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.

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.

RSS

Archives

(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.
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

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.

RSS

Archives

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?

RSS

Archives

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.
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
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.

RSS

Archives

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.
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
BARNES, G. (2014). A Hypothesis for Early Kofun Rulership. Japan Review, (27), 3-29. Retrieved March 12, 2020, from 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
Nishida, Kazuhiro (2013).「横穴式石室について」。平成 25 年度岡山市埋蔵文化財センター講座。https://www.city.okayama.jp/kankou/cmsfiles/contents/0000005/5279/000155281.pdf
Vovin, Alexander (2013). “From Koguryo to T’amna: Slowly riding to the South with speakers of Proto-Korean”, Korean Linguistics 15:2, University of Hawai’i at Mānoa
Mizoguchi, Koji (2012). The archaeology of Japan: From the earliest rice farming villages to the rise of the state. Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139034265
Como, Michael (2009). Weaving and Binding: Immigrant Gods and Female Immortals in Ancient Japan. ISBN978-0-8248-2957-5
Kawagoe, Aileen (2009). “Did keyhole-shaped tombs originate in the Korean peninsula?”. Heritage of Japan. https://heritageofjapan.wordpress.com/following-the-trail-of-tumuli/types-of-tumuli-and-haniwa-cylinders/did-keyhole-shaped-tombs-originate-in-the-korean-peninsula/. Retrieved 8/24/2021.
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.
Osawa, et al. (2008). ワカタケルの剣　「図説日本の古墳・古代遺跡―決定版 (歴史群像シリーズ)」pp 134. ISBN:978-4-05-605064-6.
Kidder, J. Edward (2007); Himiko and Japan's Elusive Chiefdom of Yamatai: Archaeology, History, and Mythology. ISBN: 978-0824830359
Rhee, S., Aikens, C., Choi, S., & Ro, H. (2007). Korean Contributions to Agriculture, Technology, and State Formation in Japan: Archaeology and History of an Epochal Thousand Years, 400 B.C.–A.D. 600. Asian Perspectives, 46(2), 404-459. Retrieved June 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/42928724
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
BAKSHEEV, Eugene S. (2001). THE MOGARI RITE THROUGH THE HISTORY OF JAPANESE CULTURE; Japan Penomenon: Views from Europe: International Conference; http://ru-jp.org/yaponovedy_baksheev_01e.htm
Gadaleva, E. (2000). Susanoo: One of the Central Gods in Japanese Mythology. Japan Review,(12), 165-203. Retrieved April 18, 2020 from www.jstor.org/stable/25791053
Piggott, J. (1997). The Emergence of Japance Kingship
Cultural Survey, 1993. (1994). Monumenta Nipponica, 49(1), 61–74. https://doi.org/10.2307/2385504
Barnes, Gina L. (1988); Protohistoric Yamato: Archaeology of the First Japanese State. ISBN: 978-0915703111
Edwards, W. (1983). Event and Process in the Founding of Japan: The Horserider Theory in Archeological Perspective. Journal of Japanese Studies, 9(2), 265–295. https://doi.org/10.2307/132294
Shichirō, M., & Miller, R. (1979). The Inariyama Tumulus Sword Inscription. Journal of Japanese Studies, 5(2), 405-438. doi:10.2307/132104
Ledyard, G. (1975). Galloping along with the horseriders: looking for the founders of Japan. Journal of Japanese Studies. 1: 217-254
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 73: The Southern and Northern Dynasties

October 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Man v. Tiger. Era of the Southern and Northern Dynasties. From the Art Gallery of New South Whales.

RSS

Archives

This episode looks at the period generally known as the Southern and Northern Dynasties on the continent, focusing mostly on the Yangzi and Yellow River regions. It is an extremely confusing period if you try to keep track of everything, particularly among the northern kingdoms of the Yellow River Basin region.

By the way, if you look elsewhere you will often see this translated as the Northern and Southern dynasties. This is usually because “North-South” is how we tend to organize in English, but in Asia it is often reversed. This goes hand in hand with the maps, which tended, before the modern period, to place South at the top—assuming there was a “top”. This, in turn, comes from the idea that the ruler sits in the north, looking south, so many maps are made with the idea of the ruler sitting in the north and looking out towards the south to read them. That tends to flip the script and put South above or before North.

Now, for a brief outline: The period starts with downfall of the Western Jin dynasty. Not to be confused with a later Jin (金) dynasty, this was really the continuation of that Cao Wei under the new Sima sovereigns, who had overthrown the descendants of Cao Cao and briefly unified the Yellow River and Yangzi River regions. They couldn't keep it together for long, however, and in 317 CE Luoyang was sacked, and the Sima court fled south to JIankang--modern Nanjing. Quick note here: Nanjing (南京) literally means “Southern Capital”, and while it would go through many different hands, Jiankang would largely remain the southern capital on the Yangzi until the late 6th century.

Meanwhile, in the north, we have the era known as the Sixteen Kingdoms—or at least that’s one name for it., and it pretty adequately captures the level of chaos from the 3rd to 6th century. Sixteen kingdoms—I hesitate to say dynasties, as many fell apart pretty much as soon s the founder died—all in the span of three centuries. Even more confusing, many of them either took the name of existing dynasties—so we get the Han, the Qin, the Zhou, the Wei, etc. all showing up again and again in the histories. Later historians have broken them out into either “Former” and “Later” or else “Northern”, “Eastern”, or “Western” depending on the site of their capital city.

In the south, we see the continued development of Han culture, in both material culture and in speech. Generally speaking, the South is going to be considered the more culturally elegant exemplar, for some time to come. That said, they were also more political and less connected to family. Also, they tended to be more patriarchal.

In the north, we see a mix of Han culture with the surrounding nomadic groups. From the Xiongnu, or Hongna—possibly Huna—people to the Xianbei tribes and others. They brought in different values, often built on the practical realities of living through times when family was often more important than the state, which could change at any moment. That didn’t mean people didn’t vie for control and didn’t dream of being the next great dynasty, but those not on the very top often remained braced for something to happen at any moment.

So let’s hit some of the basic dates, first, in the South:

Jin dynasty warrior, from the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. Photo by author.

Jin dynasty warrior, from the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author.

318 - Eastern Jin retreats to Jiankang (modern Nanjing) on the Yangzi river.
383 - Eastern Jin successfully repels an attack by the northern state of the Former Qin.
402 - General Huan Xuan leads an army against Jiankang and purges the officials, but he is overthrown by a general, Liu Yu, who restores the Eastern Jin, but at the same time he takes power for himself.
417 - An expedition by Liu Yu of the Eastern Jin briefly retakes Chang’an and Luoyang.
420 - Liu Yu officially overthrows the Eastern Jin and the Liu Song dynasty takes over at Jiankang. Over the course of their history they’ll be visited by envoys from at least five different Japanese sovereigns—or at least people claiming that title.
479 - Southern Qi takes over at Jiangkang
502 - Liang dynasty comes to power in Jiankang. There are paintings of individuals said to be envoys from various countries to the Liang, but it is unclear to me if all of these were actually envoys, and how accurate their portrayal is. On top of that, it looks like the original has been lost and what we have are painted copies, which may or may not accurately reflect the original.
557 - Chen dynasty takes charge at Jiangkang. Meanwhile, the Liang dynasty court continues to operate, sometimes called the Western Liang, out of Jianling, in a very small, reduced area along the Yangzi between the Chen and the Northern Zhou.
589 - Chen dynasty—and the remnants of the Western Liang—fell to the Sui.

Up in the NORTH, however, things are more chaotic, as I said. It is even more chaotic when you realize that these dynasties often changed their names, and used classical names to try to add further legitimacy to what were basically the states of strongmen warlords:

Northern Wei Official, from the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. Photo by author.

Western Wei soldiers, from the Shaanxi History Museum. Photo by author.

Western Wei official (? - Dark lord of the Sith?) from the Shaanxi History Museum. Photo by author.

Northern Qi hunter, from the British Museum. Photo by author.

N. Zhou cavalryman, from the Shaanxi History Museum. Photo by author.

317 - The Xiongnu state of “Han”, officially founded as of 304, destroys Luoyang and sends the Jin court south. They set up their capital in Chang’an.
319 - Around 319 the Xiongnu Hanchange their name to “Zhao”, generally known to history as the “Former Zhao”, as a bandit-turned-general named Shi Le sets up his own Zhao dynasty, known as the Late Zhao.
320 - Without the Jin, the western areas of Gansu come under the sway of the Liang (or Former Liang) dynasty
328 - Shi Le and his “Later Zhao” brutally unified much of the north, but in 333, only five years later, Shi Le dies. His son and heir are killed by a cousin, Shi Hu, who rules through violence. Shi Hu even kills his own heir, his heir’s wife, and twenty-six of his children.
337 - While the Later Zhao rules over the yellow River, the Murong tribe of the Xianbei set up the state of Yan—known to us as “Former Yan”—around the Liaoning area.
342 - Former Yan destroys the capital of Goguryeo and then, in 346, devastates Buyeo, freeing itself up to concentrate on the Yellow River Basin
349 - Shi Hu dies and—surprise, surprise—his state falls apart. Three of his heirs were killed and replaced within a year, and then an adopted, ethnic Han son (Shi Le and Shi Hu were still from the Xiongnu tribe), Ran Min, seized power and established the Ran Wei, using the name of the old Wei kingdom.
351 - In the chaos after fall of the Zhao, general Fu Jian creates his own state, naming it the Qin (aka Former Qin) and setting up the capital at Chang’an, near the original Qin capital.
352 - The state of the Murong tribe of the northeast defeats Ran Min and takes control of the Yellow River Floodplain. Their capital by this time is at Jicheng (or just Ji City)—modern Beijing, or Northern Capital.
357 - Former Yan relocated to the city of Ye, the ancient capital of Cao Cao and the Later Zhao.
376 - The Former Qin defeats its rivals and once again unifies the North
383 - The sourthern Eastern Jin repels an attack by the Former Qin, who lost. That loss led to various uprisings against the Former Qin
384 - The Murong Xianbei once again instituted the Yan dynasty. In fact, the found two “Yan” states, known as the Western Yan and the Later Yan. The Western Yan take Chang’an from the Former Qin in 385. At the same time, a member of the Qiang people sets himself up as emperor of the Qin—what we call the Later Qin.
386 - The Liang dynasty is re-established under an ethnic Di sovereign in much of the territory of the Former Liang. Meanwhile the Tuoba, or Tagbatch, tribe of the Xianbei set up their own state, taking the name “Wei”, or more commonly the “Northern Wei”.
387 - Another Xianbei dynasty sets itself up west of Chang’an. It had a variety of names, but mostly it is known as the Western Qin, and it was often a vassal state of more powerful dynasties. There is even an interregnum from 400-409, but then it returns.
394 - The Former Qin is finally defeated, as is the Western Yan
397 - Two states break off from the Later Liang, creating the Northern and Southern Liang. The Northern Liang had a dynasty descended from the Xiongnu while the Southern Liang had a dynasty from a Xianbei tribe.
403- Fall of the Later Liang
407 - Rise of the Xia, who ruled out of the Ordos desert, in the north, and eventually included Chang’an in its territory
414 - The Southern Liang falls to the Western Qin.
417 - The Later Qin falls, and the Eastern Jin briefly recapture Chang’an and Luoyang. The general who does this, Liu Yu, goes back south to take over and found the Liu Song dynasty a few years later.
431 - Western Qin falls, as does the Xia.
439 - The Tuoba kingdom of Northern Wei re-unifies northern China; the Northern Liang moves to Gaochang, in the west, which eventually becomes its own Gaochang kingdom.
493 - The kingdom of Northern Wei moves from Pingcheng to Luoyang and adopts ethnic Han dress and language for the court, distancing itself from its semi-nomadic roots and alienating many of the Tuoba tribesmen serving in border regions.
524 - Mutinies along the frontier of Northern Wei due to lack of provisions—especially food. The garrisons are moved further south, where food is more plentiful, but they continue to destabilize the government.
534 - Northern Wei disintegrates, ending by 535. From that, rises the Eastern Wei, ruling out of Luoyang and controlling the lower reaches of the Yellow River, and the Western Wei, ruling out of Chang’an and over points to the West.
550 - The Eastern Wei falls to the newly founded Northern Qi, ruling out of the city of Ye
557 - Fall of the Western Wei, who were replaced in Chang’an by the Northern Zhou.
577 - Northern Zhou conquers the Northern Qi.
581 - Sui dynasty established, overthrowing the Northern Zhou dynasty.
589 - Sui dynasty had conquered the Chen dynasty and reunited the Yellow and Yangzi Rivers.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 73: The Southern and Northern Dynasties
Thanks for coming back. We only have a little more time that we are going to spend on the continent before we get back to the archipelago, so please bear with me and we’ll soon get back to Japan and the rise of the imperial family with the latest dynasty, in the 6th century.
This episode, we are going to look at capital cities, gardens, hermits, and finish up with a very brief account of the political changes in the South and in the North. Like the past couple of episodes, this is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a comprehensive history of this period—I’m mainly just hoping to get enough of an outline that we can refer to it as we head back to our main topics. I’d like to say that I’m going to make this period make more sense, but honestly, it is extremely chaotic, so that is not likely. But we will try to hit the major highlights.
Given all of that, why are we even talking about it? Well, as we’ve seen in the Chronicles, there is plenty of contact with the continent at this time, and understanding some of the things that go on here might help us later on as we see things coming to the archipelago. There is also a tendency, in my opinion, to take a look at the continent—and especially the area of modern China—and make assumptions that the Middle Kingdom is the pinnacle of civilization in the Asia at the time. Certainly, at this point, groups around the Yellow River and Yangzi region are utilizing complex instruments of statecraft that far outstrip what we currently see in the archipelago—even on the Korean peninsula. But until the 6th and really the 7th centuries this area is in flux. While dynasties continued to make grandiose claims, which Yamato rulers would piggyback off of—like the Five Kings of Wa and their request for titles from the Liu Song court—their control was tenuous, and fraught.
In addition, when Japan does start to adopt more continental culture, it may be helpful to understand just where the roots of that culture came from, even as it sees a particularly insular twist.
Finally, this will give us context as we start to see the archipelago ingest other things from outside, particularly as we examine the influx of Buddhism, which arrives in about the 6th century, and other connections to the larger trading routes, generally known as the Silk Road.
So, last episode we covered up through the fall of the Han dynasty in the 3rd century and the rise of the three Kingdoms of Shu Han, near modern Chengdu; Cao Wei, up around the Yellow River, and Eastern Wu along the central and lower reaches of the Yangzi. The Cao Wei eventually changed to the Jin dynasty, started with the Sima family, who replaced the Cao family of Cao Wei and then went on to conquer most of the Yangzi as well as the Yellow River region. However, their northern capital at Luoyang was sacked in 317 by a state calling itself the Han. Founded by Liu Yan, this so-called “Han” state claimed the name of the previously highly successful imperial dynasty, despite the fact that they were actually ethnic Xiongnu, one of the main nomadic people who challenged Han hegemony in the north.
We’ll hear more about Liu Yan and his Han dynasty later. For now I’ll just note an interesting tidbit about the Xiongnu—or perhaps something more like the Hong-na or even the Huna, based on the pronunciation of the time. You see, they were a major nomadic empire across the Eurasian steppes from at least the 3rd century BCE, and they appear to be connected to—if not the same group—as the Huns who traveled west in the 5th century to the Volga and eventually invading the Roman Empire. That’s right, the same group that was giving the Han dynasty and its successor states so many problems may have been the ancestors to the people that eventually went on to threaten Rome and its allies.
With the destruction of Luoyang in 317, the Sima emperors moved the court down to the city of Jiankang on the Yangzi river. With them came much of the ethnic Han northern aristocracy—those who did not or could not stay and find a place in the new Hongna, or Xiongnu, Han kingdom. All told there were probably more than a million people who fled south with the destruction of Luoyang.
Now as we’ve seen throughout history humans have always been accommodating when a large in flux of newcomers shows up and suddenly puts down roots, right? Well, maybe not quite so much. There is plenty of evidence of tension between the northern and southern families, but the newly displaced Northern court found ways to woo the Southerners over—pun intended, as all puns should be—and some of the Northern families even intermarried with the Southerners.
The Southern Elites—those who had established themselves in the area of Wu for generations—mostly had their country estates southeast of the capital city, Jiankang, around Lake Tai, near the site of the capital of the old state of Wu, around Suzhou. The northern emigres, on the other hand, settled east of the city, in an area known as Guiji, since the land around Lake Tai had largely been taken generations back.
These villas and country estates were often expansive affairs, with various orchards, animals, etc. This can be attributed, in part, to the fact that the landscape of the south, as we’ve already discussed, was a little different than that of the north. For one thing the city, Jiangkang, was not a walled city, like those in the north—at least not at this time. As I mentioned some time back, the city didn’t initially have walls—or, well, not the giant city walls common elsewhere as a necessary security requirement. There were walls around the segregated palace area, a common feature of most capital cities, but the city otherwise relied on the river and surrounding mountains as their main defenses. And so the city, unlike most up to that point, had a natural flow from an urban to rural environment.
And this is a pretty big change from cities in the north. While we have limited information on most of these cities—after all, they were built up time and again, usually destroying traces of what came before—we have some idea of their evolution. Early on, the capital was the place where the elite sovereigns conducted their rites—it was basically the site of the sovereign’s ancestral temple. Later, it was distinguished as the site of the royal palace, with walls and towers. In the Han dynasty, it became a ritual center conforming—or at least attempting to conform—to a Confucian ideal as laid out in the Zhou-li, the Rites of Zhou, the classic that Confucius lauded and which is said to have been penned by the Duke of Zhou himself, though many things attributed to it may have been later innovations.
According to the Zhou-li, the ideal capital city was a square or rectangle, with a walled palace in the center, and three gates on each side. Nine roads would run east to west, and nine roads would run north to south, creating a classic grid pattern. There were other ritual requirements, but this basic pattern was held up as the ideal for an imperial city.
More often then not, however, capital cities merely aspired to these dimensions. The palace compound—a walled “inner city” itself, where the sovereign and the courts conducted their business—was typically set not in the center, but in the northern districts, as the throne was expected to face southward. This also had the side effect that maps—at least those where directionality was important—typically placed south at the top, rather than the bottom, as it was assumed that the ruler would view them from a southward facing position.
These cities were places for the business of government and for housing the people who made that government run, and were decidedly urban in their characteristics. Rural areas and farmland only existed outside, beyond the walls of the city.
In some ways this ideal city plan also matches up with the characteristics of communities along the Yellow River floodplain. While low, flat land made for good farming, villages and communities would often cluster together on higher ground to avoid the inevitable floods that would eventually come when the Yellow River broke through the banks containing it, creating a distinction between the rural fields and living spaces. As violent clashes broke out in the north, many people would seek shelter in walled communities—cities or fortresses—to defend themselves from the raids.
And so imagine what it must have been like for the northerners who made their way down to the new capital of Jiankang. Along the Yangzi, farmers were much more likely to live in amongst their fields, not huddled together, and even the city transitioned smoothly from urban to rural in a natural flow. It is little wonder that there was a greater emphasis on the natural environment in the south.
Those serving in government offices would have had property in the city. After all, nobody wants a longer commute than necessary. But the Great Families would also have their rural estates, and so people would go back and forth between the rural and urban environment.
This led to people incorporating the rural into their own lives. Descriptions of Jiankang suggest that there was a lot more nature in the city than in the northern capitals, often in the form of gardens. There was a preserve for the sovereign and his chosen guests, like a private Central Park, but elites also cultivated their own gardens, sometimes stealing the view beyond the urban environment and incorporating the far mountains. These gardens were carefully crafted and designed, meant to provide myriad views.
In the archipelago, we see a similar incorporation by the Japanese aristocracy of gardens into their estates. The Shinden-zukuri style often incorporated a lake and a pond, complete with a fishing pavilion, and “stolen views”, where features beyond the owner’s own property were incorporated as part of the overall experience.
In addition, there were the mountains, right there. Han culture had long attributed to the mountains spiritual significance. They were places of great power, and the idea of immortals or others going off to live in the mountains was already a trope in Han society. With the renewed interest in hermitism, which we talked about last episode, it seems that some people took that quite literally. One example is Guo Wen, who lived in the early 4th century. Guo Wen is really the archtype of the southern mountain hermit. It is said that he went up into the hills and wore clothing made only from animals that had died of natural causes, and he ate only things he found or grew himself. The stories even claim that he had tamed a tiger!
Guo Wen’s style of hermiting was certainly the extreme end of the scale. It was the Survivorman version, and hard core. Most people were content with more of a Bear Grylls or perhaps even just a David Attenborough approach. A century after Guo Wen, during end of the Eastern Jin and the early Liu Song dynasty, a man named Xie Lingyun, known as the father of poetry on mountain scenery, broke down the different ways people chose to “Dwell in nature”, coming up with four different categories.
First off there was what he called “cliff-resting”, where you went out, hard core, Guo Wen style, and lived off the land, using caves and whatever shelter you could find. It puts me in mind of the later mountain ascetics in Japan, like the yamabushi, although I’m not sure even they went to such lengths.
Then there was “dwelling in the mountains”, which is what Lingyun himself did. He built himself a house, and not exactly a hut either—it was a full on villa with a garden, orchards, and groves of bamboo. He even had workers landscape the surrounding hillsides to give him a more picturesque view.
If that was still a bit much for you, then there was the idea of Hills and Gardens—a country villa, like those around lake Tai and in the Guiji region. Large estates with carefully managed so-called natural surroundings meant to impress and to be a place where the well-off literati could “retire” from government service, but not necessarily from society at large. These were places where powerful families could host scholars, poets, artists, and others, and through their connections and their relatives still influence the workings of the imperial court.
Finally there was living “Beside the City Wall”—basically an urban or suburban location, usually referring to gardens that individuals would build within their urban properties. Thus even government officials could spend their time off in a constructed natural setting.
One such garden was constructed by one Wang Dao. He was a powerful man in the Sima court of the Eastern Jin dynasty, and one of the forces behind the relocation to Jiankang. He was the one who helped overcome the Southern families’ initial objections, plying them with gifts in terms of court honors and appointments, and he maintained a powerful position in the court. In fact, the Sima emperor by this point was, himself, largely a puppet figure, and it was powerful court nobles like Wang Dao who were, in fact, the true power behind the dynasty.
Wang Dao’s political position meant that he largely would have resided in the capital city, in the city of Jiankang. Whereas many of the elites could retire to their country villas and estates, Wang Dao decided that he would simply build his country villa in the capital, thus cutting his commute drastically. Given his political capital, he apparently had an ability to build quite the garden, one that would start a trend. In so doing, he knew just what his garden needed if he really wanted to impress. It wasn’t enough to replicate the orchards and bamboo groves. The rocks of the mountains and the gentle streams and water. No, he needed his own hermit. And not just any hermit would do—you couldn’t expect to just hire someone off the street to come and live in your garden, as the English often did for their garden follies in the 18th and 19th centuries. No, Wang Dao needed a real hermit. Someone with experience. And fortunately for him, there was a rather famous one right there.
You see, despite warnings by Confucius, who advised against the idea of retiring from life to go live in the mountains, lest you were forgotten by society, the eccentric hermit Guo Wen was apparently something of a celebrity. Word of his extreme hermitism reached Jiankang, and while some of it—such as taming a tiger—was probably a bit of hyperbole, he was exactly the kind of hermit that Wang Dao was looking for. And so Wang Dao enticed Guo Wen to come down from the mountains and to live in his garden, where he could partake of the natural fruits and all that was available there. Wang Dao even attempted to replicate some of Guo Wen’s own mountain habitat, to make him feel at home.
And this arrangement seems to have worked for a while. Guo Wen continued to do his thing, but now within the confines of Wang Dao’s garden, and Wang Dao now had an actual, been-there-done-that hermit that he could show off to his guests during gatherings at his house.
However, it wasn’t too long before Guo Wen tired of the garden. No doubt it was small, and for all that it had what he might need to live, it was still an urban garden and nowhere near as expansive as the mountains themselves. Guo Wen requested permission to leave, but Wang Dao, not accustomed to having people refuse him, would not let him go. And so Guo Wen eventually went on a hunger strike, insisting that he would rather die than continue to live in this city garden. Wang Dao refused to give him, however, and eventually Guo Wen, true to his word, passed away in 334.
While this tale may have a dark end, it does describe the lengths that people would go for their gardens, and gardening and garden criticism—that is, judging other people’s gardens—became a major cultural activity in the South. Whether it was the expansive scenery surrounding a country villa, or an urban garden retreat, having a sophisticated garden was a huge get for anyone with pretentions to nobility.
In Japan, gardens would be a key part of many estates in the capital cities. The Chronicles talk about gardens in some of the stories, including koi ponds and the like, but the clearest example of early gardens shows up in the 8th century in the purpose-built capital of Heijo-kyo, in Nara, and they would be a standard feature of any cultured residence. The ideas behind gardens would certainly evolve and take on a decidedly Japanese aesthetic, but some of the concepts have their roots all the way back on the continent.
The Eastern Jin lasted from 317 until it fell and the Liu Song arose around 420. The Liu Song continued to rule out of Jiankang, however, and so in many ways it seems it was more simply a matter of a change in management. They did eventually build up walls around Jiankang, as the capital would regularly come under threat time and again. Some of this was internal strife. Wang Dao’s cousin, Wang Dun, was a general posted to the Central Yangzi, and in 322 he marched his army to Jiangkang to purge those he saw as a threat. He took control of the Jin, but died two years later in 324 from illness.
Still, it was not uncommon for those posted out in Central Yangzi and on the frontier borders with the north to be just as likely a threat as they were to protect the court.
When the Hongna state fell, many pushed to try to retake the north. That’s the Han state that had destroyed Luoyang, though they had later changed their own name to “Zhao”. There was certainly a desire to retake the Yellow River region, the traditional ethnic Han heartland, but doing so was fraught. First off, there was simply the logistical challenges involved. Second there were the internal politics. After all, anyone who was sufficiently successful would have the popularity and power to challenge the power of the court, themselves.
The South did manage to briefly retake Luoyang and Chang’an several times over the following centuries, but nothing really held. In 479, the Liu Song gave way to the Southern Qi. In 502, they yielded to the Liang dynasty—sometimes called the Southern Liang. The Liang dynasty lost the upper reaches of the Yangzi—the area of Shu—to the northern state of the Western Wei. In 557, the Chen dynasty overthrew the Liang dynasty, and they would rule until submitting to the rule of the Sui in 589, marking the end of the Southern and Northern dynasties period.
Throughout all of this, Jiankang remained the capital of the south, and it seems to have stayed largely in the hands of ethnic Han rulers. The Japanese sent envoys to the Eastern Jin and the Liu Song, and possibly to others—we’ll discuss this as we get back into the Chronicles. But this does seem to have been their main contact until the reunification under the Sui and then, in 618, the Tang dynasty. This was the dynasty that had perhaps the greatest influence on Japanese culture, which we will discuss in time.
Meanwhile, let’s briefly look at the north. We talked about the Hongna state, which itself fell in the early 4th century. There were a series of different states that rose and fell. Many of them were founded by members of the various nomadic or semi-nomadic people of the northern regions. The distinct cultural differences with these groups was apparent in various ways in how they ruled. Often they would reserve high positions for members of their particular tribal or ethnic group, employing Han administrators to assist with running the state and overseeing the farming communities.
One of the more successful states was that of the Murong of the Xianbei tribes. They emerged in the Northeast and eventually took over as the Yan, using the name of the old Han state in the northeast area. They pushed up against groups like the Buyeo and Goguryeo, which had ripples down the Korean peninsula. They also pushed into the Yellow River Floodplain.
Because the Murong were Xianbei, or possibly pronounced “Sa:rbi”—one of the frontier people that the Han had often contested with and even brought in as mercenaries to provide scouts and cavalry for their armies—they understood a different type of fighting. This is perhaps why they had success where the Han and others had not—combining their cavalry with ethnic Han foot soldiers, the Murong Xianbei were the first dynasty to rule over the Yellow River Basin and yet have actual military success against other nomadic groups. This was both because they understood their tactics and because they understood their politics. They knew how to keep tribes divided and fighting each other to prevent them from banding together to rise up.
Even the Murong would only last so long, however. During this period, often known as the sixteen kingdoms because of all of the different dynasties that rose and quickly fell in the north, being on top of the heap often meant that you had painted a large target on your back. Strong rulers, particularly those with military victories, could reward their followers and keep on top, but politics were literally cutthroat. Many of the ethnic Han families that had remained since the time of the Jin stopped involving themselves in politics, instead focusing on their roles as local magnates and defending what was there as the dynasties came and went. Men who went to serve at the court might have hopes of temporary power, but that could easily be taken away as one dynasty fell to the next.
This constant fighting led to several developments.
First, it often meant that rulers had very little direct authority, beyond their direct military might. Defeated generals and their followers might be incorporated into the victor’s government, but as soon as they showed any weakness it was just as likely that those generals would change sides. Loyalty to the state, rather than to a strongman warlord, was rare.
This meant that the rulers were effectively little more than primus inter pares, first among equals. The state itself often only really controlled the area directly around the capital, acting as the largest landlord amongst a sea of landlords. Each new dynasty set up a new capital, and then to supply that capital with the food and goods needed to run it they often resettled captive populations—dependent farmers and the like—onto the land around it. War and chaos meant that many of the people of the Yellow River Floodplain had died or fled south or else into the mountains. And so when armies fought, it was more likely that they were fighting over people, rather than land.
Also, there was greater and greater mixing of cultures and cultural values. Hong-na and Sa:rbi tribes attempted to apply Han style administration, leaning on Han scholars and literati to help them run their states, much as Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo picked up the scribes and scholars after the fall of the Han commandries in the peninsula. And so there seems to have been a greater role for women, for instance—women playing a greater public role in the nomadic tribes—and food more based on a pastoral diet—mutton and yoghurt feature heavily in descriptions of the cuisine. And yet Han culture was often incorporated in terms of dress, language—especially writing, and more.
This wasn’t always the case. In some instances, Han or non-Han groups would be isolated from government positions. Such was the case early on with the Tuoba or Tagbatch, another Xianbei tribe that rose to power after the Murong and who actively excluded ethnic Han from positions of authority in the government, at least on the outset. Their dynasty is often referred to as the Northern Wei, taking the same name as the earlier Cao Wei kingdom.
About a century into the Tuoba’s reign, in 493, emperor Xiaowen attempted to make the Northern Wei into a more Sinified state. He moved the capital from the northern city of Pingcheng down to Luoyang, and required that Han language and dress be adopted for members of the court. He even merged the Han and Tuoba elite, rotating ethnic Han into military positions.
This ended up being disastrous for the dynasty, as the Sinified government looked inward, while the frontier military garrisons—maintained by Tuoba tribal members who retained closer links to their indigenous lifestyle—were often left neglected. In 524, a governor refused to issue grain to a starving garrison, leading to revolt. In response, the government moved the garrisons southward, into the more fertile regions of the Yellow River, but this just brought more conflict as the garrisons continued to rebel against the increasingly Sinicized court.
The Northern Wei broke into the Eastern and Western Wei, and then there was the rise of the Northern Qi, and finally the Northern Zhou, whose name hearkened all the way back to the era before the Summer and Autumn period itself. The Northern Zhou reunited the northern territories—as well as down into the area of Shu and the Min River basin—but it was eventually overthrown by one of its own generals who then, in 581, set up the Sui dynasty, which, only 8 years later, conquered the southern Chen dynasty and reunited the Yellow River and Yangzi river regions under a single ruler.
The Sui itself was short-lived, but they had quite the impact. For one thing, they got rid of the appointment system of the Nine Ranks—the ranking of positions continued, but no longer could local judges or administrators appoint people to government service. Instead, all potential candidates—or at least those who did not inherit a position through their father--would need to come to the capital city and partake in a civil service exam, testing their knowledge and skills.
In addition, the Sui connected the Yellow River and the Yangzi through the famous Grand Canal. Much like the Great Wall was created by connecting previously extant local walls and geographic features to help guard the borders, the Grand Canal was an ambitious project that connected previously existing canals and waterways such that travel was actually possible from one river system to the other. In an era before cars and trains and other mechanized forms of travel, this played a huge part in connecting the north and south through trade. Travel and communication between the two regions became much easier.
Unfortunately, this grand work—considered a UNESCO World Heritage Site, today—largely bankrupted the government, and is often considered one of the reasons for the Sui dynasty’s downfall. The canal may only have been partially responsible, however. The Sui also exhausted a large number of troops and resources trying to subjugate or destroy Goguryeo, at the head of the Korean peninsula. Goguryeo resisted, however, and their resistance no doubt also cost the Sui dearly. Internal rebellions eventually caused its downfall.
One of these rebels was Li Yuan. The Li family is a perfect example of the kind of intermixing that had been going on in the north for the past several centuries. Though they claimed descent from ethnic Han ancestors—in fact, they claimed a rather dubious connection all the way back to the founder of Daoism, Laozi himself—they had served in the Northern Wei and even taken the Xianbei surname of Daye. Li Yuan, then, was steeped in both the cultures of the nomadic people of the north as well as the ethnic Han. When he rose to power as Emperor Gaozu of the Tang dynasty in 618, he created a blended administration. Not only did he rule as an ethnic Han emperor, but his son, Li Shimin, aka Emperor Taizong, also took the title of the “Khan of Heaven”, representing his rule over the various tribes, including the Turkic people who lived in the deserts to the west, and who controlled large portions of the northern Silk road. Some have attributed the Li family’s success to the fact that they understood both worlds, and certainly the Tang dynasty would be one of the most diverse and cosmopolitan periods in Chinese history.
With all of these centuries of fighting in the north, it is unlikely that there was much contact with the Japanese archipelago directly—or at least nothing that amounted to much for very long. However, the constant fighting put pressure on Buyeo and Goguryeo—and by extension spurred some of the conflict on the continent. This was also one route by which Han culture filtered into the peninsula, as well as through the direct contacts between the peninsular states and the Southern dynasties. During this period, Sinitic language—particularly the writing—as well as government, religion, and even burial practices would find their way to the peninsula, and, from there, over to the archipelago. Some links were direct, but much of what Japan experienced was based on what filtered into and through the peninsula to the archipelago, particularly through the states of Kara and Baekje.
This is probably where we’ll stop for now. There is a lot more information for those who are truly interested in this period. It was significant enough that when the Japanese court split into a northern and southern branches in the 14th century, that they would also hearken back to the phrase “Southern and Northern Dynasties” to describe the period, though of course, their own fracturing was on a much smaller scale, relatively speaking.
I’ve left off discussion of a few other things that came through this period. For instance, religious ideas, from the Queen Mother of the West to Daoist concepts, and even Buddhism, came to the archipelago during this period. Then there is the silk road—at some point we will look more in depth at the connections between the archipelago and the greater trade routes that saw things like Roman and Sassanian glassware making their way into 5th century tombs, not to mention all of the treasures in the 8th century Shosoin collection itself. We’ll get to all of that in time.
For now, we’ll go back to the archipelago and concentrate again on what was happening over there. We’ll take another look at the progress made so far and deal with the fall out of the end of Ohosazaki’s line and the rise of a new dynasty that would come and take the throne and which would continue, as far as we can tell, down to the modern day.
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.
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

Lewis, Mark Edward. (2009). China Between Empires: The Northern and Southern Dynasties. ISBN 978-0-674-02605-6

Kohn, Livia (ed.) (2004). Daoism Handbook: Volume I. ISBN 0-391-04237-8.
Ebrey, Patricia Buckley (ed.) (1993). Chinese Civilization: A Sourcebook. ISBN s0-02-908752-X.

Episode 72: The Three Kingdoms Period

September 16, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Ming dynasty painting of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo grove, from the Cleveland Museum of Art

RSS

Archives

This episode we take a look past the fall of the Han and into the rise of the Three Kingdoms of Cao Wei, Shu Han, and Eastern Wu, followed by reuinification under the Western Jin, followed by the Eastern Jin, when they moved their capital down to the old Eastern Wu capital on the Yangzi River.

In that time, we see the creation of the Nine Rank system for government ranks and offices, as well as a glorification of refusing government service—or even retiring and taking up the arts.

Despite the chaos of this period, there is still a lot happening and a lot of innovation that will make its way over to the archipelago, eventually.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 72: The Three Kingdoms Period
Greetings, and welcome back. We are currently still in a pause on the archipelago while we catch up with what has been happening on the continent. Specifically, right now, we are focused on the various dynasties that arose around the Yellow and Yangzi rivers.
Last episode we covered the rise of the Qin and then the Han, who ruled for four centuries from the Yellow River region—first in Chang’an, modern Xi’an, and later from Luoyang. These traditional capitals would be used again and again over the centuries.
This episode we’ll cover turbulent era immediately following the fall of the Han, including the rise of the Three Kingdoms—Shu, Wei, and Wu—and eventual reunification and then dissolution under the Jin.
This period sees a lot of changes happening, both in population movements and in cultural phenomena. Our focus is going to be on some of those things that would, in one form or another, eventually be transferred over to the archipelago. Things such as the system of government ranks as well as cultural phenomena, like the famed Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove.
Our story starts towards the end of the Han dynasty—the Later Han, sometimes known as the Eastern Han, as the capital had moved to Luoyang, east of Chang’an. At this time, there was massive migration south to the jungles and forest of the Yangzi river region. While there had been ethnic Han emigres to the region in the past, it was nothing on the scale of the millions of people who would seek refuge there during the chaotic fall of the Han dynasty. What they did when they got there was partly dependent on just where they settled along the reaches of the Yangzi river.
The majority headed to the lower reaches of the Yangzi,. This area must have been both similar to and radically different from the Yellow River Floodplain, where many had come from. The Yellow River floodplain was extremely flat, and the Yellow River was known to regularly overflow its banks, as it was constantly depositing sand and other detritus, which, in turn, raised the bed of the river itself. In fact, there are places today where the Yellow river towers some ten meters—about three stories—above the surrounding countryside due to the constant attempts to pen it in and prevent devastating flooding. When the Yellow River did flood, the flow of the river could shift drastically across the largely flat floodplain.
In contrast, the Yangzi river was more easily tamed. While it still had problems with flooding, the mountainous and hilly terrain provide more natural containment for the river, and its headwaters in the rocky, mountain regions bring a lot less sediment downstream. How much? Well, one figure I found suggested that the Yangzi, which is Asia’s largest river, has a flow rate of over 30 thousand cubic meters of water every second, and discharges about 480 million tons of sediment every year. Compare that with the Yellow River, which has a flow of only about 2500 cubic meters of water every second, but over a billion tons of sediment. For those trying to do the math in their heads, the Yellow River has a flow rate about ten times less than that of the Yangzi and yet it discharges over twice the amount of sediment every year.
So, you can imagine that it was generally a less chaotic area for farming, and indeed, many of the peasants who settled in the lower reaches of the Yangzi became farmers, often working for elite families who had set themselves up in the south. This was the location of the ancient state of Wu, which had had ethnic Han inhabitants since at least the eastern Zhou dynasty, so at least the 3rd century BCE, and whose old capital was around modern Suzhou, on the shores of lake Tai, in the precincts of modern Shanghai, at the mouth of the Yangzi river.
Now we’ve heard of the state of Wu before on this podcast: you may or may not recall that Wu was the state known in Japan as Kure, though where, exactly, that name comes from seems to be a bit of a mystery. Back in Episode 48 we talked about weavers coming to Japan from “Kure” during the reign of Homuda Wake, and then in episode 60 we see envoys from “Kure” coming over in 470, during the reign of Ohohatsuse Wakatake, aka Yuuryaku, though at that time it would have almost certainly referred to the Liu Song dynasty which was still centered on the lower reaches of the Yangzi.Here’s where I should probably note that the name “Wu” itself is the modern reading of the character used, which in ancient Sinitic language was probably something more like “Nguo” or even “Ngwa”. Even today, this area has its own Sinitic language, called “Wu Language” that is occasionally spoken there, though mostly as a “kitchen language” spoken at home, rather than an official language or dialect…and that leads us to some interesting additional connections between this area and the history of the Japanese language.
We know the Japanese archipelago felt the reach of the continent since at least the Qin and Han dynasties - we have the famous seal of King Na of Wa, as well as the Han dynasty mirrors that came over and which the Japanese were keen to replicate – but how much else they took on of the cultural aspects is somewhat hard to say at this point. But looking at the language, one thing we can observe is how the various Japanese on'yomi readings of Sinitic kanji characters connect to pronunciations of different times and places on the continent, suggesting that different periods and locations of contact are reflected in the Japanese language itself.
Many kanji have multiple on’yomi readings in different categories – one is the Kan-on, or “Han” reading, while another is the Go-on, or “Wu” reading, “Go” being a reading for the character Wu, likely pulled from the old pronunciation, “Nguo”. (And so for instance the same character read as “Mei” could also be read “Myou” or “Ka” could be read as “Ge”, or even “Jitsu” as “Nichi”.) The Go-on is typically assumed to be the older reading, which likely came over in the 6th century or earlier, while the so-called “Han” reading probably reflected more the Tang dynasty and later. This doesn’t necessarily mean that those Go-on readings came from Wu itself or the ancient Wu language, but more likely that they were simply older or regional readings that differed from the northern dialects in vogue in later centuries. And even though Mandarin and Cantonese didn’t evolve into their current forms until later, there were distinct regional differences in language between the northern and southern areas as early as the 6th century, as Yan Zhitui noted in his writings. The south had a reputation as more culturally refined, though alternatively that could be seen as lazy and archaic, whereas the north had perhaps a coarser dialect, and was also seen as more hard-working and industrious, though one should note that Zhitui was a native of the north and therefore likely prejudiced in his views.
Language differences aside, over time, of course, the people of the original state of Wu were largely absorbed or replaced by the Han people migrating south, especially with the uptick at the end of the Han dynasty. And as I mentioned before, many who settled in this region became farmers, working for elite families, many of whom had set up around Lake Tai, near the old capital. Eventually another city would come to take precedence, however, and that was the city of Jianye, known today as Nanjing, the Southern Capital, and we will see why in a little bit.
Before that, though, let’s talk about the rest of the Yangzi. While farmers were moving into the relatively flat and fertile areas in the southern reaches, those in the more mountainous regions often had a different experience. While there were certainly farms producing food, many of the communities in the middle reaches had more of a military focus, setting up various fortified communities, often taking advantage of the mountainous terrain. In the mountains, communities had to be relatively self-sufficient.
Further upriver is the Min River basin, a relatively flat area, highly suitable for agriculture, but surrounded by mountains. This is the home of the modern city of Chengdu, in modern Sichuan. The relatively flat, fertile land meant that various states could arise here, and many different ones had indeed risen and fallen by this time. There had been a growing Han presence since at least the Qin dynasty, but interactions with others were awkward, requiring the traversal of difficult and mountainous terrain to get out of the river basin. The same things that would allow states to form in this region, often protected by the mountains from outside forces, would also be the things that kept them isolated at the same time, preventing them from expanding and conquering much beyond their own region.
So these – the southern reaches, the central mountains, and the Min River or modern-day Sichuan basin – were the three areas of the Yangzi that people were moving to in the Han dynasty. And that migration only increased as the turbulence towards the end of the Han dynasty increased.
After the Yellow Turban rebellion, things in the capital region remained uneasy. A regent attempted to bring in a frontier general, Dong Zhuo, to help check the power of the eunuchs, who had a stranglehold on the court, but before the general could arrive, the regent was assassinated. In retaliation, two officers of the newly created capital army seized Luoyang and massacred the eunuchs. This left a power vacuum, and when Dong Zhuo arrived, he captured the emperor, and took power as a military dictator.
By this point, military rule was the order of the day, and even though there was still an emperor, the Han dynasty was as much a going concern as a Norwegian blue parrot. Dong Zhuo eventually spirited the boy emperor, Xian, to his home base in Chang’an, while his soldiers burned Luoyang to the ground. This triggered a whole slough of generals to set themselves up as warlords, and for some 30 years, the territories from the Yangzi river north found themselves in various conflicts.
The north seems to have seen the lion’s share of the fighting, as one of the generals who had opposed Dong Zhuo went on to put down his rivals and unify much of the Yellow River Basin and points north, including the Han commanderies on the Korean peninsula. His name was Cao Cao, and he unified the north under his rule by 207, and then turned his attention to the south.
At first, things seemed to be going well for Cao Cao. His initial push into the south met with little resistance, and he even gained more men. However, Cao Cao’s sizeable army required food, and it seems his supply lines were drawn out a considerable length, as there are reports of famine, and disease—possibly a result of the subtropical forests that were still considered untamed wilderness, not to mention the many areas of marshy wetlands that had yet to be drained and cultivated. For an army made up of largely northern soldiers, one can imagine how they fared in this humid and unfamiliar terrain.
Additionally, fighting in the south was not the same as in the north. Battles in the south had to make use of the Yangzi’s extensive river system, meaning that you were looking at a lot of effectively naval warfare. There are many incredible exploits that could be discussed here. About Cao Cao’s inadvisable attempts to chain his boats together to provide a more stable platform for northerners who were not used to sleeping on the water like this, to a feigned defector, who instead of coming to Cao Cao’s side sent a barrage of fire ships—that is ships that were deliberately set on fire and placed on a collision course with Cao Cao’s fleet.
Eventually, the fate of Cao Cao’s incursion was sealed in the famous Battle of Red Cliffs—an event that has spawned poetry, literature, and not a few movies. There Cao Cao was opposed by rival southern warlords, and he suffered a decisive defeat. It stopped his advance, and provided space for the southern regions to develop.
And so there developed an uneasy peace. The north was unified under Cao Cao and his successors, under what would become the Wei kingdom, while the south was split into two regions; Shu, in the west, under the command of Liu Bei, and Wu, in the east, under the command of Sun Quan. Eventually Cao Cao’s son, Cao Bi, would set himself up as the emperor of Wei, finally doing away with the charade of the Han dynasty, and Liu Bei and Sun Quan would follow suit.
This is the period known as the Three Kingdoms in Chinese history. It was a relatively brief period, all things considered—only about 60 years—but it was memorialized in various ways. First off is the Record of the Three Kingdoms, by Chen Shou, which is where we find the Wei Chronicles, which provides our first glimpse into the Japanese archipelago in the stories about the intriguing Queen Himiko. This was also part of the basis for the more fantastical 14th century novel, the “Romance of the Three Kingdoms”, one of the most popular literary works in East Asia, inspiring numerous plays, spin-offs, and even movie and television series. Of course, that is a work of historical fiction, building off of the history, but also incorporating the fantastic and romantic stories that had sprung up around the various characters in those stories.
The Three Kingdoms—perhaps “Three Countries” is more appropriate—were the three we’ve just discussed: Wei, Wu, and Shu, also known as Cao Wei, Shu Han, and the Eastern Wu to distinguish them from the many other states that had those same names throughout history. Of these, Liu Bei’s Kingdom of Shu is perhaps the least interest to us, centered as it was on the area of modern Chengdu and the Min River basin. As noted above, the mountains provided him refuge, but also limited the Shu kingdom’s ability to truly menace Wu or Wei.
In contrast, Sun Quan’s Wu held control of the lower reaches of the Yangzi, up into a portion of the middle reaches. Wu’s capital was set up at Jianye, modern Nanjing, as we mentioned earlier. Built along a bend in the Yangzi river, it was naturally fortified with the river and mountains around it. In fact, despite being the capital of one of three warring states, the city was built without walls, relying on those natural fortifications. One consequence of this was that the southern capital was more connected with nature, rather than walled off from it - just one example of the different conditions in the south that would drive cultural innovations often separately from those in the north, cultural innovations that would over the next several centuries make their way as seeds to the archipelago: garden layouts, poetry, and more.
One such innovation was evolving to the north, in the country known as Wei. As its founder, Cao Cao, pulled together his administration and conquered the surrounding regions, he was determined to correct some of the problems that he saw in the previous Han administration. For one thing, the influence of the Eunuchs at court was broken, but Cao Cao was not about to hand over power to the Great Families and Han dynasty loyalists who might try to restore the Emperor and Imperial power.
Cao Cao, perhaps given his military experience, wasn’t so interested in all of the Confucian ideals. Filial piety, uprightness, and incorruptibility were not things that really concerned him. He wanted talented men wherever he could find them. Even if that meant, *gasp* promoting commoners.
One aspect of this system was to set up a series of ranks—nine ranks in particular, although these ranks, themselves, would be divided into junior and senior, and some eventually would be further divided with “upper” and “lower” divisions. Individuals in government service were given a rank and that came with a government stipend, paid in “stones”, or “koku”, in Japanese. As we discussed last episode, this was a carry-over from the Han dynasty system. There, government positions were paid stipends, but this seems to have been decided on a case-by-case basis.
Under the Nine Rank system that developed under the Cao Wei state, government jobs were also ranked, and generally speaking a person of a given rank was expected to perform a particular job, though there were situations where the rank of the individual and the rank of the position might not exactly line up. This helped to standardize positions and awards. This same system—with modifications—was eventually adopted by other states attempting to emulate the Sinic style of government, including those on the archipelago and on the peninsula. It even went so far as to dictate the amount of space one would get for an estate in the capital district, something we’ll see in the Nara period in Japan.
Now, in theory this seems ideal. It appears to be a meritocracy, and that was certainly the stated goal. You find talented people, put them in positions, and you get good government. You don’t worry about where they are from, you just worry about getting the best and you put them in charge.
Since the sovereign couldn’t oversee every application, and he wanted to draw from across the realm, how to do this effectively. In the Han dynasty, men were recommended to government service by local administrators, but by the time of Cao Wei, war and turmoil had displaced many of the locals, so the local system of recommendation didn’t exactly make sense. And so they instituted a system of “impartial judges”, who were assigned specifically to go to the home commanderies to recruit officials and assign them rank. And this was great in theory, but the question remained: how do you know who is the most talented?
This is where Confucian thought began to again enter into the picture. Scholars and philosophers debated about what made an extraordinary person, and what they came up with, well…here’s where we see Cao Cao’s pure meritocracy idea start to backslide a little bit.
Mark Edward Lewis uses Liu Shao as an example. Writing in the mid-3rd century, he made the argument that talents were hidden, and could only be perceived by extraordinary judges of character. They would see external signs—in the face and the voice, for instance. On top of that, Liu Shao claimed that talents were inborn—nature, not nurture—and therefore it was largely a matter of heredity. Finally, these characteristics would manifest in moments of change.
This all sounds rather suspicious to me. In practice, it meant that your family connections played a huge part in getting a job, as did your ability to show things that were considered cultured and refined—Cao Pi would add literary achievements, meaning that poetry was a standard for office holding. Cao Zhi, another of Cao Cao’s sons, attempted to impress a visiting scholar with such things as dancing, juggling, fencing, as well as talking up various topics.
This effectively meant that, however much Cao Cao may have wanted to draw from all strata of society, the path to holding office was effectively barred to anyone without the privilege of being born into a noble, or at least wealthy, household, where they could be educated in these things as well as be afforded the luxury of leisure time to study and perfect these arts.
All of this was further modified by the Sima family, who would eventually become more powerful than the Cao family themselves, and wrest power away by 266 to set up the Jin dynasty – which expanded and conquered Eastern Wu by 280, briefly reunifying the Yangzi and Yellow River basins.
The Sima allowed modifications to the Nine Rank system, many of which provided greater control to the Great Families. Local governors were removed from the judgment and selection process, which left the highest ranking local nobles—typically members of local and powerful families—with the greatest say in who was judged worthy of a government post. In addition, the sons of high ranking nobility were granted automatic entry into the rank system. This was based on their father’s rank—members of the imperial family, whether they were directly in the line of succession or not, entered into service around ranks three and four—rank one being the highest in the system—while nobility could guarantee placement for their own children, but only if they were rank five or higher.
Similar practices were found in the Japanese version of the system, which is often accused of having bastardized the meritocracy that they had imported from the continent to fit the needs of their own elite families on the archipelago. And while certainly family often took precedence in Japan I’d like to note that the idea of hereditary succession in the nine rank system is hardly something new. In fact, I’d argue that the idea of the nine rank system as a meritocracy was more of an ideal than a realized system of government.
With the unification of north and south under the Jin, the Nine Rank system spread. And when the Jin dynasty itself fell to internal politics and infighting, and they were forced to flee Chang’an and reestablish their court at the old Wu capital of Jianye on the Yangzi, they continued to use this rank system, at least nominally speaking.
During the Jin dynasty, those without hereditary access would likely top out at ranks four or five, while those who had a lofty pedigree might *start* their careers at ranks four and five. We see a similar thing with the rank system in Japan, where there were eventually so many people being born into the upper ranks there was no headroom for people in the lower ranks to advance, which meant that it was eventually hard for one’s children to even succeed, let along surpass, their parents.
Furthermore, just because people were of the right rank due to their birth did not mean that they were actually suited to do, well, anything. And so we see another thing happening in the Jin, where some offices come to be known as substantive offices—in other words, you had actual power and responsibilities that would have a real affect on the state—while others were merely sinecures. In addition, you had another quality attached to positions, and that was whether they were considered “sullied” or “pure”.
This term was a marker of whether a given post was considered socially acceptable for someone of good breeding. A sullied post was considered acceptable for someone of a lower social status, while only a pure post would do for a member of the hereditary elite. And it wasn’t that all pure posts were simply sinecures and vice versa. There were certainly posts that were considered pure and substantive while others were pure and insignificant. Others, like a censor, was considered sullied by the nature of the work they had to do, but was also highly substantive and meant that the individual could wield some actual power.
This system, which does not appear to have been a part that was imported into the archipelago, seems to have placed a check on the formation of a full on aristocracy. As new men came in, they could gain posts and make a name for themselves through government service, rising through the ranks such that their children would also be granted a high position. But for members of the hereditary elite—those families who had already built their reputation and who often had their own sources of income, they were often praised for refusing to serve in the government, instead devoting their time to more cultural and artistic endeavors.
This is, in part, the paradox that many people see in the dual nature of a society that practiced both Confucianism and Daoism, often side by side, and without apparent contradiction. Confucian thought praised the family and government service, but in Daoism you see a kind of Hermitism that was much more highly praised. Laozi, himself, is said to have written his famous Dao De Jing just before heading off into the western frontier at the venerable age of 80, and in the works attributed to Zhuangzi in the late 4th century BCE you get stories such as that of the turtle in the mud.
In that story, Zhuangzi is fishing by the Pu river when two ministers come with a message from the Prince of Chu, asking Zhuangzi to join his court and work for him. Zhuangzi retorted that he had heard that in Chu there was a sacred tortoise which was said to have died 3,000 years ago, but which the Prince of Chu kept in a box in his family temple, covered with a cloth. He asked the ministers whether they thought that tortoise would have preferred its fate—to die and have its shell venerated—or would it preferred to have lived out its life, dragging its tail through the mud.
“Of Course,” the ministers replied, “it would have preferred to live, dragging its tail through the mud.”
And so Zhuangzi dismissed them and the prince’s request, telling them to go, and that he would keep dragging his own tail in the mud.
Here we see the kind of glorification for refusing government service that would come about in the Cao Wei and Jin dynasties.
This all gave the elite noble families a certain cachet, and they redefined their relationship with the court. By refusing service they had a certain independence. They were also able to set up their own cultural institutions, such that celebrated artists and poets might gather around a particular figure, and the idea of going out into the woods—or perhaps even better, the safety of a well-crafted garden—groups could get together and practice their cultured hermitism, together.
An exemplar of this imagined ideal can be found in the depictions of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove. These are seven historical (or mostly historical) figures from the 3rd to 4th century, mostly centered around the philosopher poet, Xi Kang and his friends. Xi Kang was a critic of Confucianism, and died in 262 at the age of 39, executed by a military general, though the circumstances are unclear. His other six compatriots include Shan Tao, a holder of one of the highest ranks in the land, and some 18 years Xi Kang’s senior, as well as Xiang Xiu, who was 5 years his junior. Then there is the drunkard, Ruan Ji, who corresponded with Xi Kang, at least, and Ruan Xian, a renowned musician. Then there is the enigmatic Wang Rong and the early naturist, the eccentric Liu Lang, who wrote the poem Ode to the Virtues of Wine. A fifth century anecdote about him records that on many occasions Liu Ling, under the influence of wine, would divest himself of all of his clothing and sit naked in his room. One day he was spotted and chided for this habit, to which Liu Ling retorted: “I take heaven and earth for my pillars and roof, and the rooms of my house for my pants and coat. What are you gentlemen doing in my pants?”
While all of these individuals lived around the same time—they would have probably been about 18-57 years of age between the years 252-262—and certainly many had connections to Xi Kang, it is unlikely that they all actually gathered in one place together to drink a share stories, and that is more likely early fanfic by a poetry superfan of the era, much as authors and screenwriters today love putting together individuals who might have met each other all in one place, forming a super hero team of famous people in history.
In this case, it was popular fanfic, and we have visual representations of the seven from at least the 5th century, and they show up in Japan at least as early as the 9th century. Their model of a life devoted to friendship, poetry, music, drinking, and, dare I say, drugs, all outside the confines of the urban setting and traditional morality, was something that appealed to people for centuries, regardless of the actual truth behind it. You can see in this kind of image many of the things that were praised by the Nara and Heian aristocracy, and it was around this time that such concepts were arising that would eventually have such an influence on our archipelago.
And when it comes to the mindset of those interacting with the archipelago, and what the people there were hearing about the mainland, it’s important to understand how the Han dynasty was held up as a period of unity and remembered as a high point on the continent and beyond—and given what came afterwards we can understand why. Talking about this period gets confusing and does not lend itself to an easy, straightforward story. Philosophy from the previous Warring States period had been recovered and many of the ideas were added to or expanded upon in the Han, and that would continue into the period of disunity. Much of what we think of in terms of Daoism or Confucianism went through changes during these period, including bouts of syncretism, where philosophical ideas that were initially distinct and different were brought together and rationalized in such a way that they would be seen as one. An area known as “Dark Studies” actually attempted to blend such things as Confucianism and Daoism, both of which claim to speak about the “Dao” or “Way”. The difference is that Confucianism attempts to define the “Dao” as a way that people can follow, modeling certain virtues and living life or running the state or just a family in a particularly virtuous way. Daoism, on the other hand, eschews any attempt at defining the Dao, elevating it to a cosmic principle. The Dao De Jing actually opens with the famous lines: “Dao ke dao feichang Dao”, often translated as something like “The Dao that Can be Defined is not the True Dao”, automatically calling out Confucianism as a false doctrine. And yet, centuries of philosophers would use them together, side by side, attempting to reconcile their innate differences in some larger theory, like a philosopher’s version of the Grand Unified Theory.
And so, the Jin and later dynasties had other things to contribute, and we’ll touch on those in later episodes, but the movement of the court to the south—the period known as the eastern Jin—is important for our purposes. As noted, they moved into the old Wu capital of Jianye—which they later renamed Jiankang—in about 317. The north devolved into fighting as warring tribes and factions sprang up and were almost as quickly extinguished, with many so-called dynasties not lasting much beyond a single ruler, or perhaps only controlling a small area. This led to the period known as the sixteen kingdoms, in the north, which lasted until the rise of the Northern Wei around 386. Meanwhile, the south seemed to generally thrive, though they had their own issues and their own infighting. The south, the Jin held on until 420, when it was replaced by the Liu Song, though it seems as though, for the most part, even that was more a change of who was at the top of the heap. The Liu Song period is, of course, where we see the Five Kings of Wa that show up in the Song dynasty chronicles—see Episode 58.
During the eastern Jin and the Liu Song, it is likely that the archipelago was primarily dealing with the court on the Yangzi River, rather than traveling to the courts of the various and ever-changing states along the Yellow River itself. This path would have also been an easier trip from the southern tip of the Korean peninsula, avoiding the perils of sailing through Goguryeo’s territory.
It seems likely that this area, despite the change in dynasties, continued to be known as Wu, or Kure, to the Wa. After all, from their perspective it was all in the same space. This, then, was likely where Yamato and Baekje had their connections to the mainland, and so likely to be a focus of our studies, although we can’t entirely ignore the north, as much as we might want to.
Next episode we’ll continue looking at the impacts of all of this, including what it meant to have many Great Families from the north seek refuge in the south, where the local elites may have been glad enough for the status bump their region would receive, hosting the imperial court, but that was balanced by these northerners with their own systems and ideas.
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.
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

Lewis, Mark Edward. (2009). China Between Empires: The Northern and Southern Dynasties. ISBN 978-0-674-02605-6
Kohn, Livia (ed.) (2004). Daoism Handbook: Volume I. ISBN 0-391-04237-8.
Ebrey, Patricia Buckley (ed.) (1993). Chinese Civilization: A Sourcebook. ISBN s0-02-908752-X.

Episode 71: The Yellow River and the Birth of Han Culture.

September 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Han era statue in the Gallery of New South Wales, Australia. Photo by author.

RSS

Archives

This episode we start our more in depth look at what is happening on the continent, breezing through the Qin and Han periods. We focus on the culture that grew up along the floodplains of the Yellow River, and how that really became the touchstone for Han culture, which then spread outwards in many directions—though our primary focus is on the Yangzi river system to the south.

Image showing Sinitic civilization around the time of the Qin dynasty. You can see how it is mostly concentrated in the north along the Yellow River, with some pockets along the Yangzi. That would extend farther south, especially in the later Han period. Image by User Yuninjie on en.wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons.

This episode is fairly broad, only lightly touching on various subjects. Expect to dive into it again. In the meantime, here are some artifacts from the period that may be of interest:

Han TLV mirror from the Forbidden City in Beijing

This mirror has a pattern that looks suspiciously like the game known as liu bo, which may have arisen from some kind of divination. It is unclear just how the game would have been played, but it seems to be connected with Sinitic concepts of the universe. TLV patterns would make their way to Japan on the backs of these mirrors, although there is no record of liu bo having also made the journey, and it may have simply become a common decorative feature.

Stone carving of liu bo, from the Tokyo National Museum

Here we see a carving of two people playing the game liu bo in a Han era carving.

Han figures playing liu bo, from the New York Metropolitan Museum

Here we see figures playing liu bo, from a Han era tomb.

Han musicians, Shanghai Museum

Here we see a pair of Han dynasty musicians. One is playing the qin, or an early relative thereof. This zither would come to Japan and eventually become the koto, a vital part of Japanese court music.

Terracotta Warrior, Shaanxi History Museum

Here we see a typical member of the terracotta army set to guard the tomb of the first emperor of the Qin dynasty.

Terracotta Warrior, Shaanxi History Museum

Face of one of the terracotta warriors from the tomb of the first Qin emperor. Each one was unique, with its own features and exquisitely detailed. They even had slightly different hairstyles.

Terracotta Warrior, Shaanxi History Museum

Another example of one of the unique terracotta warriors.

Terracotta Warrior, Shaanxi History Museum

Face of one of the terracotta warriors from the tomb of the first Qin emperor. Each one was unique, with its own features and exquisitely detailed. They even had slightly different hairstyles.

Terracotta Warrior-boots, Shaanxi History Museum

Here we can see the pattern on the soles of the shoes of one kneeling feature—even this detail was preserved by the unknown artists who created these statues.

Terracotta General, Tomb of Qin Shihuang

Example of a general, wearing a different type of armor. His armor was probably less effective, but it is also unlikely he would have been fighting on the front lines. There are similarities here with conjectured armor in Japan between the Nara and Heian periods.

Terracotta Warrior - Pigmentation, Tomb of Qin Shihuang

Here we see some of the remaining pigmentation on the red cords of the armor. It was likely black, to represent lacquer, with red cords to help hold it together. The armor itself may have been metal or simply lacquered leather plates.

Terracotta Warrior - Pigmentation, Tomb of Qin Shihuang

Here we can see evidence of the pigmentation that the original statues would have had. Unfortunately, oxidization typically causes the colors to fade, quickly, after exposure, leaving the grey remains that most people know.

Terracotta Warrior - Pigmentation, Tomb of QIn Shihuang

Another example of pigmentation that seems to be remaining, in this case on the face. Still, there is only a little left at this time.

More photos by the author from various museums can be found at the following links:

Qin Dynasty

Han Dynasty

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan! My names is Joshua and this is Episode 71: The Yellow River and the Birth of Han Culture.
Before we get started a quick shout out to Arnold for donating to support the show. If you would like to join him you can do so over at our Ko-Fi site, that’s Ko-Fi.com/Sengokudaimyo, or find us on Patreon.
So we’ve been working our way through the Kiki—the Japanese chronicles—and we’ve made it through to the very start of the 6th century. In that time we’ve seen the state of Yamato grow, though in all likelihood its direct influence likely remained contained in the area immediately around the Nara Basin and out to the area of modern Ohosaka. Which isn’t to say that they weren’t a leader in their confederation, or that their dealings were confined to that area any more than later daimyo would be confined merely to the area of their own domains. It is still a question as to just how much influence Yamato had, but clearly they were a trendsetter, and had connections with the other lands of the archipelago and the continent.
And from the continent, the archipelago was receiving new technologies and new ideas. Envoys from Yamato were being sent, all the way to the court of the Liu Song, near modern day Nanjing, along the easternmost reaches of the Yangzi river. And they, as well as continental visitors and immigrants, were bringing back horses, writing, weaving, and more, including ideas of statecraft. Over the coming centuries we’ll see more and more of this, as Yamato grows and becomes ever more connected with the mainland.
And because of that, I want to once again take a detour away from our islands, and focus for a time on what was happening in the mainland at the beginning of the 6th century, as a lot of this is prelude to what we will see going forward in the archipelago. The governmental systems being used, refined, experimented with, and, some might say, corrupted, on the continent would become the model on which the future Japanese court would base their own system—with some twists of their own.
And yet it’s important to remember that the continent was not a monolith - it was home to various groups and ethnicities and cultures. However, just as the Roman empire had its impact on the various cultures of Europe, eastern Eurasia was heavily impacted by the culture that arose out of the Yellow River Basin.
Speaking of the Yellow River basin, I’d like to start by painting a picture. When we started this whole project, we talked about the islands of Japan and their geography, which impacted the development of Japan and continues to be a factor today. Therefore I figure it is likewise useful to talk somewhat about the geography of the continent.
If we start with the Korean peninsula, we see that it is similar to the archipelago—mountainous, with areas of flat land. In fact, like Japan, some 70% of the land is mountainous. This continues into modern China until you hit the Liao River basin in the west and the Amur River to the north. We know this as a home to Tungusic speaking people, as well as Mongols, and the Nivkh on the coast, but there is little enough in the written record, though there has been archaeological research in the area. This is likely where the people of Goguryeo came from, and Amur and West Liao DNA has been seen in the people on the archipelago, so we know there was contact.
This may be an area to explore more. Certainly the area played a large role in more recent historical events. But for now, I want to turn south, to the main part of what is known today as China.
That name, by the way, is something I’ve touched on before: “China” is something of an overloaded term, as is the concept of “Chinese”. It can be used for just about anything within the bounds of the modern state of China, which includes much of the area from the Amur River in the north all the way down to modern Vietnam in the south and all the way west to modern Kyrgystan and Tajikistan. At the same time, there are clearly differences between the Uighur, Mongol, Tibetan, Han, and many other cultures, as China is a nation with many cultures and ethnicities living within its borders.
So I’ll try to be specific, and often speak in terms of ethnic Han people and Sinic culture, broadly referring to the ethnic group and cultural norms that grew up largely along the Yellow River, which is one of two main rivers that run through the area of China – the other being the Yangzi, to the south.
Looking at a modern map, you can largely divide eastern China into roughly four regions. First, there are the northern region of Inner Mongolia and Manchuria.
Second, south of this, there is the Yellow River. The Yellow River starts up in the mountains and flows through the Loess Plateau, the source of the sediment that gives the river its brownish-yellow color—and thus its name. It then passes through a mountainous region and then the lower regions of the Yellow River flow largely through wide, flat land, before the river empties out into the Yellow Sea – likewise named for the color of the sediment that the river disgorges into it. The Yellow Sea opens out past the Shandong peninsula and is bordered on the east by the Korean peninsula until it reaches the East China sea. This Yellow River area was the homeland of the Han ethnic group, and the origins of the Shang and Zhou dynasties—as well as many of the dynasties up to the Han.
The third region, south of the Yellow River is the Yangzi River and its surroundings . Compared to the flatlands of the lower Yellow River, the Yangzi tends to be more hilly. In the east it is relatively flat, along its lower section, where it empties into the East China Sea around modern day Shanghai. The central region is more mountainous, and in the west is the Sichuan basin, a largely flat area surrounded by mountains, which proved both a help and a hindrance to people living there. Originally, the Yangzi was populated by numerous ethnic groups, who are often lumped together as the Bai Yue, or Hundred Yue. We will talk more about them, later.
Last there is the far south, which is a largely mountainous region that extends to the South China Sea. This was largely considered foreign or frontier region through most of the time we will be talking about, with some outposts and commandries, like those in the Korean peninsula, but for our purposes, right now, we will largely leave them be.
And so, let us go back to the Yellow River region. As I noted, the river brings down sediment from the Loess Plateau, and deposits it along the river bed. This was particularly true when the riverwould flood—due to either heavy rains or melting ice in the mountains near the river’s source. These floods would inundate the flat lands of the lower Yellow River, and deposit that soil across the land. This made the land incredibly fertile, but the unpredictability of the floods was a constant danger. This, in turn, led to settlement patterns where people built communities on the occasional high ground in an attempt to avoid the floods.
Early organization appears to have been built on the idea of taming the waters, and yet it was a constant battle. Dikes would be built and the sides of the river could be built up, but over time the sediment would deposit on the riverbed, raising the riverbed. Without constant dredging and building up of the riverbanks, the river would eventually flood. Sometimes this could change the location of the river—or at least its main branch—by over 400 km or more.
In many ways, then, good government in and around the Yellow River basin was, indeed, tied to mitigating natural disasters—or at least flooding. A government that kept up work on the river and ensured that it was properly managed would reduce the damage caused by flooding, while a government that was negligent would eventually allow the precautions to collapse. This is a theme we see early on in Chinese documentation, and it prompted the German philosopher Karl Wittfogel to form a theory called the “hydraulic hypothesis” which says, basically, that people banding together to manage flooding and irrigation was what prompted the formation of complex states. The real explanation is more complex, but it’s easy to see where this idea comes from.
The Shang and then the Zhou were early, powerful states. Much as with Yamato, the question of just how powerful is still somewhat up in the air, but this does appear to have been the foundation of early Sinic thought, and in particular the Duke of Zhou was often credited with creating the various rites and rituals that were considered at the core of good statesmanship.
In some ways, I’d say this was similar to what we see in Yamato, in that there were certain rituals that the sovereign was expected to perform that, along with administrative and military might, helped maintain the state. But the geography of the Yellow River Basin allowed for larger populations and, in some ways, allowed for greater control by the state, at least early on.
From what we know about the Zhou, it appears to have been a feudal system, with a social hierarchy. The sovereign sat at the top, with courts of nobles—members of elite families. These families were given control of large territories themselves—they were basically the hegemons of their own states, with Zhou at head of the coalition. And that seems to be part of the Zhou’s eventual downfall. While the nobility initially owed their place and lands to the ruling sovereign, over time they amassed their own, independent power. Combined with external threats, the Zhou weakened, and the situation quickly deteriorated. The various families became insular, and each state set against each other.
Many of these states would have names that will become all too familiar in later eras—names such as the Song, the Jin, and even the Wu, read in the archipelago as “Kure”. This turbulent time led to a certain diversity of thought and ideas. Confucuis, Laozi, Sunzi, and many other famous philosophers came from this period.
This is the Warring States Period, from about the 5th to 3rd century BCE—and yes, it is the same name as the period in Japanese history, the Zhanguo Shidai, or Sengoku Jidai. This is no accident, but rather a deliberate call-back by Japanese of that era and later periods to connect their own turmoil with that of China’s classical age. This era of conflict and division on the continent would eventually be brought to an end by forced unification under the state of Qin, the westernmost of the various kingdoms, situated around modern Xi’an, along the Wei River, which runs east to the Yellow as it heads out onto the plains of the lower reaches.
It was the Qin who unified the warring states through military conquest and instituted a harsh regime. The ruler of Qin took the name of Emperor, or Huangdi, and is still remembered as Qin Shihuangdi, the First Qin Emperor. He instituted a state based on the legalist system that had brought Qin to power, and he did well for himself. After all, his is the tomb of the terracotta army in Xi’an, a tomb on par with that of Daisen kofun in Japan, in size, and even moreso considering everything else in the complex – which is still being actively mapped and excavated, although the main tomb remains undisturbed at this time. The terracotta warriors themselves are truly remarkable, each one with unique features and tremendous detail down to the hobnails in their boots. These statues were originally vividly painted, though the pigments rarely survive long after being exposed to the open air. They provide us an unmatched view of what the Qin army looked like, such that it is suspected that each statue—or at least their head—was likely a depiction of an actual soldier in the army.
As I mentioned, the Qin state was organized around Legalist principles. Legalism insisted that all people follow exactly the rules and laws of the state. The theory was that if everyone played their role exactly, then the state would run smoothly. Ideally it eschewed favoritism and familial ties for a strict interpretation of the laws that applied to everyone, equally. It enforced this through draconian punishments. For example, there is a story that the emperor was out one day enjoying himself, and he fell asleep. He had with him two servants, one who was responsible for his cloak, and another who was responsible for his umbrella. As time dragged on, the servant responsible for his umbrella fell asleep as well, and so did not notice that the sun had shifted and the emperor was exposed. The other servant, thinking little of it, simply moved the umbrella so that the emperor remained in the shade.
When the emperor woke up and found out what had happened, he had both men punished. The one for falling asleep and not doing his job, but the other for trying to do someone else’s job instead of tending just to his own.
As one might imagine, this was considered a mite harsh by many, and it tended to rub people the wrong way. Still, Qin Shi Huangdi maintained power over a unified nation for nine years, despite numerous assassination attempts. He was eventually undone not by assassins, but by his own quest for immortality—the same quest that had him send people out looking for the famed Island of the Immortals, which we discussed back in episode 10. He was apparently drinking elixirs made with mercury, which likely poisoned him.
After his death in 210 BCE, court ministers tried to hide the news and eventually planned to have his son rule as a puppet sovereign. But this left the court weak, and fighting and rebellion once more broke out.
This could easily have devolved back into the Warring States period, which would have made the Qin dynasty simply a blip in the record, if it weren’t for a peasant-born commander named Liu Bang.
Liu Bang was a local Qin official who was working as a penal officer. We are told that he was taking prisoners to go work on the tomb of Qin Shi Huangdi when some of them escaped. Under the Legalist penal codes of the time, allowing prisoners to escape was considered a dereliction of duty, and punishable by death, and the court was not known to be merciful. With no other options, Liu Bang decided to voluntarily free the rest of the prisoners—after all, it wasn’t going to get any worse for him—who were so grateful that they joined him. Together they took up residence in an abandoned fort in Mangdang, where they set up to resist any who might be sent after them.
But the death of Qin Shi Huangdi, and the subsequent rebellions that broke out the year after, provided an opening for the ambitious Liu Bang, who fought for the state of Chu, but eventually ended up taking power for himself. Thus Liu Bang, son of a commoner, became Emperor Gaozu of the Han dynasty.
The Han dynasty maintained much of the political apparatus of the Qin dynasty, but changed it in subtle, yet significant ways that would keep it in power for the next four centuries—minus a brief interregnum by one Wang Mang. This is one of the reasons why, while the Qin dynasty is the root of the English word for “China”, many Asian sources refer to Han—such as Hanzi, or Kanji in Japanese, for Sinitic writing—and it is generally used to refer to the ethnic Han people, or Hanren, in Mandarin, a term that appears to have been used since the period after the fall of the Han dynasty to refer to the major Sinitic speaking ethnic group of that and later dynasties. That’s how much of an impact this period had on the development of the people and thought of China.
Although the Han dynasty inherited the Qin governmental structures, it did away with the strictly legalist interpretation. This allowed some of the philosophical thought that had been oppressed under the Qin to flourish. In particular, Confucian classics had been confiscated by the Qin, and most were lost when the library they were stored in burned down, though some were saved by scholars who defied the Qin orders. Later, an official hunt would be made to find as many of these old works as possible, and by the end of the first century BCE, Han policy was that government officials had to be men trained in the Classics—generally speaking that meant Confucian classics, espousing Confucian values.
Setting up the government so that officials had to be trained typically meant that there had to be tests. It set up the semblance of a meritocracy—where one’s learning and cultivation would lead to jobs with the government, and thus access to political and social power. This would theoretically ensure that men in government positions—and, yes, generally speaking, it was only men who were considered, thanks to the patriarchal structure Han society inherited from past generations—so these government officials were, theoretically, men of learning and good character, and not just men from Great Families, who still had considerable power in their local areas. Government officials would be provided a stipend, often assessed in terms of the amount of grain that their stipend provided. The term for this, “dan”, would later be used in Japan as well, with the character, which also means “stone”, pronounced as “koku”.
Early on, the Han court knew it had to find a way to either blunt the power of hereditary families or at least get them working for the good of the state. The Zhou had done this through feudal bonds of fealty, and the Qin had attempted to do it through draconian legal measures after crushing them with their military force. Indeed, I suspect that many were still rebuilding after first falling to the Qin and then the rebellions thereafter.
So the Han attempted to tie families more firmly to the State. First, they recognized many of the ancient kingdoms, but placed members of Liu Bang’s own family in charge. Theoretically, the family ties would keep them loyal, but over time, this would break down. At the same time, Confucian values, growing at court and with anyone who wanted to hold social or political power, also emphasized the family. The concept of filial piety, expanded through all social relationships, formed the ties that bound people to the families and the families to the government, thus incorporating them and making them an extension of the government system.
This may have worked for a while, but nothing lasts forever, and there are almost always unintended consequences. For one, the court was still located along the Yellow River. A rising population, no doubt assisted by high yields from the Yellow River and the relative stability of the Han dynasty, put pressure on the land, and the Han expanded into frontier territories—for instance, settling large numbers of people on the Ordos plateau, with outposts far out in the western deserts, and the commandries in the Korean peninsula and the far south. And yet, despite this expansion the court, and thus, political power, remained concentrated largely in the capital regions. This included Chang’an, modern Xi’an, near the capital of Qin on the Wei river. Later, they would move to the capital of Luoyang, just a little further to the east. This was the center of power and prestige in the empire, and the families that were closer to the center had an advantage in playing the politics of the court. This was further emphasized by a worldview that placed the court at the center of the world. The further out from that center, the more uncultured and barbaric the people were thought to be. Han elite who were too far from the capital often found themselves as political outsiders—seen as country bumpkins and hicks. In turn, these outside families would often set themselves up at the center of their own cultural sphere. This idea of the center of the Court versus those on the periphery has some rather direct similarities with actions that would take place in Japan, as well. Great families were part of the ruling court, but outside families built up their own bases of power.
Back in the capital, the growing influence of certain families seemed to be a threat. How could even the emperor know whether someone’s loyalty was to themselves or to their family? And so they came up with a strategy that they thought would overcome this problem. To ensure that certain positions were only loyal to the court and the emperor, the court employed eunuchs—men who, through birth, accident, or voluntary action, had been castrated, losing the ability to reproduce. The theory seems to have been that men who could not produce an heir would not be so busy playing politics for their family, and they would be solely devoted to the court.
This really was a thing—and one part of court culture that I don’t believe Japan ever attempted to reproduce. Eunuchs could do well for themselves in the court, however. In fact, they could do so well that men voluntarily underwent castration so that they could apply for a position.
And, of course, many found ways around the idea that castration would prevent them from having heirs, too. In some cases, men would undergo castration after having fathered children, in the hopes that their service could provide a better life for their family. In other cases, eunuchs would “adopt” an heir. This was important in a society where it was your ancestors who were supposed to carry out the proper rites after you passed away, and keep your memory alive. Without heirs to perform the rites, what would your afterlife be like? Probably not pretty.
That said, without heirs, and without the hope of better life in the hereafter, it seems that some eunuchs were, instead, tempted to acquire social and material power in the here and now. In fact, it grew so bad that even today the trope of the evil, greedy, court eunuch is still quite common, despite the fact that it was likely only a small number for whom that was true—or at least no more true than for any other elite official anywhere in the world.
Still, according to the histories, the fall of the Han came at the hands of just such eunuchs, whose desire for worldly comfort led them to play fast and loose with the empire’s finances.
You see, as the eunuchs were amassing power, there was another dynamic going on. Much as the Roman empire did in Europe, the Han dynasty often enlisted and employed ethnic groups from outside of their own borders and brought them in. The idea was to let barbarians fight barbarians, and so they would resettle nomadic groups inside of Han territory, giving them land in exchange for fighting on their side.
However, these outside cultures were literally foreign, and they often clashed in contact with their Han neighbors, often leading to raids inside of Han territory by the very same people that had been brought in to protect them.
With no other recourse, local communities had to create their own armed groups to fight off these horse-riding warriors. Some of these groups would be organized around more than just local community pride. After all, in times of chaos, religious zeal often brings people together, and this seems to have been the unifying factor of more than one group. Organizing around a place usually meant that you attracted people from that place, but organizing around religion or around an idea meant that you could bring together disparate groups from all over.
One such idea was the Way of Taiping, or Great Peace. This is unrelated, by the way, to the Taiping Rebellion of the late 19th century, in case you were wondering. In this instance, the Way of Taiping was based on Daoist ideas, though, despite their name, they were anything but peaceful. Their adherents were militants, and they believed that, with the disorder in the land, a millennium of Great Peace was due to either reform the Han or sweep it away.
A series of rebellions broke out, often known by the headgear that these adherents wore: A yellow piece of cloth, wrapped around their head. Thus the name, in English at least, of the Yellow Turban Rebellion—sometimes also the Yellow Cloth Rebellion, for a more accurate but less romantic description.
Of course, people begged the Han court for assistance against these rebels, but the Han coffers were empty—there wasn’t enough money to raise an army. This was compounded by the fact that Yellow Cloth adherents and sympathizers were found even among the palace guards and amongst the powerful eunuchs. Armed rebellion eventually broke out in the 16 commandries, largely in the area immediately surrounding the Yellow River basin. Without a centralized military response, private armies, led by members of powerful families who were in opposition to the powerful eunuchs at court, ended up putting down the rebellions themselves.
This, of course, brought nominal praise from the Han court, and the generals were lauded for their success. But then, almost immediately, they were removed from their posts and shoved aside, with eunuchs taking over, as they were the ones officially in charge of the army.
Infighting continued, and the weakened Han dynasty never recovered. The Han dynasty would effectively end in 190, which led to a period of warlordism known as the Three Kingdoms, which in turn would lead to the era of the northern and southern dynasties, during which the empire largely remained fractured, with only short periods of unification. This would last into the late 6th century. It was in this environment of fractured and warring states that the Japanese archipelago—and specifically Yamato—would be conducting most of their early interactions. This includes Himiko and the Wei, as well as the Jin and later the Liu Song dynasties—not to mention those interactions we don’t have records for. Many aspects of continental culture, often filtered through the Korean peninsula, would be arriving during this time. .
And speaking of arriving in distant foreign lands, the archipelago wasn’t the only place that was getting new ideas. While the Han dynasty imported new ideas and people from the outside—mostly from the north and west—there were also pressures sending people—and ideas—out in all directions as well. The Han culture complex was an amalgamation of different philosophies and cultural ideas, brought together in one place, but even as that was happening, conflict and population pressures were also pushing people out to the frontier areas. In the west and north, Han people were often the minority, but in the southern regions, especially along the Yangzi, Han people began to emigrate in droves. This escalated towards the end of the Han, especially in the period of violence that surrounded its downfall.
It is estimated that several million people—mostly ethnic Han peasants—headed south in the last century of the Han dynasty, settling along the Yangzi river basin. As they moved in they would start the process of draining swamps and wetlands and making the region more habitable for rice paddy farming. This area had been the southern frontier for years—described as a place of jungles and strange people and cultures, but now it was becoming Sinicized in ways that it had not before.
The majority likely took the easiest path, from the Yellow River floodplain to the Huai River basin in central China, and then on to the Yangzi river, mostly ending up in the fertile lower reaches. Some, however, settled further upriver, in the more mountainous reaches of the central Yangzi. This was accessible from the Han capitals of Chang’an and Luoyang via a daunting route that included traversing the Qinling Mountains at Wuling pass—a 7,000 foot climb that traversed a plank road built along the cliff walls.
That was nothing compared to the third path, however. The truly adventurous took the famous Road to Shu. This road went west out of Chang’an to Baoji, and then turned southwest to the Min River basin—modern Chengdu, in Sichuan. It was 270 miles, about a third of which were those same type of cliff-side trestle roads. Historically speaking it was the least important—it wasn’t exactly likely that someone would be marching their armies down it any time soon—but it was immortalized by the Tang poet Li Bai—known as Ri Haku in Japan—in a poem entitled Shu Dao Nan—the Difficult Road to Shu.
In the course of these migrations, the ethnic Han farmers tended to monopolize the flat lowlands for growing rice, leaving the highlands for forestry products. This drove the indigenous people—various ethnic groups generally lumped together as the baiyue, or hundred Yue—up into the more mountainous and less desirable areas. The Yue are thought to be the ancestors of the Vietnamese people, who once ruled large swaths of areas from the Yangzi river south.
Those mountain tops and highlands would make a good location for temples and fortresses, creating myriad small, and independent communities.
This will all play out in our next episode as we talk about the aftermath of the fall of the Han, the rise of the Three Kingdoms, and the cultural changes that came with it—all happening at the same time that Yamato was being born and starting to take its own place out in the archipelago.
I’m thinking this will probably take at least 3~4 episodes to get through, which is a bit, and I’m going to do my best to avoid getting too far into the weeds, but as we go I think there are a few important facets of continental culture that we want to focus on, especially as the 6th century will start to see even closer ties. So we’ll try to condense several centuries into just a few episodes for you.
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.
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

Lewis, Mark Edward. (2009). China Between Empires: The Northern and Southern Dynasties. ISBN 978-0-674-02605-6
Kohn, Livia (ed.) (2004). Daoism Handbook: Volume I. ISBN 0-391-04237-8.
Ebrey, Patricia Buckley (ed.) (1993). Chinese Civilization: A Sourcebook. ISBN s0-02-908752-X.

Episode 70: End of an Era

August 16, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Model of a reconstruction of a Korean style fortress built in the 7th century in Kibi, some 200 years after “Kinouhe” is recorded as having been built.

RSS

Archives

With this reign we look at the events of Wohatsuse Wakasazaki for the full eight years he is said to have sat on the throne.

Who’s Who

Wohatsuse Wakasazaki

The son, it is said, of Ōke, aka Ninken Tennō, and Kasuga no Ōiratsume, herself a daughter of Ōhatsuse Wakatake, aka Yūryaku Tennō, If that is his parentage, he likely was born between 482, when his father was brought to Yamato, and 494, when he had to have been born to be named Crown Prince.

There are later entries in the Nihon Shoki and other sources that would suggest he was born around 450—but that would have been around the time of Woasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune. There are definitely questions about this entry.

Heguri no Matori

Current Ōmi (大臣) at the start of Wakasazaki’s reign. Descendant (possibly the son or grandson) of Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune, previous Ōmi and son of the legendary Takeuchi no Sukune.

Ōtomo no Muruya

Ōmuraji of the Ōtomo family, appointed at the end of the reign of Wakatake to help his son, Shiraga. He is mentioned in the reign of Wakasazaki, but there is some confusion as to whether or not it is him or Kanamura. This may be an indication that the years for this reign aren’t quite right.

Ōtomo no Kanamura

Kanamura pops up in this reign. The last Otomo no Ōmuraji was Ōtomo no Muruya, who was tasked with assisting Shiraga, aka Seinei Tennō, in governing the land. There is an assumption that Kanamura is his descendant, but it isn’t clear, other than they are both of the same family.

Kudara no Otara (aka Itarang of Baekje)

Otara, or Itarang (百済意多郎), is only briefly mentioned. Aston suggests “Witanang”, using modern Korean reading. He is often known by the modern Japanese reading, though that probably was not how it is pronounced at the time. The other part, “Kudara”, is literally a reading of the characters for “Baekje”, though it is unclear exactly how that reading came to be used in Japan. It isn’t even clear to me that the Chroniclers themselves would have used that reading.

Donseong of Baekje

King of Baekje from about 479 to 501 or 502. He attempted to strengthen Baekje after the move to Unjin. The Samguk Sagi appears to blame his fall on his clack of concern during a famine around 499, though he may also have fallen afoul of local politics. He was killed in 501 or 502.

Muryeong of Baekje

King of Baekje from about 501 to 523. The Nihon Shoki claims that he was born on the way to Yamato, and thus was given the name “Shima”, meaning “island” in Japanese. The Korean sources have his personal name as something like “Syeoma”, though no indication that it means something similar. Unfortunately, the language of Baekje is not well attested, so it is hard to tell what it might actually mean.

Early Castles

One of the entries from this period is the creation of a castle, named “Kinouhe” (城上). This would actually seem to refer to the area “above” a castle. It was apparently built in “Minamata”, but where exactly this is is unclear. Regardless, I suspect it was in the style of early peninsular castles. From what I can tell, this would have included rammed earth walls, though possibly made of stone. These were probably more like walled garrisons.

Some of the peninsular castles specifically utilized the terrain, often being built on mountaintops. They would use natural features and simply enhance it with walls and gates. Later we see more traditional rectangular walls around cities and the like. The character used for “castle” in Japanese just meant “city walls” or “walled settlement” when it came over from the continent. As such, “Ki no Uhe” could refer to a fortress or to walls around a settlement of some kind—though probably still the rammed earth and stone walls, rather than simply a palisade or similar.

Many of these features were built up again and again over time, or perhaps have disappeared into the landscape. Some of these walls are still found on occasion. In 2016, excavations were performed on the site of the old Naseong City Walls, uncovering the walls thought to have been built around 538 to protect the new Baekje capital. Today, this is part of the larger Baekje Historical Area that is considered a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. This is episode 70: The End of an Era.
Content warning up front: This episode catalogues a lot of senseless and even psychopathic violence, against both men and women, including forced abortions and sexual assault. I will do my best to present the information respectfully, and we’ll put most of it at the end of the episode, with a warning so anyone who wants can stop after we cover the more relevant part of the reign.
Last episode we talked about Wohatsuse Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennou, and how he came to the throne at an apparently extremely young age. Tradition says he was as young as 10 years old… but we’ll talk about that.
As I mentioned, this episode will be split into two parts. First, we will cover various events regarding Yamato that are recorded as having happened during the eight years of Wakasazaki’s reign, most of them having to do with Yamato’s relationship with the Korean peninsula and events happening over there. Then I’ll cover the other stories—those outlining his apparent sociopathic tendencies. I’ll be blunt: the Chronicles contain some very, very nasty stories about Wakasazaki, and indeed paint him as unredeemably evil. If Wakatake had numerous accounts which didn’t show him in a good light, Wakasazaki is something else altogether. And we do have to ask the question of whether these are accurate stories, or whether there were other things going on that led the Chroniclers to paint such a scathing picture.
One of the first questions I have, however, is the question of how old Wakasazaki was when he came to the throne, when he died, and what the situation was with the royal lineage at the time. As noted, tradition states he was 10 years old when he came to throne, and if he reigned for about 8 years, as the Nihon Shoki claims, then he would have been about 18 at the end of his reign.
On the other hand, the Nihon Shoki at one point says that Wakasazaki was not actually 18 when he died, but instead that he was 57. Kitabatake Chikafusa likely pulled on this when he wrote in the Jinnou Shouki that Wakasazaki died at the age of 58. Chikafusa doesn’t talk about any of the other acts that are said to have taken place, but instead focuses on connecting Wakasazaki’s evil acts with the downfall of Ohosazaki’s lineage—that’s right, spoiler alert, Wakasazki would be the last sovereign claiming descent from Ohosazaki—which is why I mentioned last episode how interesting it is to me that they both use “Sazaki” in their names, rather like an overly convenient pair of bookends. We’ll talk about this more at the end of the episode as we explore just why the Chroniclers didn’t exactly stan Wakasazaki.
So keep that in mind as we look at this reign and the scorn that is heaped upon it.
One thing to consider as we read through the Nihon Shoki is that the Chroniclers operated under the assumption that all reigns were linear—that there was only ever one sovereign was on the throne at a time. According to Kishimoto’s classification of kofun, the secondary line of kofun appears to have died out in the late 5th century, with the kofun he identifies with Wakatake, who supposedly died in 479. The main line of kofun, which share characteristics back to Hashihaka, believed by some, yours truly included, to be the tomb of Himiko herself, continued into the early part of the 6th century, overlapping with a new line, identified with changes in the kofun structure.
So it is possible that there was, for a time, members of this older and newer dynasty both alive—and possibly co-ruling—at the same time.
I mention this mainly because it is possible that Wakasazaki was around for more than the 8 years given for his reign. What if he did live until his 50s? Or at least longer than age 18. What if he wasn’t the son of Ohoke? There are so many what ifs and not enough answers. And I suspect the Chroniclers weren’t too concerned with challenging any of that. After all, Wakasazaki being an evil bastard that ended the dynasty of the virtuous Ohosazaki fit nicely into the worldview of the time—and as humans we love simple stories. It is so much easier when things are black and white—right and wrong—good and evil.
But enough of that—let’s take a look at this reign.
So we left off with Wakasazaki calling on Ohotomo no Kanamura to help destroy Heguri no Matori no Oho-omi and his son, Shibi no Omi. He then took his place on the throne, ascending in Namiki, in Hatsuse.
That was in 499.
In 501, we are told that he had Ohotomo no Muruya call up a levy of laborers in the land of Shinano—modern Nagano prefecture—in order to build a castle, called Kinouhe, in the village of Minomata.
As a side note, Aston notes that Ohotomo no Muruya had been made Ohomuraji in the reign of Wakatake, and tasked with assisting Shiraga, so surely he wasn’t still alive and they instead meant Kanamura, the current Ohomuraji. And that may be the case. Then again, this entry could be misplaced, especially if the dates for this reign—and Wakasazaki’s actual age—aren’t exactly correct.
But what’s more important about this bit is that this appears to be the first time that we’ve seen any discussion of actual castle building in the archipelago, at least outside of the truly legendary tales. We’ve seen hastily constructed inaki, or rice castles, a time or two, and there has certainly been discussion of castles on the Korean peninsula, but this appears to be the first record of a permanent castle on the islands.
Of course, when we say “castle”, we should set some expectations. Japanese castles certainly were never the kind of stone keeps found in Europe, but these early castles were even distinct from those that you might imagine, like Matsumoto or Himeji, which generally date to the Sengoku era or later.
Early castles in the archipelago were probably little more than earthen walls, likely built up around natural features, like the sides of a mountain or hill, though it doesn’t have to be a mountaintop. They probably would have been based on Baekje—or at least peninsular—traditions. There were a number of Baekje style fortresses built in the 7th century to defend from a supposed invasion from the continent, but what would this one have been built for? Nagano isn’t exactly on an invasion route, after all.
But then again, it might not have been built anywhere near Nagano. Given that the levy was raised in Shinano, one might assume that is where the work was conducted. However, there appear to be some suggestions that the castle may have instead been built in the Nara Basin, near modern Kawai, but the information is fairly sparse and I wasn’t able to find any good reasoning behind it, but it is as good as anything else at the moment.
Could this have indicated a desire to strengthen military defenses in Yamato? If so, was there some sort of military threat? Or was it, instead, a projection of more militant authority? Were the fortifications part of some kind of pacification or militarizing effort? Unfortunately, there is not a lot to go on, in terms of actual incidents, but it does nag at me that Wakasazaki was later given the posthumous title of Buretsu, or Martial Merit—perhaps there was more going on than the Chroniclers cared to share.
That said, the possible connection to Baekje and the continent, through this potentially Baekje style fortress, is a theme that continues in the account of Wakasazaki’s reign, as later that year one Otara—or possibly Itarang—of Baekje died and was buried on Takada Hill. This is not a name I could find earlier in the Chronicles, but if they are referencing him, here, it is likely he was a noble or even a member of the royal family—perhaps a prince, like those who had been sent over in past reigns.
If so, then it may have been important because of the events of 502, when the Chronicles tell us that King Donseong of Baekje was deposed and Prince Shima was raised up to be the king known as Muryeong—coincidentally, another ruler from this period whose posthumous title uses the same Bu/Mu character as in Buretsu, meaning brave or martial.
This entry is dated a year later than the same events in the Samguk Sagi, but they appear to generally align. Prince Shima—or Syeoma—by the way was mentioned back in episode 62. His mother, one of King Gaero’s own consorts, had been sent with Lord Kun to attend the Yamato court, but he was born on the journey, his mother giving birth on Kahara island—hence his name: Shima. This story feels quite apocryphal, to me, once again asserting a Yamato role in internal Baekje politics.
The Chronicles then tell us that two years later, in 504, Baekje sent its first emissary to Yamato in some time: possibly since the death of Otara, and possibly earlier. This embassy also was late from the perspective that a new dynasty had come to power and it took them two or more years to reach out to their neighbor and ally. Finally, on top of all that, the emissary they sent, a Lord Mana, was apparently just a regular noble, which was apparently a diplomatic faux pas, as the Yamato Court expected the head of the delegation to be at least someone of royal blood. Yamato decided to hold Mana hostage, and would not let him return until the new King of Baekje went ahead and sent a new envoy, Prince Shika, the following year, in 505. Prince Shika apparently had all the proper bona fides, and it seems that good relations were reestablished.
While in Yamato, Shika would have a son, Peopsa, who apparently stayed on in Yamato and became an ancestor of the Yamato no Kimi.
The following year, in 506, Wakasazaki died in the Namiki palace. He had no heirs, though he had created the Wohatsuse Toneri as a familial group to ensure some legacy. Still, none of them were of royal blood.
And those are the events that probably did happen during this reign, much of them probably coming from the copy of the Baekje annals available to the court, or possibly through family records, such as that of the Yamato no Kimi. The Samguk Sagi, I’d note, doesn’t really have any clear evidence of dealings with the Wa at this time, and are much more focused on intra-penninsular conflicts, once more indicating that Yamato’s direct influence on the continent appears to have waned.
So, after 8 years on the throne, Wakasazaki passed away. We are told that he had no heirs: although the Kojiki makes it sound like he had a brother, that is ignored by our other sources, and in any case all sources agree that there was no heir. The line of Ohosazaki—aka Nintoku Tennou—died out with Wakasazaki, and the royal lineage had to be picked up from somewhere else.
We’ll get to how that happened when we talk about the next sovereign, but I wanted to mention all of this because it may explain why there is so much that doesn’t make sense in this reign, not to mention the bad rap Wakasazaki gets.
And maybe it was deserved. After all, if they put a ten year old child on the throne and he was ruling through his teenage years, dying at the age of 18, what would you expect? If a young person really were given the reins of power, and people did whatever they wanted, then there just might have been some pretty grotesque things done.
On the other hand, Chikafusa goes with the idea that he is much older—taking the throne when he is 50. He then goes on and doesn’t talk about any of the other acts that are said to have taken place, but instead focuses on connecting Wakasazaki’s evil acts with the downfall of Ohosazaki’s lineage.
Before that, though, he quotes from The Spring and Autumn Annals, a classical work, ascribed to Confucius, chronicling the State of Lu from the 8th to 5th century BCE, and often used as a reference to help describe proper statecraft. Chikafusa pulls a quote about how the line of a virtuous sovereign—in this case Ohosazaki, or Nintoku—will last for a hundred generations. And yet, the various histories are replete with examples where lineages and dynasties die out, which is often attributed to a sovereign who lacks virtue.
Chikafusa then recalls Buddhist history in India, where the reign of Ashoka—often depicted as the model Buddhist king—eventually gives way, three generations later, to a ruler who loses the Mauryan dynasty, which is again blamed on a lack of virtue.
And while Kitabatake is of course writing many centuries later—and much of it from his prodigious memory—he’s drawing on the same lessons that the Chroniclers themselves were likely using to judge a sovereign and their virtue. This all hearkens back to the continental concept of the Mandate of Heaven. That is to say that Heaven will bless sovereigns who rule well, but that inept and unjust rulers risk losing the Mandate of Heaven, which will then pass to another dynasty.
That political philosophy contains a rather insidious line of thought, not dissimilar to the idea of the prosperity gospel in the West. The idea that good things will happen if someone is good and bad things will happen if someone is bad. It is a comforting thought, and appeals to our sense of justice, but unfortunately history shows that things don’t tend to work like that. People are complicated, and bad things happen to good people all the time for no particular reason. Likewise, people can acquire power and wealth through less than scrupulous means and get to die in their sleep—sometimes even praised for what they have accomplished.
But to the Chroniclers and later scholars, ideas like the Mandate of Heaven were often seen as a nearly immutable law, and it would not be the first time that facts were tainted through the lens of a supposed universal truth.
Of course, the Sinic philosophical construct of the Mandate of Heaven had to be slightly modified for the archipelago, given the assertion, at least in the 8th century, that the sovereign had to be descended from the original Heavenly grandchild, but it still held for various branches of that family. And so we see that very logic here—Wakasazaki ended the Ohosazaki dynasty because he was evil; and we know Wakasazaki was evil because he was the last of the Ohosazaki dynasty. Similarly, whoever followed must be a descendant of the Heavenly grandchild, in one way or another, regardless of whether there was anything firmly connecting them to that birthright.
Compare all of this to the way that the Chroniclers depicted Ohohatsuse Wakatake. He is clearly seen as mean and cruel, killing his own siblings based on the flimsiest of excuses, and murdering people because they didn’t immediately go along with his suggestions to change things up. And yet, he’s not the death of the dynasty and is actually depicted as leaving things in a pretty good state of affairs, all things considered.
And so let’s keep this all in mind as we go ahead and dive into the depravities that Wakasazaki is said to have committed, though I really do feel like these might be little more than character assassination. They seem to have just been dropped into the records, with not quite one per year.
Speaking of which, this concludes much the family friendly part of this episode—and probably the historically relevant part as well. In the next few episodes I’ll probably take a pause and survey what has been happening in other areas, outside the archipelago.
Also a quick reminder that if this is not your bag, feel free to stop here. None of these episodes really contain anything that you would need for later. So let me pause for those who want to nope out, now.
(Pause)
Still with us? Then let’s go.
So the first thing we find in the Nihon Shoki is in 500, and it is pretty disturbing if true. Traditional dating would say that Wakasazaki was about 12 years old, and we are told that he had a pregnant woman cut open so that he could inspect the womb. Which is just so many levels of not okay.
First, when I read something like this, I have to wonder who was enabling such behavior. It is one thing with grown adult tyrants, who have consolidated their power into absolute rule, but for a 12 year old child that was, until recently, overseen by a regent? Was Ohotomo no Kanamura helping him with this and just indulging his whims? It is easy to simply point to one individual and say it is their fault, but what about all those around them? This is important to realize in any system—rarely is anything accomplished in a vacuum.
That said, this probably never happened. Aston notes that it looks like a similar charge levied against a King of Shang in the Classics. This is an example of how the Chroniclers might pick and choose known stories and place them into the Chronicles, just as they also took various speeches and descriptions and used them elsewhere in the text.
Granted, some of the other entries seem more mundane, but just as likely to be pulled from elsewhere. So in 501 we are told that he plucked out men’s fingernails and then made them dig up yams with their raw, bloody hands—possibly as some kind of criminal punishment, but possibly just to watch them suffer.
Then, in 502, he pulled the hair of men’s heads and made them climb to the tops of trees, which were then cut down so that the men in them died in the fall. In 503, he made men lie down on their faces in the sluice of a dam, so that they would be washed away. As that happened, he stabbed them with a three-bladed lance—perhaps some kind of trident-like thing?
In 505, he again made men climb up into trees. This time, though, he had them shot.
Bentley suggests these may have been in imitation of charges levied against King Dongseong, of Baekje, though reading through the Samguk Sagi’s account there isn’t much mentioned until they reach the end of the reign, where a comment talks about how he ignored any kind of criticism, and he feasted with his nobles in the midst of a terrible drought. Then there were various other signs of disaster, but nothing like what we see in the Nihon Shoki, so I wonder if they are actually related or not. Regardless, it is unclear just where these might have been pulled from.
Finally, there is one last episode that I won’t even recount in full. Essentially it has Wakazaki, in 506, torturing multiple women with sexual violence, for no apparent reason other than his own curiosity as to how they would react. For those who are interested, you can find the full account in the Nihon Shoki, though even Aston chose to translate it into Latin—though that probably has more to do with the fact that it contains direct mentions of female nudity and sexual violence. If you do choose to go looking, just be warned.
But for now, I think this is a rather good stopping point at the moment. It is the end of the Nintoku dynasty at the start of the 6th century. From here we’ll head into the lineage that should take us right through to the end of the Kofun period, but first we might want to quickly discuss what else is happening and provide some context.
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.
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

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7.
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
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3.
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 69: A Deadly Serious Poetry Battle

August 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Modern marker at the traditional site of Wakasazaki’s Namiki palace in Ha(tsu)se. Photo by Takanuka, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

RSS

Archives

This episode we look at Wohatsuse Wakasazaki, known to us as Buretsu (or Muretsu) Tennō (武烈天皇). Tradition holds he was only 10 when he came to the throne, but was he? We’ll tell the stories for now, but keep a critical ear to them. This is a particular turning point in the Chronicles, coming at the same time that we just lost the stories from the Kojiki.

Who’s Who

Wohatsuse Wakasazaki

Heguri no Matori

Current Ōmi (大臣), Descendant (possibly the son or grandson) of Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune, previous Ōmi and son of the legendary Takeuchi no Sukune.

Shibi no Omi

A powerful courtier—either the son of Heguri no Matori no Ōmi or else an ancestor of the Heguri no Omi. The only thing that seems consistent is that he had a crush on the same girl that a soon-to-be-sovereign.

Kage Hime

The daughter of Mononobe no Arakahi. Arakahi was the son of Masara, son of Itabi, at least according to the Sendai Kuji Hongi. There, Arakahi was made Ōmuraji after 534, two reigns after Wakasazaki. He was the son of Masara no Ōmuraji, who was given that title during Wakasazaki’s reign. He in turn was the son of Itabi no Ōmuraji, who was appointed during the reign of Ōke, aka Ninken Tennō, and therefore likely the current Ōmuraji at the beginning of Wakasazaki’s reign. That would seem to have her at quite a young age at the start of Wakasazaki’s reign, but not impossibly so.

Ōtomo no Kanamura

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 69: A Deadly Serious Poetry Battle.
This is going to be a short one. A quick look at the start of the next reign, following up with more next episode. For now we’ll introduce this next sovereign and a touch on his somewhat tumultuous rise to power at rather young age.
First, though, to recap: in the last couple episodes we’ve covered the sovereigns who followed Ohohatsuse Wakatake, aka Yuuryaku Tennou. These included Shiraga, aka Seinei Tennou, Woke, aka Kenzou Tennou, and his elder brother, Ohoke, aka Ninken Tennou. After the elder brother, Ohoke’s, death, there was apparently only one male heir left: Wohatsuse Wakasazaki, who would eventually be given the monicker of Buretsu—or Muretsu—Tennou. As Crown Prince, he was next in line to the throne, but given the description of his reign, I think he may perhaps be the most maligned sovereign in the Chronicles so far. I mean, sure, the description of Wakatake was hardly complimentary, but much of his capricious violence would not seem out of place for a ruler who was likely heavily involved in martial pursuits. Besides, there is also the method by which he rose to the throne, implying he was quite comfortable with violence.
Wakasazaki, on the other hand, is simply depicted as cruel. The account starts with a Chinese passage, lifted directly from an account of Emperor Ming Ti of the Later Han dynasty. As Aston translates it: “When he grew to manhood he was fond of criminal law and well versed in the statutes. He would remain in Court until the sun went down so that hidden wrong was surely penetrated. In deciding cases, he attained to the facts.” The record goes on to add that he also “worked much evil” and never accomplished any good thing. This is also attested to in the Sendai Kuji Hongi, where they use the same language, but then the Nihon Shoki takes it one step further and sprinkles accounts of Wakasazaki’s atrocities throughout the narrative.
John Bentley, in his translation of the Sendai Kuji Hongi suggests that many of these episodes were added in later by the compilers of the Nihon Shoki, likely taken from elsewhere, and possibly borrowing some themes from the rule of a near contemporary in Baekje, King Dongseong, who was eventually overthrown and killed by his own subjects in either 501 or 502.
Was Wakasazaki really so bad? We’ll take a look and by the end of the next episode, maybe you can decide for yourself.
Now, as you may recall from last episode, Wakasazaki’s father, Ohoke no Ohokimi, aka Ninken Tennou, died in 498. None of our primary sources mention Ohoke’s age, though later sources agree that he was 50 years old when he passed away. We do know that 456 is when his father was killed and he and his younger brother went into exile. That was 42 years earlier, and therefore he would have been about 8 years old at the time if he was 50 when he died, so that seems to line up. His younger brother assumed the throne in 484 and passed away in 487, presumably aged 38, making him about 7 at the time, which seems to fit with everything else.
So when was Wakasazaki born, and why do we care? Well, there is no specific date given, but some sources claim that he was 10 years old when came to throne. That seems extremely young, given the stories we have, but not unthinkable—in later centuries there would be even younger children, with crown prince Tokohito invested at the ripe old age of two, becoming known as the unfortunate Antoku Tennou. That was certainly a different time, however.
If Wakasazaki was 10 years old, that would put his birth around 488 or 489, just after his father had come to the throne, himself. He was named Crown Prince in 494, when he was six years old. None of this is too unreasonable, assuming other dates are correct. Likewise I figure it is unlikely he was born before 482, when his father and uncle were brought to the court—or if he was there may be some questions as to why his mother, presumably Kasuga no Ohoiratsume, daughter of Wakatake, would have married a servant in Akashi. So if we assume everything else is correct, he must have been between 10 and 16 years of age when he took the throne—probably on the younger side of that. Since he would only reign for eight years, that begs the question about any quote claiming to describe him when he “came of age”—just what age are we talking about? Granted, people in the past often had different ideas of what constituted adulthood, and many people described as adults would have still been in high school or middle school, today.
Still, he was probably not considered an adult when his father died, and the country of Yamato therefore fell into a kind of Receivership, with the Prime Minister, or Oho-omi, taking the reigns of government.
This Oho-omi we’ve discussed before. His name was Heguri no Matori. The Heguri family claimed descent through Dzuku no Sukune, son of the legendary Takeuchi no Sukune, the first to take the title of Oho-omi. Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune had helped Izaho Wake, aka Richuu Tennou, escape with his life. Later, Heguri no *Matori* had been made Oho-omi in the reign of Ohohatsuse Wakatake, aka Yuuryaku Tennou, who had also given him charge, along with Ohotomo no Muruya, of helping Wakatake’s son, Shiraga, govern the land. See episodes 38, 54, 64, and 65.
And so it is not surprising that he would step up to fill in the gap as regent while young Wakasazaki was still coming of age. We’ve seen regents in the past, though notably in cases where it is a member of the royal family, such as Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tennou. Here, however, Matori’s motives are called out and he is accused of usurping the throne, using his guardianship of Wakasazaki as an excuse and claiming to do things in his name, such as building Wakasazaki a palace and then using it as his own.
And that certainly would not be unheard of throughout history for a regent to take liberties and even do what they could to keep their status, such as forcing them to abdicate in favor of a younger heir to keep the regent in power. But is that what was going on, or was it something else?
Well there is definitely a bigger story, and it is almost entirely in the Nihon Shoki. According to that one source the young Wakasazaki—whom I would remind you is traditionally ten years old—decided that he would marry Kage Hime, daughter of Mononobe no Arakahi—a figure we will here more about in the future, as he was quite prominent in the future. Right now, though, it was likely his grandfather, Itabi, and father, Masara, who were leading the Mononobe, a fact I’ll come back to in a bit.
The problem that Wakasazaki would run into, however, had nothing to do with Kage Hime’s parentage, however, and everything to do with the fact that she was already seeing somebody: Shibi no Omi. Or, more properly, Heguri no Sibi no Omi, son of none other than the prime minister himself, Heguri no Matori no Oho-omi. Given that Matori had been a figure in the upper eschelons of the court since at least the end of Wakatake’s reign, I wonder how old his son was—but I suspect considerably more than 10 years old.
Now the Nihon Shoki claims that this tryst between Kage and Shiba was an illicit affair, though I’m not sure why that would have been except that Wakasazaki desired her. Still, when Wakasazaki sent a middleman to arrange a meeting with her, Kage Hime agreed, apparently too frightened of what might happen if she said no. She agreed to meet with him in a certain street.
Wakasazaki requested that Matori prepare horses for him to head out, and Matori agreed, but then did nothing—presumably because he already knew about Kage Hime and his son, Shibi no Omi. Wakasazaki fumed over the delay, but quietly, and he eventually made his way over to the place of assignation on his own. Once there, he joined the poets who were making up poems on the spot, which was sometimes called an “utagaki”, or poetry hedge.
When Kage Hime showed up, Wakasazaki tugged at the hem of her sleeve to get her attention. He was thinking of nothing in particular—or at least, nothing besides Kage Hime, when someone came between them and pushed young Wakasazaki away. This was none other than Shibi no Omi, son of Matori. Wakasazaki was having none of this, and he apparently recognized Shibi no Omi. He got in Shibi’s face and immediately threw down the proverbial gauntlet in true Ancient Japanese/West Side Story fashion by singing out an impromptu piece of poetry, punning on the name “Shibi”:
しほせの　なをりをみれば　あそびくる
しびがはたでに　つまたてりみゆ
o Of the briny current
The breakers as I view,
By the fin of the tuna
That comes sporting
I see my spouse standing.
With that, Shibi had little recourse but to respond in kind. They went back and forth, trading verses laced with metaphors, puns, and innuendo. They talked about bamboo fences, representing the bridal chamber, as well as great swords, which I imagine referenced something a bit different.
These kinds of poetry competitions were a staple of courtly life from at least the 8th century, and I have no problem believing they go back to at least the 5th, if not earlier. They could simply be friendly games, but they could also make or break a reputation, and in the cutthroat world of courtly politics, reputation was key. Embarassment could severely tarnish one’s standing in court.
As such, these were battles as much as any physical fight. You were expected to respond to your partner’s poems in ways that built on them or even twisted the meaning. There were also well known poetic tropes and memes that one would try to leverage to demonstrate education as well.
As such, the poems here went back and forth between Wakasazaki and Shibi no Omi. Much of it does easily translate into English, but eventually, Shibi made it clear that Kage Hime was his:
おほきみの　みおびのしつはた　むすびたれ　
たれやしひとも　あひおもはなくに
o The great Lord’s
Girdle of Japanese loom
Hangs down in a bow.
Whosoever it may be--
There is no one (but me) whose love she requires.
As realization dawned on Wakasazaki, he realized that the two were already a pair, and he had no more lines. He was at the end of words, so to speak. He blazed out in a rage and left the spot.
With that, Wakasazaki started thinking back on all the little moments where Shibi and his father had slighted him in one way or another. He decided to bring an end to it, once and for all. Wakasazaki headed for the house of Ohotomo no Kanamura no Muraji, where he ordered Kanamura to raise troops and punish Shibi no Omi.
The troops eventually found him—either at Narayama, or possibly at Kage Hime’s house—and put to death the son of possibly the most powerful person in Yamato at that time.
As Kage Hime mourned the loss of her lover, the troops regrouped. Kanamura doubtless knew that they couldn’t just leave Matori in charge of the court—not after killing his son. And so he convinced Wakasazaki to let his men finish the job. He too his men and they surrounded Matori’s house. Once in position, they set fire to it, killing anyone who might try to escape.
With Matori dead, Kanamura then insisted that Wakasazaki formally assume the throne. He agreed, and had a ritual platform built at the Namiki palace, in Hatsuse—modern Hase. He then took Kasuga no Iratsume—and not Kage Hime—as his queen.
Now there is a lot in here to make me wonder. The first is his age. Perhaps if we assume he is more like 16 years old, this makes a bit more sense—ten seems extremely young, even back then. Also, I wonder if Matori was really that treacherous—it seems more like a jealous rage on Wakasazaki’s part that turned deadly, possibly with the help of a rival faction in court, represented by Ohotomo no Kanamura.
What really gets me questioning this, though, is that the Kojiki has almost the exact same story. In that case, though, the protagonist was Woke, aka Kenzou Tennou, the youngest of Ichinobe’s two sons, and the one most known for his poetic capabilities. His opponent, however, is still the same: Shibi no Omi. Except here he is said to be an ancestor of the Heguri no Omi—his exact parentage is not detailed.
Similar to the Nihon Shoki, the two trade poetic barbs over a woman’s hand—with many similar verses, though not in the same order. In this case, however, it is the royal prince, Woke, who comes out on top. He shows off his poetic prowess and gets the girl.
Shibi was powerful, though—not the kind of person you casually piss off. Every afternoon, presumably when the business of court concluded, all of the courtiers would gather at Shibi’s residence, gathering at the gate, probably for a night of drinking, poetry, and who knows what else. Woke and his brother agreed that they would need to strike first, before Shibi could organize against them. So, just as Wakasazaki had done, they gathered troops, surrounded Shibi no Omi’s house, and killed him.
Now, generally speaking, the Nihon Shoki is considered more reliable than the Kojiki. In this case, however, I have to wonder. In both cases the story has a similar feel. The sovereign-to-be has a crush on a girl, and Shibi no Omi, a powerful courtier, stands in the way. After a poetry battle, the sovereign-to-be resorts to military force, which is, itself, apparently justifiable because of who the protagonist is.
So that is the story of the epic poetry battle with Shibi no Omi and its fall-out. Next episode we’ll look more into the actual reign as well as the atrocities that were mentioned in the Nihon Shoki.
Before we leave, however, a quick note on names. First, there is Wakasazaki’s posthumous name of Buretsu or Muretsu Tennou. The reason for the confusion is that the character for “Bu” can be read either as Bu or Mu depending on the word. Buretsu appears to be the more common form. It is also a strange choice, as it seems to translate to something like “martial merit”, and yet I’m not sure there is a lot to commend that particular name to this reign, as we’ll see next episode.
Then there is the name he may have been known by at the time: Wohatsuse Wakasazaki.
The first of those recalls the name of his maternal grandfather, Ohohatsuse Wakatake. Wakatake’s name starts with “Oho” or “Opo”, which means basically “Great” or “Big”, and Hatsuse—indicating where his palace was located. Meanwhile, Wakasazaki’s name uses “wo”, meaning “small”, also paired with Hatsuse, where he, too, had his palace.
The given name, however, while sharing the “Waka” with his grandfather, also contains “Sazaki”, much like “Ohosazaki”, aka Nintoku Tennou—his great, great grandfather. That connection is going to be interesting later, as it appears that Wakasazaki might indeed be the last of Ohosazaki’s line... and that is going to cause some real questions if he can’t father a child before the end of his reign.
Which we will get into next episode, hopefully.
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.
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

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7.
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3.
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

On Succession

Miyake (屯倉) - The Royal Granaries

Rough Transcript

References

Accordion Item 1

References

A Quick Note About Maps…

Ethnic “Wa” and Peninsular Japonic Speakers

T’amna or Tanimura

Yeongsan River Basin and Keyhole Shaped Tombs

Rough Transcript

References

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

Rough Transcript

References

Rough Transcript

References

Rough Transcript

References

Rough Transcript

References

Rough Transcript

References

Who’s Who

Wohatsuse Wakasazaki

Heguri no Matori

Ōtomo no Muruya

Ōtomo no Kanamura

Kudara no Otara (aka Itarang of Baekje)

Donseong of Baekje

Muryeong of Baekje

Early Castles

Rough Transcript

References

Who’s Who

Wohatsuse Wakasazaki

Heguri no Matori

Shibi no Omi

Kage Hime

Ōtomo no Kanamura

Rough Transcript

References