here were perhaps of equivalent rank. Were they actually just another lineage of rulers elsewhere in the archipelago? Unfortunately, we don’t have much to go on.

Ohodo’s lineage and the Suda Hachiman Shrine Mirror

Picture of the back of the Suda Hachiman bronze mirror, with the inscription visible along its rim. Click for a larger view.

There appear to be some clues to Ohodo’s lineage scattered in the inscription on the Suda Hachiman mirror, but the text is so vague that it can be read multiple ways. Some see it as celebrating a marriage between Oshizaka no Ō Naka tsu Hime and the sovereign, Ingyō Tennō. Others see a connection with either Ōhodo or Ohodo. The use of the sexegenary cycle for the year gives us some possibilities, but nothing solid, and 443 or 503 seem equally valid interpretations.

It may not give us concrete evidence, but just the same it does seem to give some legitimacy to these various names that we are encountering, whether or not they are actually involved in the lineage of our latest sovereign, Ohodo, I’m not sure I could say.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 75: The Mirror, Sword, and …Seal?
We are going to be talking about the person who followed Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennou, known to us as Keitai Tennou—and no, that isn’t the Cell Phone sovereign, different kanji, despite the fact that it keeps coming to my mind. We’ll talk about what the Chronicles say about how he came to the throne, and what his lineage may have looked like. We’ll look at some of what we know around this period, and what some others have had to say. As usual, it is a bit difficult to say for certain what happened, but perhaps we can know a little bit.
Last episode we covered up to this point in the early 6th century, with the ongoing formation of the Yamato State. As we noted, although the Chronicles claim an unbroken lineage, there appear to have been at least two main dynasties, so far. The first was the Iribiko dynasty, starting with Mimaki Iribiko, who is credited as the founder of Yamato. Then there is the dynasty that tentatively begins with Okinaga Tarashi Hime and her son, Homtsu Wake—although possibly it actually starts with his son, Ohosazaki, for reasons we’ll talk about later. That second dynasty, which included the clearly historic figure of Ohohatsuse Wakatake, aka Wakatakiru no Ohokimi, or Yuryaku Tennou, ended around 506 with the death of Ohatsuse Wakasazaki—an aptly named bookend for the last descendant of Ohosazaki no Mikoto—the young Sazaki as the last heir to the Great Sazaki.
That dynasty seems plagued with succession disputes. Despite the order that the Chronicles attempt to apply to it, the remaining stories make many people suspect that after each sovereign’s death, there was a period of confusion and chaos. Different groups in Yamato and surrounding areas would often pick up arms and vie for power and control. Influential forces would rally around potential candidates—those with some claim to the throne. The Chronicles often makes the claim that they were direct descendants of a previous sovereign—sometimes even siblings to the sovereign who had just passed. It was clearly not a matter of strict patrilineal succession, however, and there are even more than a few women who may have thrown their hat into the ring, with Ihitoyo being one of the most convincing candidates so far.
During all of this, we see the rise of the various economic households. Most clearly are the Be—a continental innovation, where various individuals were gathered into a created household for economic purposes. Some of these are groups of similar professions. The Umakai-be, or the horsekeepers, and the Tamazukuri-Be, the Jewel-makers, are examples of these kinds of groups. Members were apparently scattered across various lands, but a single family remained nominally responsible for coordinating them. That family, sitting at the top of such a structure, would have had access to resources that that were produced by the other members, taking a bit off the top, as it were.
Other such families were dedicated to simply producing economic wealth, typically in the form of some number of koku of rice, for the upkeep of some person or institution. For instance, the upkeep of the monumental tombs that we see, or some particular family member.
We also see the service nobility—families who support the court and the sovereign and the business of the court, and through that maintain an elite status. Early on we see Takeuchi no Sukune and his descendants, who make up the Heguri, who are often the Ohomi, or Great Minister. Similarly there are the Mononobe, who appear to be a constructed -Be style family focusing on the arts of war—Mono-no-fu being another term for warriors—but who claim their own divine lineage through another Heavenly grandchild. Then there are the Ohotomo. They claim descent through Michi no Omi, or at least according to the Chronicles—Michi no Omi theoretically rode with the legendary Iware Biko, aka Jimmu Tennou, when he supposedly invaded Yamato. Later you see Ohotomo no Takemotsu serving in the time of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tennou, and Ohotomo no Muruya, in the time of Wakatake no Ohokimi, aka Yuuryaku Tennou. This is probably the first reliable account of the Ohotomo family in the Chronicles as a powerful member of the court, but we will see their continued presence.
In the period of the second dynasty, the service nobility play a large role in running the state and even in helping to select new sovereigns. In the story recounting Wakasazaki, or Buretsu Tennou, Matori, of the Heguri family, appears to be the one in charge at the start, but Ohotomo no Kanamura, presumably the son or descendant of Ohotomo no Muruya, helps Wakasazaki overthrow and destroy Heguri no Matori, gaining his place as Ohomuraji in the process. In some ways, it seems as though the important political story of Wakaszaki’s reign at the turn of the 6th century wasn’t about him at all, but about the competition between the Heguri and the Ohotomo.
When Wakasazaki dies without an heir, it is these same service nobility who seem to be figured prominently in the next part of the story, the selection of the next sovereign.
According to the Chronicles, it was Ohotomo no Kanamura who made the pitch that they would need someone to sit on the throne. The Nihon Shoki puts this two weeks after the death of Wakasazaki, Kanamura proposed a candidate—one Yamato Hiko, a fifth generation descendant of Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko, aka Chuai Tennou. This Yamato Hiko was living in Kuhada, in the land of Tanba—modern Hyogo Prefecture.
The next part is a little, well, strange. Rather than sending a simple messenger to Yamato Hiko and asking him to come take the throne, they apparently sent what the Nihon Shoki refers to as an “honor guard”—so armed men. Now remember, up to this point, successions were a bloody affair, and when Yamato Hiko saw armed men coming for him, he took to the hills, not wanting to be purged just because he had a connection to an ancient sovereign. The men searched high and low but they could not find him.
And so, a few days later, Kanamura and the other nobles started the search anew. They focused on another prince, Prince Wohodo. The Nihon Shoki claims he was the son of another Prince, named Hiko Nushi-bito, and his wife, Furuhime. Although Hiko Nushi-bito lived in Miwo, in the district of Takashima—probably around the area of modern Takashima o nthe shores of Lake Biwa—Wohodo’s father passed away and his mother, Furuhime, took him back to her home of Takamuku. This was likely in the area of modern Fukui, in the old province of Echizen, the area of the ancient land of Koshi that was closest to the Kinai region. So that is where they sent the honor guard this time, to the land of Mikuni, to find Wohodo and ask him to take up the throne.
When the troops showed up this time, Wohodo remained calm, and sat there with his personal retainers. Still, he wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, and so he didn’t exactly consent, immediately. However, someone had snuck him a message beforehand to tell him what was going on. That was Kawachi no Umakahi no Obito no Arako, who let him know that this was a force coming to kill him, but rather to escort him back to the court. When everything was finally over, Arako would be well rewarded for his service.
Traveling with the honor guard, Wohodo made it down to the Kusuba palace, traditionally identified as being around Kuzuhaoka in Hirakata in modern Osaka. It was there that Ohotomo no Kanamura presented Wohodo with the Mirror, the sword, and the signet, or seal.
And let me take a moment and mark this occasion. We’ve seen discussions of the mirror and the sword before this point, and this seems to indicate the three items of imperial regalia of Japan: The Mirror, the Sword, and the Jewel. And this is the first time we’ve seen these used as part of the ascension ceremony, at least since they were first brought down to earth in the legend of the Heavenly Grandchild, Ninigi no Mikoto.
As you may recall, legends in the Chronicles claim that the Mirror and the Jewel were both hung on the Sakaki tree outside of the Heavenly Rock Cave as part of the ceremony to get Amaterasu to come out into the light. There is even mention of a blemish on the mirror from when it was accidentally knocked against the side of the cave. The sword implies the famous Kusanagi, or grass-cutter, found by Susanowo in the tail of Yamata no Orochi. Of course it could be that it was a different mirror and a different sword, but I think that any reader in the 8th century would have assumed these to be the same as those discussed earlier in the Chronicles. These were described back in episodes 15 and 16, as well as the descent of Ninigi no Mikoto in episode 22.
More reliably, it does seem there was a tradition in the archipelago of maintaining and even displaying elite goods, such as mirrors, jewels, and swords, from tree-like structures to announce or welcome royalty.
This is, however, the first time we’ve seen them brought out for an investiture—an enthronement ceremony—and you may have already caught on that there is one thing that is out of place. In the Nihon Shoki we are told that they used the mirror, the sword, and the… seal. Yeah, instead of the jewel—the Yasakani no magatama—we have a royal seal, instead.
Is this a seal received from one of the continental courts, confirming the sovereign of Yamato as the “King of Wa”? Or is it referencing the jewel, the magatama, but using a term that, in the classical language of the time, would have been expected in a continental enthronement ceremony?
Truth be told, the list of items included as required imperial regalia would vary over the years. Even by the 14th century the regalia was not necessarily firm, as pointed out by Thomas Conlan in his book, “From Sovereign to Symbol”, though the sword, mirror, and jewel do appear to be at the heart of it. In fact, Kitabatake Chikafusa, writing his national history, “Jinnou Shoutouki,” in the 14th century certainly identifies those three sacred objects as being at the heart of the institution of the sovereign and, by extension, the entire state. They are also mentioned in the Tale of Heike, where it is said that the Sacred Jewel and the Sword were taken up by Taira no Tokiko, widow of Kiyomori and grandmother to the infant Tennou, Antoku, as she leapt into the sea with him at the Battle of Dan-no-ura in the 12th century.
Now, just because we see these three regalia, don’t expect them to be coming up all the time from here on out. In fact, in 536 we will see only the sword and the mirror once more in the enthronement of the sovereign known as Senka Tennou, and then it seems to disappear from the narrative until the enthronement of the sovereign known as Jitou Tennou, wife of Temmu, in the 7th century, where again we get the sword, the mirror, and the seal.
In fact, the sword and mirror seem to be more constant than the jewel. In the 10th century Engi Shiki, or Procedures of the Engi Era, only the Sword and the Mirror are mentioned as part of the enthronement ceremony, or Daijousai. Herman Ooms, in his work in the Temmu Dynasty, “Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan,” suggests that the jewel was more of a private matter, passed within the house, perhaps even immediately upon a sovereign’s passing, while the sword and mirror were for public ceremonies. Whatever the case, it seems that in the Nihon Shoki, at least, the royal seal is more important. That fits with the general oeuvre of the genre, seeing as how they are doing their best to mimic the style of the continental chronicles, as well as continental systems of governance.
And so, Wohodo was raised up as sovereign, becoming the one who would later be called Keitai Tennou.
But who was this Wohodo, really? What do we know? What qualities did he possess that made him the rightful heir to the throne?
The Nihon Shoki’s explanation is somewhat lacking on this front. It is simply mentions that he was a descendant of Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, in the 6th generation, through his paternal line—his father being the 5th—but it also makes him an 8th generation descendant of Ikume Iribiko, along his maternal line, through Furu Hime. Effectively, they claimed that he was descended from both of the previous dynasties, giving further support to the theory that they are, indeed, separate.
The entry for Wohodo in the Kojiki isn’t much more help. It does give his descendants—and a brief mention of some conflict in Kyushu. However, there is an odd entry earlier, around the death of Homuda Wake. That covers the lineage of a seemingly unimportant son of Homuda Wake, named Waka Nuke Futamata. It is an odd entry, and might seem to just be lineages of various family lines, as he has a son, Oho-iratsuko, aka Oho-hodo no Miko—that is “Oho-hodo” as opposed to our current “Wo-hodo”, but if you see a connection, that does seem to be the intent. We are told he was an ancestor of, among others, the lords of Mikuni—Mikuni no Kimi. And of course, our current sovereign also has connections to Mikuni, according to the Nihon Shoki, though they say it is through his mother.
So even the Kojiki is a bit cagey on this subject, and it isn’t exactly a fully detailed lineage—there are plenty of gaps large enough that you could drive an ox-cart through. The Sendai Kuji Hongi doesn’t seem to be much better. It largely repeats the lineage given in the Nihon Shoki, without further details.
In fact, the most detailed lineage comes from somewhere else entirely—from a work called the Jouguuki, the biography of Prince Shotoku Taishi. This is thought to have been written around the 7th century, though unfortunately it only remains in fragments, such as in the Shaku Nihongi, which was written between 1274 and 1301 and contains fragments of many earlier works that are no longer extant as separate documents, including various fudoki, biographies, etc.
According to that biography, Wakanuke Futamata was the son of Homutsu Wake and Ote Hime Mawaka, the daughter of Kawamata Nakatsu Hiko. Futamata married Momoshiko Mawaka Nakatsu Hime—in the Kojiki we are told this is Momoshiki Irobe, aka Oto Hime Mawaka Hime no Mikoto. They had a son, Oho-hodo, again just like the the Kojiki. Ohohodo then had a son, Oi, who had a son, Ushi, who married one Hifuri Hime no Mikoto.
Prince Oi then becomes the connective tissue between Ohohodo in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki account, who has Hiko Nushi-bito marrying Furuhime. Assuming that Hiko Nushi Bito might be something like Hiko no Ushi Bito, and Furu Hime is the same as Hifuri Hime, this appears to line things up. They, of course, were the parents of Wohodo. Hifuri Hime’s lineage is also taken all the way back to Ikume Iribiko, as well, so that fits.
Of course, that doesn’t guarantee that any of this is true. After all, the compilers of the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki may have been drawing from the Jouguuki, or vice versa, and if any part of that lineage was constructed wholecloth then it brings everything into question.
Kitabatake Chikafusa, in his writings, even suggested that Wohodo was descended from Ōsazaki’s rival, Hayabusa Wake. Then again, he could just be misremembering, as it is said his work was written without access to the source material, while he was in exile. Nonetheless, an interesting takeaway.
The various lineages of Wohodo do seem to acknowledge two dynasties, however, and I can’t help but wonder how much these biographies were projected back in time. Perhaps it is because of Mimaki Iribiko and Ikume Iribiko’s connection to Wohodo that we see stories about them, rather than about Himiko or Toyo, or others. After all, it is from Wohodo forward that we get the current lineage, and it should be noted that rarely do the Chronicles actually name the sovereign in their reign—the statements are simply that the ruler did this or the sovereign did that. So it would be easy enough to replace one sovereign with another to keep the biographers happy.
Some, such as Russell Kirkland (Kirkland, R. (1997). The Sun and the Throne. The Origins of the Royal Descent Myth in Ancient Japan. Numen, 44(2), 109–152. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3270296) have suggested that it was from about this same period that many of the founding myths about the kami would havearisen. In particular he suggested that myths of heavenly descent from Takami Musubi probably originated around this time, followed by the introduction of Ōhirume as a sun goddess in the late 6th century, with Amaterasu herself not taking center stage until about the 7th century. Either way, it is likely that many legends and content of earlier chapters was at least massaged to better support the current dynasty, which claims decent through Wohodo.
I also wonder if Wohodo’s connection to two dynasties doesn’t indicate something about the co-rulership theory. Were they trying to bring two lines of co-rulers into a single entity in Wohodo? After all, from here on out, it looks like Kishimoto’s theory simplifies down to a single sovereign. In all there are a lot of questions, and unfortunately very few answers. We could go back and forth about all of the things it *could* indicate, and there are literally shelves and shelves of books written on the topic.
There is one curious thing that is probably worth mentioning, however, and that is a bit of evidence from outside of the Chronicles. It is an inscription, found on a bronze mirror. This mirror is a treasure of the Suda Hachiman Shrine, in modern Wakayama Prefecture, in the Suda district of Hashimoto city, on the Kii peninsula, south of the Nara Basin, though it is now kept at the Tokyo National Museum.
The mirror has a rather intricate back, with various figures displayed around it, but it is most notable for the inscription along its rim. The inscription is clear enough, but unfortunately not great. Besides numerous grammatical errors—from using the wrong characters to some characters even being reversed, which was apparently not that uncommon given how mirrors were cast for production. Then there are some characters that are out of order, all of this suggesting that this was not a native speaker but someone from another language group trying to write in Han characters.
David Lurie, in his article on the Suda Hachiman Shrine Mirror, gives a possible translation of the transcription as follows:
“On the tenth day of the eighth month of the twentieth year of the cycle”, Here Lurie suggests the year 503, though 443 has also been proposed by others, “during the reign of the Great King, when his younger brother the prince resided in Oshisaka Palace, Shima thought to serve him for a long time, and had Kawachi no Atai and Ayahito Imasuri, the two of them, take two hundred-weight of white bronze and make this mirror.”
Other than the inscription, the mirror appears to be from the same mold, or a copy of the same mold, as various other mirrors found in the archipelago, copying mirrors from the continent. That there is writing tells us that someone involved with the production knew how to write—and presumably read—though there are also an inner series of graph-like markings that appear to be a kind of pseudo-inscription: an imitation of writing but without any actual meaning. Personally, I wonder if that just wasn’t part of the mold that they used as a basis to create the mirror in the first place.
The inscription seems to give us several things. First of all, there is mention of the Oshizaka Palace. Princess Oshizaka no Ohonakatsu Hime, aka Osaka no Nakatsu Hime, is said to have been sister to Prince Oho-hodo, our current subject’s supposed great-grandfather, and we are told that she married Oasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyou Tennou. If that is true, perhaps we are seeing some mention of their relationship.
Other readings have suggested the name Ohodo or Oho-hodo as well, possibly indicating either the current sovereign or his great-grandfather. There are even suggestions that the “Shima” here is the Baekje King, Muryeong, and that perhaps there is even a peninsular connection—and there are certainly quite a few entries about Baekje in this reign. Either way, there seems to be some historical evidence surrounding bits of what we are finding in the Chronicles, but nothing links up quite as nicely as we would like for it to do so. Sometimes this stuff is like a giant jigsaw puzzle, except that half the pieces are missing, and some number of the ones that are left are from a different box entirely. The Chroniclers’ answer was to do the best they could, even if that meant redrawing the pieces, or cutting them so they would fit together better, and the picture on the box is completely different than the pieces you have.
Clearly, though, Wohodo was being brought in from outside, and starting a new line. Whether or not this lineage is a fabrication to justify his rule, or perhaps the Chronicles themselves are a projection of his own lineage back into the ancient stories, he was the one placed on the throne. And the person doing that appears to be none other than Ohotomo Kanamura.
And here is where I suspect that Kanamura may have been the architect behind a lot of this. After all, he is the one that “finds” Wohodo. He had been politically ascendant during the reign of Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennou, and now here he is selecting the next sovereign. Once he brings Wohodo in, the next step is that he has Wohodo marry Tashiraga no Iratsume, one of Wakasazaki’s sister. So now we have an heir with claims to Homuda Wake and Ikume Iribiko, and, through this marriage, we have a direct continuation of the previous lineage, though as we’ll see, that may take a few tries before it comes to fruition.
There are still questions about how this all came to be. Was it really a peaceful transition of power? Or was this another series of bloody wars and invasions? A few things to note suggesting that things are up.
First, although Wohodo is made sovereign in 507, there is a note in 511 that the “capital was transferred to Tsutsuki, in Yamashiro,” traditionally located north of Nara in modern Kyotanbe. Then, in 518, the capital moved to Otokuni, also in Yamashiro—in modern Muko city, just southwest of Kyoto. Finally, in 526, it moved to Tamao, in Iware.
So Wohodo gets selected as the new sovereign of Yamato, but then for about twenty years he is living outside of the Nara Basin, in areas not traditionally associated with the capital of Yamato. So what was going on for those first twenty or so years? Was there conflict? Was there something else going on in the Nara Basin?
Unfortunately, the Nihon Shoki glosses over any conflict and presents a picture of unified support of the new sovereign. Yet I doubt that a new sovereign could just be brought in and be immediately acclaimed by all. Rather, it all seems to have been orchestrated by Ohotomo Kanamura and his allies at court, and that may have been much more contentious than is depicted.
In the end, we are left with what we have. We are told that Wohodo accepted the throne, and was invested with the mirror, sword, and the official seal. He took to wife Tashiraga Hime, and thus he became the next sovereign. In the next episode we can cover what the Chronicles say about his reign.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Barnes, Gina L. (2015). Achaeology of East Asia: The Rise of Civilization in China, Korea and Japan
Barnes, G. (2014). A Hypothesis for Early Kofun Rulership. Japan Review, (27), 3-29. Retrieved March 12, 2020, from https://www.jstor.org/stable/23849568
Kishimoto, Naofumi (2013). Dual Kingship in the Kofun Period as Seen from the Keyhole Tombs. UrbanScope: e-Journal of the Urban-Culture Research Center, OCU. http://urbanscope.lit.osaka-cu.ac.jp/journal/pdf/vol004/01-kishimoto.pdf
Conlan, Thomas (2011). From Sovereign to Symbol: An Age of Ritual Determinism in Fourteenth-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0199778102.
Como, Michael (2009). Weaving and Binding: Immigrant Gods and Female Immortals in Ancient Japan. ISBN978-0-8248-2957-5
Lurie, D. B. (2009). The Suda Hachiman Shrine Mirror and Its Inscription. Impressions, 30, 27–31. http://www.jstor.org/stable/42597980
Ooms, Herman (2009). Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan: The Tenmu Dynasty, 650-800. ISBN978-0-8248-3235-3
Kawagoe, Aileen (2009). “Uji clans, titles and the organization of production and trade”. Heritage of Japan. https://heritageofjapan.wordpress.com/following-the-trail-of-tumuli/rebellion-in-kyushu-and-the-rise-of-royal-estates/uji-clans-titles-and-the-organization-of-production-and-trade/. Retrieved 1/11/2021.
Soumaré, Massimo (2007); Japan in Five Ancient Chinese Chronicles: Wo, the Land of Yamatai, and Queen Himiko. ISBN: 978-4-902075-22-9
Bentley, J. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. Retrieved May 1, 2020, from https://brill.com/view/title/12964
Varley, Paul H. (trans.) (1980). A Chronicle of Gods and Sovereigns; Jinno Shotoki of Kitabatake Chikafusa.
Piggott, J. (1997). The Emergence of Japance Kingship
Kirkland, R. (1997). The Sun and the Throne. The Origins of the Royal Descent Myth in Ancient Japan. Numen, 44(2), 109–152. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3270296
Kiley, C. J. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25–49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 74: Yamato and State Formation

October 16, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Haniwa figure of a woman from a 5th century tomb in modern Fujiidera, in Osaka—the ancient area of Kawachi.

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This episode we’ve returned to the archipelago from the continent, and we return at a moment of change. According to the Chronicles, the sovereign was dead and there were no immediate heirs designated for succession. We are on the cusp of a new dynasty—a new line of rulers. But before we get too much into that, let’s pull out and look at how we got here. As head down in the individual stories as we’ve been, sometimes as they say: “you don’t see the forest for the trees.”

So this episode we look at a larger story—the story we’ve been telling, page by page, but look at where we’ve come. This is the story of the formation of the State.

It would be easy to simply say that the State started with Queen Himiko. After all, she’s a queen, right? Except, “Queen” and “King” were thrown around with some abandon by those Han and Wei courts. It was a mark of respect, but there is the question of just what it meant in terms of control. What is it that we mean by “state”?

While I don’t try to promote it as a primary resource, in this case people may want to read the Wikipedia article on State formation for an overview. Among other things are the various categories and qualities that people point to. One of the key definitions, though, is that the State is the only authorized dispenser of violence in its territory. In other words, nobody else can legitimately commit physical violence against other people in the territory without state backing or approval.

Why violence? Shouldn’t it be something else—a sense of belonging, or perhaps rules and laws? And yeah, that’s true—and it doesn’t even mean that the state has to be extremely violent, nor even cruel. But that sense of belonging typically means that there is an “othering”. There are those who are part of the state and those who are not, and even in that, there is a certain amount of violence that is often involved. Then there are the rules and laws—the social contract between people. But what happens when that social contract breaks down? Who enforces those rules and laws? At the end of the day, there is a threat of violence backing up those rules and laws, in one form or another.

This is part of where people see Yamato as an early state, but doubt its authority throughout the archipelago. Sure, it may have had influence—in business today, a common thing is to talk about “leading from where you are”, exerting influence over other people through a variety of means, but that doesn’t make you the boss. Influence may lead to authority, but they aren’t necessarily one and the same thing.

So what do we actually see in the record. Control of legitimate violence and influence may be there, but what does that look like in the history or in the archaeological record?

Well, things like the spread of the keyhole shaped mounded tombs demonstrates a certain affinity that groups in the archipelago had with Yamato and the state at the heart of that movement. In fact, we explicitly see some other shapes, including square mounded tombs, circular round tombs, and those particular square tombs up in Izumo. If you look, you can see some of the untold stories of influence and control that play out in the different tomb mounds of the early and middle kofun periods.

Complex trade is another indicator of connectedness. Early on, the fact that sites in the Miwa region demonstrate examples of artifacts from around the archipelago is something that we can point to regarding their reach. Trading for goods is one of the things that is thought to drive complexity in societies. There are structures and bonds and agreements that are struck so that goods can travel from one point to another. There are also hierarchies that often form in the management of goods and just who gets them—the creation of elite structures.

There is also warfare. We see evidence of warfare on the islands, but also with the peninsula. Interestingly, for Yamato to launch raids against Silla, they would have to have relationships with the communities between the two of them. It seems a rather massive feat for Yamato to simply take to the seas, particularly with any sizeable number of warriors. I tend to believe that these battles must have been coalitions of multiple groups, of which Yamato may or may not have been the head. Certainly by later centuries they were, but early on it may have been the case that other proto-states were just as likely to be leading men off on a profitable raiding trip.

All of these activities take an evolution of government structures—of statecraft. Some of this was no doubt homegrown, but some of it was just as likely imported. Writing helps immensely with communication—no longer do you need to rely on someone hopefully communicating your intent when you can write it down and show them. Horses not only provide an advantage in battle, but also make it much easier to travel from place to place.

Then there are foreign relations. The ability to engage with other states at that level. After all, why would they even deal with you if they didn’t agree you had some level of authority over others in your group? This is a problem that plagues the Ming court in the 16th century, as numerous daimyo in Japan’s Sengoku Period would attempt to represent themselves as the legitimate government representatives. At one point the court had to institute something of a first-come-first-served rule, refusing to recognize other embassies that arrived in the same year, requiring that they sort it out back in the islands. This happened during a time when the authority of the state was, of course, quite weak, leading to a period of warlordism.

In the end, I don’t know that there will be consensus around any one particular year or event for the formation of what would become the Japanese state. It was, rather, a complex evolution, and there were times when the state was ascendant, and times when it was in decline, especially in the early days. It was, after all, a new idea and a new concept, and it would take some time to work out the kinks.

Generally, I tend to see the early state in the time of Wakatake, aka Yuryaku Tenno. He seems to have had control over a wide swath of the the archipelago. I imagine that control slipped somewhat after him, but I see something else that is important—the elite families. The nobles and the courtiers who supported the state. By tying themselves and their fortunes to it, they bolstered it. That meant they also vied for power, but in that context. Importantly, they could keep the structures in place and moving forward, even during times of weak or even non-existent sovereigns. It was more than just having a powerful, charismatic ruler—it was about having those institutions that were larger than individuals, and which people tied themselves to. And so when the next ruler comes to the throne—however that actually happened—his dynasty would already have the infrastructure in place to move it forward.

Still, we are only talking at this point about the growing power of Yamato. We have not yet come to the point where we first see the term “Nihon”, or “Japan”, but that is coming. For now, we’ll continue looking at the paramounts of Yamato and their rule and keep an eye out as we enter more and more reliably historic periods.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 74: Yamato and State Formation.
We are finally back on the archipelago, after taking a few episodes to look a little more in depth at the continent, particularly at the culture that grew up in the Yellow and Yangzi rivers between the 3rd and late 6th centuries—the same period, generally, as the Mounded Tomb Culture in the Japanese archipelago and the Korean Peninsula. We’ll probably be going back there, especially as the 6th century is going to see the arrival of several new things from the continent, including Buddhism and various aspects of material culture.
This is going to be a shorter episode, and mostly recap, as we are going to re-ground ourselves in the archipelago and try to set the stage for the rest of the 6th century. To start with, let’s look back what we know, so far. A lot of this is going to be things we’ve covered before, but sometimes it helps to step back and look at the larger picture of what is going on in the story, especially in terms of state formation.
This topic – state formation, or in other words, exactly when “Japan” came to be - is something we’ve touched on, but it is an important point as we try to piece together the history of Japan. Of course, the Chronicles claim that Japan is and always was a state, more or less. They even use the term “Nihon” well before its attested existence, as well as the term “Sumera no Mikoto” for the rulers—something that basically claims the sovereigns were not mere rulers, or kings, but heavenly emperors, equal to those who sat upon the Tang dynasty throne, over on the continent.
But states don’t just appear out of nothing. Groups of people gather together, create systems by which to govern themselves, and then, at some point, come to see themselves as a nation. When and how this happens is often murky, however, and there is rarely a single moment when one can definitively say that a polity is a state, short of a written document declaring it so—and even that can’t always be trusted. In fact, there may be multiple peaks where a polity starts to show the traits of statehood, but then there is the question of whether or not they are sustained beyond just a single strongman and his—or her—ideas and cult of personality. To that end, let’s look at what we know of the Kofun period and what evidence we have, besides just what the Chronicles try to tell us.
First off, in the 3rd century, we have reference in the chronicles of the Cao Wei dynasty to Himiko, the so-called “Queen of Wa”, in Yamateh, the largest of several Wa states—for more on her, go back to Episode 13.
From what we know of this period, “Wa” was more an indication of ethnicity than any kind of state, and ethnic Wa people were likely still resident with other ethnic groups on the Korean peninsula at that time. In addition, there are other groups on the archipelago that are mentioned later in the Chronicles, and we know that there were descendants of the Jomon populations still resident in parts of the islands. Whether or not the Kumaso, the Hayato, the Emishi, or Tsuchigumo refer to simply different Wa groups or to individuals of other ethnicities, speaking another language isn’t necessarily clear, as the Chronicles seem more focused on their position vis-à-vis Yamato. Still, we see enough evidence that there are both common practices and diversity throughout the archipelago.
While we have no direct evidence of Himiko in the islands—or nothing that the scholarly community as a whole can come together around—we do have physical evidence that this was a period of change, and there is a lot to point to Yamato, and specifically to the area at the base of Mt. Miwa. Not only do we have the remains of the palace found at Makimuku, and archaeological traces from around the archipelago, but it is also where we see the first of the monumental keyhole shaped tombs.
To be clear, this wasn’t the start of the mounded tomb culture. On the archipelago, that goes back to the funkyubo, mounds with multiple burials, which began back around the middle Yayoi period. And we also see mounded tombs on the peninsula as well. For the funkyubo, these were typically communal burials—even if only for a portion of the community. These mounds eventually became tombs for individuals, and the keyhole tombs, with their rounded, circular rear mounds and the trapezoidal front were a particular feature of the Yamato region, at least at first.
The existence of these large tombs is generally taken as an indication that the community—and by extension the leader of that community—was able to organize considerable amounts of labor. Many have theorized that the organization of such labor arose from the need for communal agriculture, but once such labor exists it can be used in various ways, from building and expanding agricultural fields, but also for military and other state actions.
The expansion of the keyhole shaped tomb mounds is seen as an expansion of the influence of what Gina Barnes refers to as the Miwa Polity, our early Yamato community. Here a lot of people struggle to refer to it as a state. Sure, they can organize labor and make things happen, but what really is a “state”? Typically it consists of government, defined territory, a set of belonging by the people in it, laws, that sort of thing—you know, the sorts of things that don’t show up in the archaeological record all that well. Exact definitions of when something becomes a “state” can vary from person to person, depending on whom you talk to, but it is something other than simply a familial or clan structure. The people in the state are connected by something more than kinship. Max Weber described the state as a body that monopolized the use of legitimate physical violence in a given geographic territory. In other words, the state can arrest people, incarcerate them, and even put them to death, and it is generally considered “legitimate”. Meanwhile if one person were to try to do that to another—or even one group, or gang—then that is typically considered illegitimate. You can’t just go and hit your neighbor, no matter how many “hit-me” pheromones they might be putting off. Unless, of course, you can claim to be part of the state and you have a good reason, like they looked at you funny.
Many have built on Max Weber’s theories, and there is more nuance than just the person with the biggest club, though many still fall back on his definition as the baseline.
The general theory in the archipelago at the time we are looking at it is that we are still working on a more tribal basis, with groups associated through bonds of real or fictional kinship. Earlier scholars linked these bonds with the “uji” structure of groups like the Mononobe and the Ohotomo, but more recently this appears to be a late development.
Early authority may have stemmed from spiritual authority, emphasizing the Yamato sovereign’s connection to the deity of Mt. Miwa, though it was also likely based on their position in a complex trade network that ran from the continent, through the peninsula, and on to the archipelago. The development of trade networks are one of the theorized mechanisms for how societies get more complex. Here many people point to the mirrors that Himiko has said to have received, and there have been efforts to connect mirrors found at various tombs around the archipelago with common batches that likely came over from the continent at the same time. In effect, the Miwa polity was setting itself up as an authority on not only spiritual matters, but in what made someone “elite”.
Still, evidence of influence is not the same as evidence of control. Just because mirrors and tombs show up in different areas does not meant that Yamato had direct control over that region like some kind of vassal state. Later on it may have actually been the case that there were regulations on different types of tombs for different individuals, but early on it may have been simply related to how much labor a single group could organize.
Early on, many kofun appear to be carved out of the landscape, from existing ridges and hills. This would certainly have cut down on labor costs. Effectively these early tombs, impressive as they are, are little more than a platform, with a standard burial dug into the round back half of the mound, and decorated with a variety of haniwa—circular, terracotta decorations. As we previously mentioned, these haniwa were probably originally pillars for other kinds of vessels, possibly for offerings of some kind, but they morphed into various shapes. From the fourth century we have figures of birds, houses, and various weapons.
Then there are the various goods found inside different kofun. While those tombs designated as belonging to ancestors of the current Japanese imperial house have been largely been off-limits to full-on, intrusive excavations, there are others that have been made available, or tombs that have been opened in previous centuries, either officially or otherwise, and the grave goods deposited with individuals have also given us some idea of what life was like.
Early on we see bronze mirrors and elite items, as well as beads and jewelry, sometimes from quite far away, indicating extensive trade routes. And in the third to fourth century we also find armor and weapons. Trading—or raiding—for elite goods was likely an important part of the culture, and possibly something that helped encourage groups to work together, particularly when it came to raids on the Korean peninsula. Based on stories in the islands and on the continent, the kinds of attacks that the Wa are said to have launched appear to have required a number of groups to band together. Ishimoda Sho suggested that these attacks were one reason that different groups worked together, and lists it as one of the causes for eventual state formation.
In the latter part of the 4th century, things were changing. In the islands we see the arrival of horse equipment showing up in the tombs, and the tombs themselves change. They grow large—the largest that the archipelago will see. This era is associated with Homuda Wake and Ohosazaki no Mikoto, as well as the massive Daisen Kofun—which we generally covered in episodes 40 to 52. From Homuda Wake onward is generally considered the second dynasty, sometimes referred to as the Kawachi court, given that many of them are said to have ruled from Naniwa and their monumental tombs are in the land of Kawachi.
The changes during this era have led people like Egami Namio to postulate that there must have been some kind of new rulers that made their way to the Kinki region from Kyushu, or possibly all the way from the peninsula. Proponents of the Horse-rider theory pointed to the new assemblages in the tombs and the connections to Baekje and suggested that a new warrior culture had come in and defeated the existing rulers, setting up their own, paramount state. Stories of conquest from Kyushu certainly are not uncommon. After all, that is the story given for Iware Biko himself, aka Jimmu Tenno, as well as Homuda Wake—or perhaps more appropriately his mother, Okinaga Tarashi-hime.
Either way, it does seem that there was a new dynasty in place, and they seem to have been at the height of their power under Ohohatsuse Wakatakeru, aka Yuuryaku Tenno. This dynasty is better attested to than the previous, with actual names on swords and other such things. We also see various changes in the archaeological record, some of which we’ve mentioned in terms of the placement of the tombs and the horse-riding gear, but there is also an increased presence of people and items from the continent in general.
Note that I’m not hawking the horse-rider theory, here. While certainly horses changed the archipelago, that doesn’t mean that some Buyeo prince came galloping through on a campaign of conquest. It is just as likely that this was all part of the archipelago’s increased contacts with the peninsula. In addition, the build-up is gradual, and so even though we talk about things like a new dynasty and changes in the kofun, this didn’t happen overnight. The rate of change that we do see is consistent with a society that is simply more connected with their neighbors, and who were taking on those things—particularly technologies—that were the most beneficial to them.
Some of those technologies were not necessarily physical, which makes them hard to verify or track down—at least until the history gets a little more reliable. For example, some of these are religious ideas; Gina Barnes has pointed to the cult of the Queen Mother of the West, popular on the continent during the time of the Cao Wei and Queen Himiko, as one example. Most of the physical evidence for this belief coming into the archipelago is in the form of those bronze mirrors I’ve already mentioned, that were imported, likely in large batches as part of the diplomatic missions sent by Himiko or someone from the islands. Many of these mirrors contain depictions of the Queen Mother of the West and her counterpart, the King Father of the East. Furthermore, some similarities can be drawn with later Japanese beliefs and religious ideas, but that still isn’t solid evidence.
We likewise have other evidence of connections in various stories and legends with the Korean peninsula—Susanowo, comes to mind, as do stories of Ame no Hiboko, whom we discussed in episode 16 and episode 30, respectively. Some of these contain details that may date them, such as the descriptions of the underworld that liken it to later kofun styles, with their horizontal entrances rather than vertical shaft burials.
It isn’t all just stories, however. New techniques for governing large amounts of people also were likely imported into the archipelago, probably along with the ethnic Han scribes that were coming over from places like Baekje. Once again, new tools of statecraft don’t necessarily show up clearly in the archaeological record, but we have some evidence for their use.
For example, we can see the Wa playing on the world—or at least regional—stage during the Liu Song dynasty. At least five rulers sent missions to the Liu Song court. Previous missions had gone to the Cao Wei and Jin courts from Himiko and Toyo, but most of the concerns seem to have been localized to the archipelago and focused on the goods that were being brought over as part of the missions. However, the missions during the Liu Song seemed more focused on the claims of the Wa to the Korean peninsula in general. Regardless of how realistic such claims may or may not have been, they show a concern, at least, with the type of political structures created in the Yellow River region, and which Han scribes and officials spread to outlying areas along with Sinitic written culture. In fact, it is highly likely that there were descendants of Han bureaucrats who, themselves, were assisting these emerging polities in the finer points of statecraft as they also brought in other ideas from the Sinitic corpus of knowledge. Furthermore, trouble on the Korean peninsula was pushing refugees to the islands, who would likely have further supported these cultural changes.
Written culture would not only have opened up the archipelago to ideas about governance, but it also would have helped provide methods to better control large areas of land. While local magnates would still be required, written edicts and orders could be carried to the far reaches of one’s influence. With the advent of horse-riding, that would have only helped bring groups closer together, making distances shorter and increasing the ability to communicate clearly between center and periphery.
Despite all of this development, I can’t help but notice that we are still talking about the “Wa” in general. This appears to be an ethnonym, applied to Japonic-speaking groups by the Han and Wei dynasties, and it may have even been how they referred to themselves as a group. However, it isn’t the same as the name of a state, like Yamato, or even Baekje and Silla. This could be purely apathy on the part of the Han scribes writing this down on the continent, but then again, those other states emerged to be known as themselves, so it is hard to say what is going on. Perhaps they had simply adopted the name “Wa”—certainly it has continued to be a general term for Japan down to the modern day. Things like “Wafu”, meaning “Japanese style” is used for anything from food to clothing. A “washitsu” is a Japanese room, while “wagyu” is the term for a special (and delicious) breed of Japanese beef cattle. Still, “Wa” as used outside of Japan seems to refer to a broad swath of people, not all of whom were necessarily under the direct authority of a centralized court in the islands.
In the period between Ohosazaki and Wakatakeru, covered in episodes 53 to 56, we see a clear rise in the power of the Kawachi dynasty, but if the Chronicles are to be believed, it is regularly plagued by succession disputes. Therefore, each reign is almost a one-off—a charismatic and powerful ruler, perhaps, but with very little control—and possibly even little care—for what happens after they pass away.
And so, by the end of the 5th century, the Wa polity in the Kawachi region was certainly commanding tremendous forces—just look at tombs like Daisen, as I mentioned before. But as a state it was still growing and evolving.
We also see a continued evolution in the archaeological record, and in the Kinai region certain changes appear to coincide with the end of the Kawachi court and the rise of a new dynasty. Whereas previous burials were vertical pits, dug straight into the tops of the mounds, these changed to horizontal stone chambers, with a corresponding corridor leading in from outside. These chambers were, themselves, often made of giant stones, over which the dirt was placed.
Horizontal corridor-chamber tombs are seen at least as early as the Han dynasty on the continent—so by the 3rd century at least. Han dynasty style tombs with horizontal corridors leading to burial chambers were brought to the Korean peninsula along with the Han commandries. This corridor-chamber style was subsequently adopted and integrated into the tomb mounds of Goguryeo, and then eventually spread to the rest of the peninsula—to Baekje and Silla. Finally, it crossed the straits to the archipelago.
Horizontal corridor-chamber tombs allowed easier access, as they could be sealed with a door that could later be removed if anyone needed to get back in. We also see horizontal tombs evolve with multiple chambers, also with some evidence of multiple burials—such as a wife and husband being buried together. This likely indicates a change in the type of burial customs and rituals.
These changes are first seen in Kyushu by about the 4th to mid-5th century, showing up in the Kibi region by the late 5th and early 6th, and then in the area of Kawachi and Yamato by the 6th century—roughly the time of our next dynasty. From this point on we also see more human-like figures and different types of objects and animals displayed among the haniwa. There are, of course, more equestrian goods and continental-style swords—some of which we do find earlier, meaning there is no clear, consistent break where we can definitively state that there was a sweeping change, like one might expect if there was a military conquest and cultural replacement. Rather, these are all changes that could be attributed to the natural changes in culture, though with clear indications of continental influence. For example, when we see mural paintings emerge, these would seem to have obvious connections to continental traditions.
Tomb mounds would eventually decline in popularity. Rather than building giant tombs, labor would be shifted in support of the new religion that would arrive in the 6th and 7th century: Buddhism. Over time, the building of temples, which was, itself, an act of merit-making in the Buddhist system, took the main focus of state-sponsored labor. Eventually, even Buddhist burial practices, including cremation, would be adopted, the and the building of giant mounded tombs would largely subside until a resurgence in the late Edo period in mounded tombs—at least for imperial mausoleums. Mausoleums for Emperors Taisho and Showa can be found in Hachioji city, for example. But I digress.
The change in burial practice in the late 5th to early 6th century also hints at changes to some of the religious practices, or at the very least the stories around them. We mentioned Susanowo and the depictions of traveling into the underworld, often by an entrance in a hillside. Then there are some connections between the story of Amaterasu and the heavenly rock cave. Amaterasu herself in those stories is connected with weaving, an activity that came over from the continent, as Michael Como points out in his book, “Weaving and Binding: Immigrant Gods and Female Immortals in Ancient Japan”. Add to that her apparent death—indicated by her entering the cave—and then eventual “resurrection” when she comes out, which also seems tied to the concept of these horizontal style stone rooms. Finally, there are the various kami present, representing families like the Imbe and the Nakatomi—powerful ritualist families whom, to be honest, we haven’t seen too much of up to this point. Rather our narrative up through the first two dynasties has been more focused on the likes of the Mononobe no Muraji, the Wani no Omi, and the Heguri no Omi—and more recently the Ohotomo no Muraji. Spoiler alert: Expect to see further changes as different families vie for and achieve political prominence. Certain names will become more common in the narrative while others might decline. In some cases, such as with the Soga and the Fujiwara, these may be more explicit than in others.
This is the changing state of things in the beginning of the 6th century, which is where we will next pick up our narrative in the chronicles. The emerging state, centered in the Kinai region, between the lands of Kawachi and Yamato, certainly has influence and precedence with many of its neighbors. However, there seems to have been some kind of crisis in the late 5th or early 6th century. Interestingly, Wakatakeru despite his own record of cruelty, does not appear to take any real blame for it. Rather, it is a descendant of Prince Oshiwa, whom Wakatakeru assassinated, who is the last sovereign of that dynasty. Ohatsuse Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennou, is described as young, immature, cruel, and, most importantly, without issue. So when he dies at a relatively young age, the throne is left open—see episode 69.
Next episode, we’ll deal with how the court fills the gap left by Wakasazaki, and by what twisted logic they are able to claim a so-called “unbroken” lineage from today all the way back to the Heavenly Grandson and Amaterasu, herself.
Until then, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

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Dramatis Personae

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On Succession

Miyake (屯倉) - The Royal Granaries

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Accordion Item 1

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A Quick Note About Maps…

Ethnic “Wa” and Peninsular Japonic Speakers

T’amna or Tanimura

Yeongsan River Basin and Keyhole Shaped Tombs

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Location, Location, Location

Dramatis Personae

Ōtomo no Kanamura

Tashiraga Ōiratsume

Ohodo

Prince Ushi, aka Prince Hikonushi-bito and Hifuri Hime, aka Furu Hime

Prince Oi

Prince Ōhodo (or Oho-hodo)

Waka Nuke (or Noke) Futamata and Momoshiko Mawaka Naka tsu Hime, aka Momoshiki Irobe

Ohodo’s lineage and the Suda Hachiman Shrine Mirror

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