Episode 158: The Reign of Monmu Tennō

November 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

18th century “portrait” of Monmu Tennō. Original in the public domain, downloaded from Wikimedia Commons.

This episode we will be diving in with a quick overview of the reign of Karu, aka Monmu Tennō. And we can't talk about this and future reigns without also talking at least a little bit about Fujiwara no Fuhito, son of Fujiwara no Kamatari, who received exclusive rights to the name "Fujiwara" for himself and his descendants. I'm sure that won't mean much....

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Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 158: The Reign of Monmu Tennō
The young boy stayed quiet as he was led through the ceremony. Despite his ceremonial garb, with an embroidered red robe and an high metal crown, the solemnity with which the rituals were carried out, and the deference with which he was shown by all those present, his youth was still evident.. Whether or not the court nobles felt that this young man would be fit as a ruler, they didn’t let anything show on their faces—especially not with her watching the proceedings.
Though she had stepped down, the so-called “retired” sovereign still held ultimate power and authority—in some ways more than she had before. After all, there was no clear precedent for what she had done. Takara Hime had stepped down in favor of her brother after the Isshi Incident, but that was clearly a shift in power, as one could argue that the real power in the court—the Soga family—was no longer extant. Uno no Sarara may have stepped down, but that didn’t mean she had stepped away. She was ensuring that things would continue smoothly.
During the ceremonies, a well-dressed noble approached. He was a common enough sight to Uno no Sarara and others in the court. He had been a close supporter of the late Crown Prince, Kusakabe, and his star had continued to rise. Even now he had a place working for the grand council of state. His father had been a close confidant of Sarara’s father, and so it was not surprising that Fujiwara no Fuhito had found himself in such illustrious company. Now he arrived with a gift for the newly crowned sovereign. Wrapped in silk cloth, he presented the new sovereign with a sword. Holding it before him as he knelt low, he explained how he had been given the sword by the late Kusakabe to hold in trust until his young son was ready to receive it. Though the moment had come perhaps sooner than expected, he was honored to be able to hand it over and ensure that it found its place at the new tennō’s side.
This episode we are diving into the reign of Karu, aka Monmu Tennō. He was the son of Royal Prince Kusakabe, and the grandson of Uno no Sarara, which is to say Jitō Tennō, and Ōama, or Tenmu Tennō. He was born in 683 and was put on the throne—somewhat hastily, it seems—in 697. Based on that he was only 13-14 years old—15 by traditional Japanese reckoning, which counts someone as being 1 year old—or “in their first year”—when they are born. Regardless, he was considerably younger than most sovereigns. We haven’t yet seen a true “coming of age”, or “genpuku” ceremony, but when we do, it was common to hold it between the ages of 10 and 20, at which time, the individual would be considered a full adult. Nonetheless, it feels like anything earlier than 20 was often done more for pragmatic purposes than anything else.
In this case, Karu was coming to the throne not because of a death, but because his grandmother, Uno no Sarara, was stepping down. Or rather, she was stepping into a different role: that of Dajō-tennō. This is commonly translated as “retired tennō”, or “retired emperor”, but I would note that it literally means “Great Upper Tennō”, which would seem to imply that she was in a position superior to a current, reigning tennō. That reigning tennō, in this case, was Karu, and his grandmother was still present, and, apparently, still helping to run things.
There are some idea that her new title is actually something that was named later—that term wouldn’t show up in the updated law codes that we would see during this reign, so it may have been applied to her in retrospect. Nonetheless, there is plenty to suggest that she continued to have a heavy hand in directing the State, and even after her death, others would continue to have some amount of influence over the throne.
This is going to overlap with some of the things we talked about in Episode 155—there we were looking at the rest of the reign of Uno no Sarara, in her role as Dajō Tennō, and as such, some of this may feel familiar. But now I want to look at some of those things from a slightly different perspective.
A couple of notes on terminology before we dive in.
Up until this point I’ve been rather pointedly using the term “sovereign” or similar terminology to refer the rulers of Yamato. This is largely because the term “tennō”—or, alternatively, “sumera mikoto”—did not exist and was not in use until perhaps the time of Ōama—that is Tenmu Tennō—in the last quarter of the 7th century. Even then, it may not have been truly used until later. However, most scholars seem to agree that by this time, during the reign of Karu, it would have been in use.
I likewise have been avoiding the use of the term “imperial” and “emperor”, at least for sovereigns in the archipelago. “Emperor” has a host of meanings, depending on whom you ask. In Europe, “Emperor” was largely reserved for those claiming a link to the Roman Empire or its successors, such as the Holy Roman Empire. However, as the Holy Roman Empire fell apart, many European nations started claiming their own empires—the Austrian Empire, the British Empire, the Spanish Empire, the German Empire, et cetera. Western scholars also tended to apply the term empire to other large polities, many of which oversaw smaller countries in their orbit. Hence the Empire of India and the Empire of China, among others. Indeed, the Chinese title of “Huangdi”—“Kōtei” in Japanese—has long been translated as “Emperor” and continues to be translated as such, today. This is despite the many differences between how various Chinese dynasties operated when compared to the political system of Rome and Europe.    They were, however, both hereditary monarchies.
If we accept that “Huangdi” is translated as “Emperor”, then it is a very small leap to see how the Japanese court at least expected to use the same term. Ever since that brazen note sent “From the ruler of the land where the sun rises to the ruler of the land where the sun sets”, Yamato’s sovereigns have attempted to claim parity with the rulers of the Middle Kingdom. This was definitely not reciprocated by the mainland dynasties. Nonetheless, the Yamato court had adopted and adapted the rules and laws of the Middle Kingdom’s government. That government was a bureaucracy, centered on a single figure. In the Tang court, that was the Huangdi, the emperor. In Japan it was a figure that would come to be known as the Tennō.
It isn’t entirely clear why the Japanese people chose “tennō” instead of “kōtei” to refer to their ruler. Tennō, or “tian huang” in modern Mandarin, means something like “Heavenly Sovereign”. In Taoism it is used to refer to Tianhuang-Dadi, the supreme deity of the Sky, the North Star. It was used, posthumously, to refer to Tang Gaozong, but it isn’t clear if that had any influence on its use by the Japanese court. At the same time, the Court was emphasizing the tennō as a direct link to the Heavenly Deities, so it isn’t completely out of left-field, but there is no smoking gun document to tell us what was going on in their minds, and why they chose it over the term “kōtei”. However, it is clear that they imagined themselves in a similrly grand positionto the Tang soveeign, from which flowed many of the assumptions about land ownership and more. This was the central tenet supporting the State’s claim to authority outside of the ancient traditions.
All that said, the use of the English term “emperor” as a translation for “Tennō” likely comes from the fact that as Japan was opening up at the end of the Bakufu, in the late 19th century, and entering a world where all the great powers had labelled themselves as Empire, why wouldn’t Japan do the same?
Despite all of this, I think that it is useful to refer to the ruler of Japan as “tennō” where possible, because this term is more precise. “Emperor” may conjure ideas of who they were and what they controlled that go beyond the scope of the position as it was actually encoded into the laws and culture of the time. While I believe “Emperor” and “Empire” may still be used without too many problems, I will likely continue to refer to them by their uniquely Japanese sobriquet.
Speaking of which, the other item of terminology which I want to address is the name “Japan”, or “Nihon”. Up to this point in the narrative, areas where “Nihon” appears to be said seem to be anachronistic, and may have been edits by the Chroniclers. However, by the time of this current reign, it does seem to be the case that the name “Japan” was in regular enough usage that when the ambassadors went to the Tang court, they had to do an entire explanation of the name of their country, as the Tang records still had them listed as the land of “Wa”. Since the Japanese appear to call it “Japan” at this point, it makes sense that we follow suit, with the exception of specific references, such as to the Province of Yamato.
So there you go. If you notice me using new terminology, perhaps this helps explain what is going on.
Now, getting back to the story, let’s roll it back a bit… Back to a time when it was still known mainly as Yamato.
As I already mentioned, Prince Karu was born in 683 to Royal Prince Kusakabe, son of Ōama and Uno no Sarara. His mother was Royal Princess Abe, the daughter of Naka no Ōe, aka Tenji Tennō, and his wife, Mehi no Iratsume, herself the daughter of Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, making her both a half-sister and cousin to Uno no Sarara. Once again, the royal family tree looks more like a narrow pole of intertwining branches than anything else.
Prince Karu would have been in his fourth year when his grandfather, Ōama, passed away. He was likely living with his father’s household in the palace of the Crown Prince at the time, and the several years of mourning for his grandfather would likely have left more of an impression on the young prince than any memories of his grandfather. Then, in his 7th year, Prince Karu lost his father. Prince Kusakabe died, and was unable to ascend the throne. And so his grandmother took over and kept the government on track, silencing dissent and ensuring that the pathway was set for Karu to eventually succeed to the throne. She outlasted Prince Takechi, who may have also had a legitimate claim, had he pressed. But once Prince Takechi died, in 696, things changed. Karu was, at that point, in his 14th year, and we see a flurry of activity. He was given special tutors and formally moved into the palace of the Crown Prince. A year later, Uno no Sarara would abdicate and Karu would come to the throne.
It is speculated that this approach, namely abdication, was done to ensure a clean transition of power. Up to this point, even though sovereigns had often named their heirs, the power vacuum that occurred upon a sovereign’s death was formidable. One solution was for the Crown Prince to be placed in a position of significant power and control prior to taking their place on the throne. For instance, Naka no Ōe had already orchestrated his own position of power, instituting significant changes through the Taika reforms. He seems to have largely already been at the helm when his mother, Takara Hime, passed away AND they were in the middle of a war on the Korean peninsula. As such, he did not appear to have any challengers when he formally took the throne. However, in the case of his own Crown Prince, there is more confusion. He first named his brother, Ōama, as his successor, but when his son, Ōtomo, came of age, he put him in charge of the Dajōkan, the Great Council of State. As the Dajō-daijin, Ōtomo had considerable authority and the support of the Afumi court. Ōama nominally stepped aside as Crown Prince and retired to Yoshino, but after Naka no Ōe’s death, Ōama moved on Ōtomo and the Afumi court, deposing them both and taking the throne for himself.
Ōama and Uno no Sarara both worked to put their own touches on the sinicized style of government that Naka no Ōe had begun, solidifying and centralizing the power of the throne. Ōama had numerous sons and possible heirs, but Uno no Sarara’s concerns were primarily for her own son, Prince Kusakabe. Ōama had tried to ensure a peaceful transition by getting the various princes to swear to support one another. However, as soon as he died, that broke down. Uno no Sarara accused Prince Ōtsu of treason and he was executed, leaving Prince Kusakabe and Prince Takechi. But Takechi, though Ōama’s eldest, had a tenuous link to the throne at best, as his maternal line was not directly connected to the royal lineage of Yamato. That left a clear path for Kusakabe to ascend, but just before he would have done so, Kusakabe passed away, unexpectedly. This left Uno no Sarara in a bind: She could hand the throne over to Prince Takechi, Ōama’s eldest child. However, the throne would likely then pass completely out of the hands of Uno no Sarara and her line, as tenuous as it was. Still, he was still Ōama’s son and, by all accounts, had been hugely helpful to Uno no Sarara in running the country. On the other hand, Kusakabe’s child, young Prince Karu, was only in his 7th year, and mainly in the care of his mother. He was likely unaware of just how precarious a political situation he was in. In fact, he probably saw Prince Takechi as a kindly uncle, and not as a political threat. Still, had something happened to Uno no Sarara, Prince Takechi would likely have taken the throne, and may have been encouraged to ensure that Prince Karu could not challenge him when he came of age.
Fortunately for Karu, this possibility was taken off the table when Takechi himself passed away. This both cleared the way for Uno no Sarara to place her own son on the throne—something that would likely have been awkward with Prince Takechi still in the picture—and created a new sense of urgency. After all, if Uno no Sarara passed away before securing the throne to her line, who knows what might have happened? There was never a surfeit of ambitious nobles and princes ready to fill a vacuum.
And so, though he was young, in 697, Uno no Sarara abdicated so Karu could take the throne. By this point, in his 15th year, he likely had some inkling of what was going on, though how much is hard to say. He was still a teenager. If this were today he probably would have been in Middle School or just entering high school, but in the Fujiwara Capital he was seated on the throne as the Tennō—the Sumera Mikoto. As such, I think it is reasonable to ask just how much autonomy he had in that position and how much he relied on others. Specifically his grandmother, Uno no Sarara, though also his mother, Princess Abe.
It is worth noting that for Karu’s entire life, he had grown up with the Taika reforms having already been made a reality. The vision of the new State that his grandfather, grandmother, and even his great-grandfather had put together was not just some concept—it was the reality in which he had grown up. While older individuals might have memories of how the court used to be, Karu would have been steeped in the new culture from an early age. And in that time he had likely only ever known of one ruler. So she had abdicated, but that doesn’t mean she gave up power.
Karu did have siblings—two sisters. Royal Princess Hidaka was the eldest. She was three years older, and may have known their father and even her grandfather, though how much time she spent with either of them is debatable given the way things worked in the royal household. Royal Princess Kibi seems to have been born in 686, and so was three years younger than Karu, and may not have had much, if any, memory of their father. Both sisters would have had more contact with their mother, Imperial Princess Abe. Neither were likely expected to take the throne, and were probably considered more valuable for their ability to be married off at some later stage in their lives, leveraging marriage politics to further secure the throne for their line. However, that is not to say that they would not have their own impact on the Yamato court, in due time. It is just that, at this juncture, neither was being groomed to take the throne, unlike Prince Karu.
697 and 698 are a flurry of activities related to the ascension of Prince Karu. The abdication and ascension were declared on the first day of the 8th month of the year. Two weeks later we see the first senmyō, or royal edict, of the period. It strikes me as largely propaganda—it reified the authority of the tennō as a living kami and supreme authority, and it exhorted the court officials to obey and enforce the laws of the land. It also halved the field taxes and corvee labor for that year, and exempted tax rice for the next three. These look like quick wins to get the populace on their side. After all, who doesn’t like a tax cut?
Several days later, we see a record announcing Karu’s consorts. These were Miyako, daughter of Fujiwara no Asomi no Fuhito, as chief consort, followed by daughters of Ki no Asomi no Kamado and Ishikawa no Asomi no Toneri. These were all powerful families in the court, but I cannot help but note what appears to be missing—any daughters of other royal princes or sovereigns. It may have just been a matter of availability.
For the first four years of Karu’s reign, he had his grandmother to help guide the State. These early years we see continued expansion, especially into Tsukushi—that is to say, Kyūshū—and the “Southern Islands”—the chain of islands extending down into modern Okinawa and on to Taiwan. These appear to be military and civil ventures—though we don’t get a lot of specifics. We also see an emphasis on control of the provinces, sending out regional inspectors to check on how things were going and to determine rewards and punishments as appropriate. And in 701, which was renamed as the first year of Taihō, we see the creation of a new set of law codes known as the Taihō Codes. This is assumed to be a further refinement of the Asuka-Kiyomihara codes, with updates and additions, no doubt to refine things that had since been put into practice and had been found lacking for one reason or another. The Taihō Codes will probably get their own episode at some point.
In addition to all of that, we see increased contact with Silla and a new embassy to the Tang court. This was the first formal embassy to the Tang since the normalization of diplomatic relations following the war against Baekje in the late 7th century. It would not only re-establish relations with the Tang court, but it would also officially recognize the country of “Wo”, or “Yamato”, as the country known as “Nihon”, or “Japan”.
Finally, in 701, we also see the birth of Prince Obito, Karu’s son. Obito was born to Fujiwara no Miyako, Karu’s “Fujin” or “Chief Consort”. Karu was now in his 19th year, while Miyako was 18.
This had to be considered fortunate. Karu was young, and yet had several years of experience as tennō. He also had a son and possible heir. The nation appeared to be thriving, though there was some discontent at the edges, such as in Southern Kyūshū, where the Hayato and Kuma people were pushing back against the imposition of rule by the central government. There was also the occasional famine in various provinces, and epidemics, all of which the court appears to handle. All told, it was fairly minor.
Unfortunately, in 703, tragedy would strike. Uno no Sarara, the Dajō Tennō and grandmother to Karu, passed away. It must have been a sad time, but by then, Karu was a grown man, a father, and a ruler with some years of experience.    While her passing no doubt impacted the balance of power at court, it was, perhaps, not nearly as impactful as we might imagine had she not abdicated several years earlier. Because of that, there was no great struggle or question of legitimacy. Karu was clearly the Tennō, and there was no reason to think that he wouldn’t have a long and fruitful reign.
Now don’t get me wrong, there is a lot going on at this point, and little things that we will definitely want to talk about. However, when previous translators have said of the Shoku Nihongi that it was “dry as dust” they were probably referring to the myriad accounts of everyday occurrences. Things like lists of names and who took what positions. These are great for helping to understand the court, but they don’t always provide the most exciting narrative. Nonetheless, boring is not bad for a nation that is finally finding itself. Karu does not appear to have been a transformational sovereign as much as he was an institutional one. By that I mean that his rule appears to have continued the trend of his forefathers, with Karu continuing to implement the codes—both the Ritsu and the Ryō—that had been established and to further solidify the position of the central government.
And he might have gone on to do more, had he the time. Unfortunately, fate is fickle, and in the year 707 Karu, the Tennō and ruler of Japan, fell ill and passed away. He was only 25, by the Japanese reckoning.
This must have come as a shock to many. There are no long periods of illness mentioned in the text, though there are various famines and epidemics, as I noted. Still, there would be no reason to think that Karu wouldn’t have lasted another 20 to 30 years. Indeed, he could have been one of the longest serving tennō of all time. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
Not only was Karu only 25 at the end of his reign, his only son and heir, Prince Obito, was only 7. Fortunately, there do not appear to have been any other children of Ōama or Naka no Ōe still kicking about—Prince Osakabe had actually passed away earlier in the reign. However, there were figures like Prince Nagaya. Prince Nagaya was around Karu’s age—possibly a little older. He was the son of Prince Takechi, who had been considered, at least briefly, a viable candidate for the throne. And there were likely others who could similarly pull a claim to the throne if they tried.
And so, it was Karu’s mother, Princess Abe, who stood up and took the throne, claiming it as regent for the young Obito, and yet clearly ascending as a Tennō, nonetheless. She was, after all, a daughter of Naka no Ōe, aka Tenji Tennō, and the wife of the former Crown Prince, Kusakabe, whom some would remember as the “Okanomiya” sovereign even though he never formally served in the position. Abe would later be remembered as Genmei Tennō, and we will talk about her reign in a bit.
As for Karu, he was granted the posthumous name of “Monmu”. “Monmu” is spelled with the characters “Bun” and “Bu” or “Wen” and “Wu”. That is to say the civil and military; the literary and martial. These aspects, combined, were at the heart of good governance, and it continues the trend we’ve seen. From Tenji and Tenmu, the tennō of Heavenly Wisdom and the tennō of Heavenly Martial Virtue, through Jitō—“Continuing the Line”—and now culminating in the Tennō that combines the civil and the military. We can see a deliberate attempt to shape the way people saw these figures in the longer historical narrative. Whether or not it applies—well, that is something you can consider for yourself.
For now, let’s go back and take a look at a couple of notable items from this reign. Of particular interest is Miyako, the daughter of Fujiwara no Asomi no Fuhito and wife to Karu.   Miyako is mentioned as the “Chief Consort”. I would note that she is not mentioned as “Queen”, or “Kōgō”, as other chief consorts were, but rather as “Fujin”.
By all accounts, Fujiwara no Miyako was born in 684, making her a year younger than Karu. Her father was Fujiwara no Fuhito—more on him in a bit—and her mother was from the Kamo family. It is important to remember that, much like the Nihon Shoki, the Shoku Nihongi was compiled well after the events that are mentioned in it. Therefore they had the benefit of knowing how the story ended, as it were. Fujiwara no Miyako would be the only consort to produce an acknowledged heir for Karu; royal prince Obito—the future Shōmu Tennō.
More than that, her father, Fujiwara no Fuhito, would likewise become extremely well-known.
Fujiwara no Fuhito was the son of the famous Fujiwara no Kamatari. Kamatari, you may recall from Episodes 107 through 128, was originally named “Nakatomi no Kamado” and later “Nakatomi no Kamatari”, before being granted the surname “Fujiwara” on his deathbed—or possibly posthumously. During the reigns of Ōama and Uno no Sarara, we see members of the Nakatomi family using the Fujiwara name. Notably we see Fujiwara no Ōshima. Depending on the entry and the occasion, he is sometimes known as Fujiwara and sometimes known as Nakatomi, and appears to have taken over as the head of the Nakatomi clan from Nakatomi no Kane, who had been part of the Afumi court who had fought against Ōama during the Jinshin no Ran. It is unclear if Ōshima’s own political career had been tainted by that association, but he appears to have done well for himself.
The Chronicles don’t tell us much about Fujiwara no Fuhito, but he is thought to have been born in 659 to Nakatomi no Kamatari. He was Kamatari’s second son—his elder brother was the monk Jōe, who famously traveled to the Tang dynasty in 653, before the hostilities broke out on the Korean peninsula. Jōe returned in 665, but died later that same year, and so he and Fuhito, who would have only been in his 7th year, likely knew very little of each other. Likewise, when Kamatari passed away in 669, Fuhito was only 11.   So for all of his father’s power and influence during his life, it is unclear how much of that accrued to the young Fuhito.
We don’t know for sure what Fuhito was doing during the Jinshin no Ran. He would have only been about 14 at the time, and so likely was not part of the fighting. He likewise avoided being lumped in with Nakatomi no Kane and others. There is an account in the Shōsōin attached to a sword in the possession of Shōmu Tennō, that is to say, Obito. It claims that the sword was originally owned by none other than Crown Prince Kusakabe who, before he died, entrusted it to a 30-year-old Fujiwara no Fuhito. At that time, Fuhito was at the lowest rank of the middle tier of official servants—what was later considered “Junior 5th Rank”. Fuhito, who had been appointed a judge, was likely quite expert in the law codes of the time, which may have been, at least in part, how he was recognized. When Karu came to the throne, the documentation in the Shōsōin says that Fuhito gifted him his father’s sword. However, when Karu passed away, Fuhito once again received the sword into his possession to hold it in trust. When Fuhito finally passed away, he had the sword passed to then Crown Prince Obito, who would eventually bequeath it to the Shōsōin at Tōdaiji.
Herman Ooms, in his book, “Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan” notes that this demonstrates Fuhito’s position as “crown protector”, and that it cemented the relationship between Fuhito and Uno no Sarara following Crown Prince Kusakabe’s death. He makes the claim that Fuhito, in holding Kusakabe’s sword, stood in as a kind of protector of the realm while there was no male heir ready to take the throne. In that way, he supported Uno no Sarara, and thus gained favor.
In fact, the first we see of him in the record is in 689, during the reign of Uno no Sarara. He is listed with a series of individuals who were made judges. He would have been about 30 at the time. At some point he was made Chūnagon, or “Middle Counselor”, and later, in 701, to Dainagon, or “Greater Counselor”. So he had made it to the Dajōkan, the Great Council of State, where he would later serve as Minister of the Right, the Udaijin.
Needless to say, Fujiwara no Fuhito, while not yet the most powerful member of the court in 701, certainly saw his star on the rise. Indeed, in the 8th month of 698, before the Dajōsai was carried out—the first fruits of Karu’s reign as Tennō—a royal edict would be issued that would declare that the name of “Fujiwara no Asomi” was to be inherited by Fujiwara no Fuhito, alone, and that all other members of the Nakatomi clan would be known simply as Nakatomi. This edict is why we see some confusion in the records up to this point, since anyone in the Nakatomi uji could claim to be “Fujiwara”. This would be an important ruling in the future, as it marks Fuhito as essentially the founder of the Fujiwara house as we would know it in future generations.
The reasons for this edict have been bandied about and debated. Most likely it seems to be drawing a line between the ceremonial duties of the Nakatomi clan and the administrative duties that Fuhito was taking on, continuing the work of his father, Kamatari, who had helped Naka no Ōe overthrow the Soga and institute the Taika reforms, setting in motion the development of the first true law codes. Fuhito would continue that work, working on the Taihō codes and, at least until his death, working on revisions for the future Yōrō code.
Unfortunately, a lot of this is simply reading between the lines of what we have in the Shoku Nihongi. Even the Tōshikaden, the House Records of the Fujiwara Family, are not much help. They cover Kamatari and Fuhito’s older brother, Jōe, but there is a distinct lacuna when it comes to Fuhito. Instead, the narrative skips over him entirely to his son, Muchimaro. This leaves us with many questions about his early childhood and what had happened. Instead we catch glimpses, at least until the point in the story where he became one of the Dainagon, and is much more active in the narrative.
The other thing we know about are his sons. Fujiwara no Fuhito had four sons: Muchimaro, Fusasaki, Umakai, and Maro, all of whom would become powerful nobles in their own right. A fifth son, Nagako, may have also been slated for greatness, but something seems to have befallen him, as he shows up only once in the record and then disappears. Fuhito also had four daughters, and he would end up marrying off two of them to the Tennō—one to Karu, and one to Obito, Fuhito’s grandson, once he was of age.
Fuhito clearly had ambition and influence—and he must have had a keen understanding of the politics of his time. However, because of his and his family’s later achievements, it is also possible to assume that an even more substantial role was attributed to him by the Chroniclers because, again, they knew how things would eventually turn out. Fuhito would have been downright famous in later centuries, when his house was entrenched as one of the most influential and powerful noble houses.    As such we shouldn’t overlook the myriad other names that grace these histories.
But that is something that will need to wait until a later date. For now, we are going to just go with this brief overview. We can see that Karu’s reign is still substantial—10 years—but also cut unexpectedly short. That will actually bring his own mother, royal princess Abe, into the spotlight. We will also want to keep an eye on the rising influence and power of the Fujiwara family.
And we’ll want to check out what was actually in those law codes, diplomatic relations with the Tang court, and so much more.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Bauer, M. (2020). The History of the Fujiwara House: A Study and Annotated Translation of the Tōshi Kaden. Amsterdam University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781912961191.
Anon. (2005). 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu: The Complete Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai Translation. Dover Publications. ISBN: 978-0486439594.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 157: Slavery, Swords, and Scandal

October 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Straight sword, or “chokutō”, from the 8th century (Nara period). This is the kind of blade that would have been common in the 7th and 8th centuries, and quite different from the curved blade of the *tachi* and then the *katana* in later centuries. Photo by author. Object from the collection of the Tokyo National Museum.

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This episode we are closing out our coverage of the Nihon Shoki with a couple of different topics. We cover various records and edicts on slavery, as well as new laws depicting people as "good" or "base" and how that would impact Japan for centuries to come. We also look at some of the military preparations, including someone who might be one of our first recognized martial artists. And we close out looking at some of the crimes being mentioned, including impersonating an official and what some of the officials themselves were getting up to.

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Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 157: Slavery, Swords, and Scandal

Iwanari stood proud in the center of the market. He had with him the tools of his trade—his bow slung over his back, sword at his side, and a spear in hand. A crowd gathered around to watch as he demonstrated his skills with each. He had already fired off his arrows at a distant target, each one hitting the mark. As he transitioned to his spear, he thrust forward, advancing, and then back and then to the sides. His moves were controlled, practiced, and deadly as he hit the targets set up to demonstrate his accuracy.
Abruptly he dropped the spear, and drew the sword. The long, thin, straight blade gleamed in the light. He demonstrated cuts and thrusts at opponents only he could truly see, once again acting like the center of a whirlwind of sharp metal, attacking to all sides. As he finished, he sheathed the sword and put it down, picking up a wooden one from the ground. He was then attacked from all sides by soldiers who were similarly armed with wooden swords and spears, and Iwanari dealt with each in their turn.
When the dust settled, Iwanari stood triumphant. It was only a demonstration, but the crowd was suitably impressed. A cheer went up from those assembled, and Iwanari, for his part, humbly accepted their praise.

This episode is a bit of a grab-bag: we’ll be bouncing around several different, unrelated topics as we come to the end of the Nihon Shoki. I’ll try to tie them together as best I can, but mainly these are just glimpses into things that I think we should touch on but that may not warrant a full episode at this point. This includes a few points about the court, a discussion of slavery and how that practice was being reconciled with the Tang dynasty concepts of classes of people, military preparations across the archipelago, as well as some rather audacious crimes and the resulting punishments that are noted in the Nihon Shoki. As I said, a lot of little things, so hopefully we can weave this together for you in a way that isn’t too abrupt as we move from topic to topic.
So hold on to your seats as we get started.
We’re going to start with what was going on with the court around this time. Lots of things were still new and changing, and we’ve covered a lot of them in our past episodes. There was a fair amount of work being spent on things like organizing a census, which was supposed to take place every six years, according to the previous regulations. Ministers were also dispatched to the four Home Provinces to ensure the proper distribution of rice-land to the people there.
In the court itself we had updates to the official outfits that people were to wear while on duty at the court. We mentioned that back in episode 150, when we talked about the nobles more broadly. A few months after that sartorial update, the court decided to add another edict that everyone should show up to work already dressed out in their official garments. Previously people had been arriving at the court and getting changed there; in fact, when the Toyosaki Naniwa Palace was built, there was even a specific building for them to change in. At the Asuka-Kiyomihara palace, however, which was significantly smaller, there may not have been that much space, nor places to keep everything. I also imagine that if people were changing at the office then you likely had people in and out of uniform, as it were. It may have just been cleaner to have everyone show up already dressed out.
Speaking of dressing out, while the court costume of the various ranked officials had been specified in the edict, apparently clothing rules needed to be expanded to those people who did not hold rank, but who, nonetheless, had business at court. This included common free people, as well as people who were enslaved, known as “nuhi”. A common person with no rank, would be expected to wear yellow clothing, while an enslaved person would have been required to wear black. Now I’m not sure when an enslaved person would be at court or need official robes, but there you go.
By the way, the term used here for “black” is not the typical character for “koku” or “kuroi”. It appears to be a character that is related to “black” and “acorns”—at least according to the etymology I found online—and it isn’t clear to me if it is black like the pitch black we think of. Since it was notoriously difficult to get a deep, lasting black dye for a reasonable price in ancient times, a true, deep black was often something reserved for lacquered items and elites. That makes me wonder if this dark clothing for enslaved people wouldn’t have been more like a dark brown type of black, instead. Regardless, it seems like something that probably didn’t come up all that often, but they did have a rule for it.
That brings up the topic of slavery in the archipelago, which was still very much a thing. We’ve talked about slavery in the past, and how people came to be enslaved. In many cases it appears that people were forced into servitude because they were captured in war. We have early accounts of “Saheki”, who appear to be one of the groups associated with the Emishi and brought back to work the land in Yamato and elsewhere, where they were organized into the “Sahekibe” and put under the charge of a family called “Saheki”, who claimed to be related to the Ohotomo. Eventually, those forced into servitude would become just another one of the families in Yamato and, later, Japan.
We also see accounts of how people from the mainland, captured in war or in raids on the Korean peninsula, were brought back and put to work in the fields. If they were particularly talented, however, they could work their way to more prestigious positions where they would actually be granted court rank and more.
Given all of this, the majority of people in enslavement appear to have been other Japanese who were enslaved for a variety of reasons. I don’t think I can emphasize enough that there was no difference between enslaved and enslavers other than their status in society.
One example of this is that besides being captured in war, a common means of being enslaved was by being sold, often by a family member with authority over the person being sold, though in later centuries we also see people selling themselves to raise money for their family, which was likely happening in this era as well. We are given specific examples of a younger brother being sold into slavery by his elder brother or a child being sold by their parents. One could also be forced into slavery to pay off interest on a debt. And children of enslaved people were also enslaved—even if one of the parents was free. Enslaved people could be gifted and sold, and they were clearly marked out from the rest of society.

There were ways for an enslaved person to be freed, as evidenced by the edicts. For example, one edict mentions that if an enslaved person was manumitted—that is, freed—and removed from the house register as an enslaved person, they could not then be enslaved again by that same house. I would note that there does seem a loophole that they could still find themselves in service to another house or institution, but that would probably have required a transgression, whereas, without this law, the family that had freed them could likely find an excuse to enslave them again through manufactured debt or something similar. This may also have had something to do with the fact that only free people counted towards the census for tax purposes. I could see where someone might try to convert everyone to “slave” status—at least on paper—to lower their effective tax rate.
I don’t know that we have good numbers for how many enslaved people there were in the archipelago at this time, but we get a glimpse in 689, when Shimotsukenu no Ason no Komaro petitioned for some 600 enslaved persons to be set free.   I think it is fair to assume that these were people that were in slavery in Shimotsukenu, aka Shimozuke, out towards the frontier. Silla and Goguryeo immigrants had been settled there, but it was also adjacent to former Emishi territory, and so I suspect more than a few Emishi had ended up enslaved in Shimozuke, with their children and children’s children also falling under the same system. We aren’t told Komaro’s motives. Was he against slavery, and were these all the enslaved people in Shimozuke? Or were these people who were specifically in service to him or to the State more broadly? Was this some kind of attempt to make merit? None of that background is given, only that he petitioned for their release and it was granted.
In addition to the freeing of enslaved people through petition, we also see, in 691, an attempt to clarify the position of people in this class in relationship to the law of the time. Months earlier, a census had been ordered, and it is likely that there were some questions around how to classify people in a non-free status. An enslaved person was more properly referred to as “nuhi”, but there were various other levels of servitude and class distinction. The edict specifically notes that people should be considered “free” or “bond” for census purposes based on the conditions that put them in servitude. This may be more appropriately labeled as “good” and “shunned” or even “base” individuals, but one’s status in the census would come to have important ramifications as Yamato adopted a legal caste system from the Tang dynasty codes.
You see, the Tang dynasty had slavery, and they classified slaves with a larger group of people considered to be “shunned”, “lowly”, or “base”. The word in modern Mandarin is “Jianmin”—“senmin” in Japanese. All other individuals were known as “liangmin”, or “ryōmin”, which literally meant the “good” people. This created a dual-caste system that scholars refer to as the Liangjian or Ryōsen system; the system of the “good” and “lowly”
Bentley notes that in the “Ryō no Shūge” commentary on the Yōrō Ritsuryō code there are descriptions that show us who was in each group, and those groups largely mirror the Tang codes with some minor exceptions.
There were effectively four types of ryōmin or good people, largely following the Confucian model. This included:
•             Kanjin - Government officials
•             Kōmin - Commoner citizens
•             Shinabe – Professionals and tradesmen with skills relevant to courtly functions
Zakko – Other tradesmen, including those dealing in military matters, who were considered lower than the others.
Then there were five divisions of “lowly”, or “senmin”, individuals:
•             Ryōko - Grave guards or caretakers – those posted at kofun and the like.
•             Kanko – Servants bonded to a government office or ministry
•             Kenin – Servants bonded to a high level household, including the palace.
•             Kunuhi – Public slaves—enslaved people who otherwise served the State.
•             Shinuhi - Private slaves—individuals who were enslaved by private houses and individuals
These were the goseki no sen, also called just “gosen”—the five types of senmin.
Now this is where it was going as the laws were revised over the next several decades. I don’t know that these categories were quite in effect in the 690s, but it is how things were set up according to the Yōrō Code, which was compiled in 718 and distributed in 757. So we can see where things were going.
This legal framework places all of the senmin as effectively outcastes, while ryōmin were the ones for whom the system was designed. Ryōmin and Senmin could not intermarry, in most cases, so this created a permanent, hereditary underclass of people who were unequal under the law. It also connected idea of senmin to indigenous concepts of kegare, or pollution. For example, making those who were forced to guard the royal tombs “senmin” likely was because of the association with death. Later that would translate to various occupations, such as those who performed work like tanning animal hides.
The ryō-sen laws would remain for several centuries before they largely became irrelevant with many of those in the “bonded” or “shunned” category being recategorized as “free”. There weren’t really grave guards anymore, and many servants were reclassified as free people. Slaves still existed, however—both for financial issues, like failing to pay a debt or even selling oneself into slavery for their family; and as a punishment for various crimes. Legal slavery would continue until the late 16th century, and even then it was largely abolished to prevent Japanese from being sold to European merchants. There would still be forms of indenture that were little different than slavery as well as classes of people who were shunned by society. Outcasts—either because of their profession, parentage, or because they had committed certain crimes—would continue to exist in the archipelago. They were called by derogatory terms such as “eta” and “hinin”, and would often be forced to live in their own separate hamlet or village, also known as a “buraku”. Even when the legal status of Eta and Hinin was abolished, people from these districts—these “burakumin”—would face heavy discrimination in Japanese society into modern times. A lot has been done to try and remove the stigma of coming from a buraku family, but the issue persists, even to this day.
As for the 691 edict, the rules were something like this: If someone was sold into slavery by their elder sibling—i.e. if a younger brother was sold into slavery by his older brother—then that person, the younger brother, in this case, would still be classed with “good” people—the ryōmin. If the person had been sold by their parents, however, then that person was classed as “shunned” or “lowly”—senmin.    If someone was enslaved to pay off a debt, they were also to be classed as “ryōmin” for purposes of the census, along with any children that they might have had, even if the other parent was enslaved. It appears that there were certain types of slavery that were considered more of a temporary status, which could explain why, in those cases, one might be classified as “ryōmin”. For instance, if you are enslaved for failure to pay off a debt, then once your debt is paid you would be free. In the case of an older brother selling a younger brother, there likely were similar restrictions on the kind of enslavement that was involved.
Aston translates all of the “senmin” as slaves, but Bentley notes that there was a distinction. Enslaved people were treated as property and they did not actually count towards the census. Meanwhile, it would seem that those who were not counted as slaves did count for the census, and could likely be offered up for military or corvee labor service, as well.
And since we are talking about military service, let’s move on to our third topic of the episode, and take a look at some of the military and martial notes from this reign. For the most part, this was not a particularly notable time from a military perspective. There were no major campaigns in the archipelago to speak of—both the Emishi and the Hayato seem to largely have been at peace with the Yamato State at this point. Furthermore, the situation on the Korean peninsula had calmed down and diplomatic relations had been re-established. So there wasn’t a lot that happened in terms of battles—the country was largely at peace—but that didn’t mean that they weren’t staying prepared. There were still fortresses to man, drills to run, etc.
A lot of the records here are not very sensational, and just demonstrate the day to day of the State. Orders were given to the local governors to update the populace registers, as mentioned, but also to arrest vagabonds and to institute proper military training.
The people of the Japanese archipelago were not strangers to fighting, and you still had individuals who had fought in the Jinshin no Ran not more than 30 years prior. It does appear, however, that there were attempts to reform the way the conscript army worked.
For one thing, it wasn’t just about calling up everyone you could. Instead, individuals who were considered fit for military service in the provinces were divided up into four different groups. At any given time, only one of the four groups would be training, with the rest presumably serving their time. Several years after that was set up we see that specific military instructors were sent out to the provinces to give instructions and training.
In addition, they instituted regular inspections of the arms that everyone was supposed to keep, starting with Princes of the Blood on down. Since conscript soldiers were expected to show up with weapons provided by their household, it wasn’t enough to just keep an eye on what the State had available. Even elite members of the court were expected to maintain their weapons and armor, following the Confucian idea that men of noble birth should have both civil and martial duties and skills. Those in the upper most ranks were to maintain a suit of armor, a sword, a bow, a set of arrows, a wrist-guard, and a saddle-horse. Those of lower rank were similar, but they would not have been required to maintain armor or a horse. After all, armor and horses were expensive. I would note that it doesn’t say you couldn’t have those things, but they were simply not required of the lower ranks of nobility. This is not all that different from other cultures, where it was customary for individuals to bring their own weapons and armor.
Of course, just because you had the weapons didn’t mean that you knew how to use them. We do have one individual, whoever, who was specifically called out for his martial skill. His name was Takata no Obito no Ihanari, and we got a glimpse of him at the top of this episode: he is said to have been proficient in the use of the three weapons, which would mean the bow, the sword, and the spear. Of these, the spear was probably the one that would have been issued by the government—after all, putting a pointy piece of metal on the end of a long stick was probably not nearly as expensive as everything else. While we have plenty of people whose martial deeds are noted in previous entries, outside of wrestling and the purported origin story for sumō, this may be the first example we really have of someone being recognized specifically for their skill with weapons.
Unfortunately the only record we have of Ihanari is him getting recognized—apparently in the middle of the market, possibly meaning the middle of the town or city. Still, it isn’t at court, so that seems a bit odd. The recognition came as various presents that he was given as a reward for his skills. Of course, we don’t know how exactly those skills were demonstrated. There were no “schools” of martial arts that we know of from that time. The idea of a particular “ryūha” or “ryūgi”—a style or school—of swordsmanship or martial prowess was still a ways off.
We aren’t exactly sure how people trained, though it was likely similar to how people trained all over the world—through a combination of basic techniques, general physical training, and sparring with blunted weapons. Archery at least could be practiced through hunting. Sword and spear would require a bit more. As for how someone would demonstrate such skill, who knows? Perhaps it was all done in training sessions, though perhaps there were also demonstrations, much like people would come to watch horse racing, archery, and wrestling competitions. We really just don’t have any way to know. I took some license to speculate what a demonstration could look like, but the truth is we just don’t know.
Now along with the attention paid to weapons and how they were used, there were also continued inspections of the various defenses, including Takayasu castle, which appears to have been the Nara Basin’s primary defensive site. It would have seen any fleets coming across the Seto Inland Sea, and it was on the mountain ridge between Kawachi and Yamato. That said, it was likely that many of the castles that had been built in the 7th century were already starting to see a decrease in the amount of attention that they received; there were much more pressing issues that could use those funds and labor, like building the new capital.
Another thing that required funding was the maintenance of the old kofun and various misasagi. Eighteen noble houses were required to deliver records to the court about the various tombs of their ancestors. This was probably a list of where those tombs were, who was said to be buried there, etc. The list of houses that were required to do this included some of the most influential families in the Yamato court. We have the Ohomiwa, the Sazaibe, the Isonokami (aka the Mononobe), the Fujiwara (aka Nakatomi, at least for now), the Ishikawa (also known as Soga), the Kose, the Kashiwadebe, the Kasuga, the Kamitsukenu, the Ohotomo, the Ki, the Abe (also known as Fuse), the Saheki, the Uneme, the Hodzumi, the Adzumi, the Heguri, and the Hata.
A couple of months after these families were required to turn in their records, another decree was issued, this one having to do with the households that were designated for maintenance. For a tomb, or misasagi, of a former sovereign, there were to be five households assigned to take care of it. For others, such as princes of particular merit, then only three households would be assigned. If the houses themselves couldn’t properly take care of the tomb, then peasants could be drafted through corvee labor, who would work on the tombs in three year shifts.
Considering the number of tombs at this point, that seems like it must have been a lot of households dedicated to this work. It isn’t clear to me how much of the household’s work was in labor and how much it was about paying the stipends of the grave guards and caretakers, so they had a budget to work with. Also, I don’t know that the caretakers had yet been relegated to the senmin status. All of that would come later as the court continued to move away from kofun towards new traditions, such as memorial temples.
Now we’ve talked a lot about all of these various decrees that were issued and how things were changing. New laws and new ways of doing things were being implemented, and one can be pretty sure that they weren’t all instituted properly. There was also a lot of opportunity for something to go amiss—either purposefully or just because people didn’t understand everything that was asked of them.
Which brings us to the question of where we are with laws and punishments; putting the “ritsu” and “ryō” into the Ritsuryō period. We’ve already seen some indications of how they were dealing with crime. We talked about Law and Order under Ōama, aka Tenmu Tennō, back in episode 145. We discussed the types of punishments and how they could be mitigated through royal amnesty. In Uno no Sarara’s reign, we similarly see amnesties being issued, presumably tied to attempts to make merit for the Yamato state for one reason or another.
So what kinds of shenanigans were people getting up to, now?
Well, last episode we briefly discussed the prohibition on Sugoroku—that is to say, backgammon—likely not so much because of the game but because of the gambling that accompanied it. But that wasn’t really a specific case of anything.
There is, however, the case of Kashiwahara—or possibly just Kashiwara—no Hiroyama. We honestly don’t know much about him. His name appears to be a combination of locatives—“the field of the oaks” and “wide mountain”. Indeed, “Field of Oaks”—pronounced as “Kahiwara”—is a city district of modern Ohosaka prefecture, located where the Yamato River exits the Nara basin. We are told that he was from the Shibukawa district of the land of Kawachi. We know that the Shibukawa district—at least in the 10th century, when the Engi Shiki was written—encompassed shrines that indicate it was part of modern Yao and Higashi-ōsaka districts, just to the northwest of Kashiwara city. We aren’t given any indication of his rank or kabane, though I suspect that the Kashiwabara family were locals from around the area that we know of today as Kashiwara. There may be a connection with the Mononobe, but that seems tentative at best.
For whatever reason, it seems that Hiroyama may have sought a government position, but does not appear to have had one. Or perhaps he had one but wanted something better. Or maybe something else was going on in his life—the Chronicles, as usual, are short on details. Whatever the reason, Hiroyama decided that his best course of action was to impersonate one of the palace guards.
What possessed him to do such a thing or how long he was able to do it is unclear, but we can speculate on why he would have wanted that position. The palace guards, known as the Hyōe-fu, or the “Tsuwamono no Toneri no Tsukasa”, were a great entry level position in the government—we talked about the “toneri” position back in episode 134. At least in later years, the palace guard positions would often go to the sons of provincial elites—folks like governors and the kuni-no-miyatsukko. The job would provide experience with the workings of the capital and the court, providing valuable experience for those selected. That experience would often be parlayed into important positions when they returned home.
Alternatively, an ambitious and hard-working toneri could get noticed at court. Then they might be selected for a more senior position in the palace guards or even elsewhere in the government, leading to the potential for a more prestigious position within the court itself. Essentially these jobs were stepping stones—the paid internships of the Yamato court.
There were also plenty of these positions to go around. These would become common positions for the sons of provincial warriors in later periods, and as the power and prestige of the court waned in favor of military government, many people would appropriate the titles to use in common names. Thus you get names like “Yohee”, “Gonbee”, or “Kitchibee”, where a head character—“Yo”, “Gon”, or “Kitchi” in these examples—is prepended to the characters for “Hyōe”, which were then just read as “hee” or “bee”. So this title continues to show up frequently, whether as the actual title or a name element, right up into modern times.
Given this background, I think it is easy to see why Hiroyama was looking to sneak into a position. For one thing, nobody would think twice about why they didn’t recognize him, as there were likely many new faces joining the ranks from the provincial elites. Furthermore, if he did well enough, and wasn’t found out, perhaps he could impress someone into giving him a real job. Even without that, he would have a stipend from the government for a time and experience that he could carry with him whenever he did leave.
All that said, I imagine that pulling off such a ruse would take more than just slick talk. The government bureaucracy was improving, and records were being kept in written form. That would make it more difficult to just slide into the ranks without anyone noticing. And, as you may have guessed from the fact that we know about what he did, somebody noticed. That somebody was Mibube no Muraji no Tora.
Unlike Hiroyama, Tora, whose name means “tiger”, was an actual member of the palace guards. We don’t know how he found Hiroyama out. Maybe he just didn’t recognize Hiroyama—or perhaps Hiroyama’s outfit or something else screamed counterfeit. It could be that Hiroyama let something slip and it made its way to Tora. Whatever the circumstances, Tora realized that Hiroyama was a fake and he made the arrest himself.
When the whole scheme came to light, Hiroyama was punished with banishment to the land of Tosa, on the Pacific coast side of Shikoku, far from the court and any hopes he might have had of making it big. Tora, for his part, was granted the rank of Tsuikwosan—the third “broad” rank of the Tsui category, which was still towards the lower end of the court hierarchy. Nonetheless, it does look like the whole Tsuwamono no Toneri thing was working out for Tora, at least.
Hiroyama didn’t exactly rise through the ranks of the court, and his punishment was pretty severe. Let’s compare that, however, with another crime that was discovered—this time by a verified office-holder.
Ohotomo no Wobito was the Uchi no Kura no Tsukasa no Jō – which was something like the assistant Minister of the Inner Storehouse—i.e. the treasury. He was effectively the third person down the hierarchical ladder from the Minister—Tsukasa no Kami—and vice minister—Tsukasa no Suke. In the later, numerical rank system this would be a job for a Junior Upper 7th Ranked individual—that was out of a system of 9 ranks, each divided into two to four sub-levels. So it wasn’t the highest position in the government, but it was part of an important post, since the inner storehouse would have dealt with the State’s finances.
Wobito may have gotten the position through the influence of his father, believed to be Ohotomo no Makuda. Makuda had been an official in the Afumi court under Naka no Ōe, but when Ōama left the court and Naka no Ōe passed away, Makuda and his brother both left the court to support Ōama. Makuda’s actions in the ensuing conflagration of the Jinshin no Ran earned him recognition from Ōama’s court, including a posthumous promotion in rank when he passed away in 683. Wobito likely earned his start in the government with his father’s help. He would have probably entered service as a toneri and had worked his way up to his current position in 693.
We also know that Wobito had at least two clerks that he worked with, named Okisome no Ohoku and Uno no Ohotomo. “Clerk” here is specifically “Ten’yaku” or “Kagi no Tsukasa”, referring to one of the lowest ranked officials under the Naka no Matsurigoto no Tsukasa, the Central Ministry. Okisome no Ohoku may be the same Okisome who traveled to the Tang court almost forty years earlier, in 654, though the given name was spelled differently, it seems to be generally assumed they were the same person. We do know that he was present during the Jinshin no Ran, and that he supported Ōama in that conflict, possibly working alongside Wobito’s father.
We have less information about Ohoku’s colleague, Uno no Ohotomo. An interesting note is that his apparent given name matches the surname of the assistant manager, Ohotomo no Wobito, while we have no record of anyone else with the family name of “Uno”. It isn’t even the same as Uno no Sarara, and some have suggested that it may pertain to someone of Silla or Baekje descent.
Finally, to round out the actors in the current drama, we have Kose no Muraharu, an auditor, or kenmotsu. Much like Uno no Ohotomo, this is the first time we see Muraharu’s name in the record, though it won’t be the last, and it isn’t clear what he had been doing prior to this. As an auditor, we can assume his job was to review the work that was going on in the government offices and make sure that everything was being done according to policy and above-board.
These four men were all convicted, to various degrees, of participating in what Aston translates as “dishonest practices”. Given that everything was focused on Ohotomo no Wobito, who worked at the Inner Storehouse, it is generally assumed that there was some kind of embezzlement or similar scheme to misappropriate government funds for private benefit. Wobito would get the most serious punishment—he was reduced two grades in rank and dismissed from his post. Okisome no Ohoku and Uno no Ohotomo were both reduced 1 grade in rank and dismissed, also for the charge of “dishonest practices”, presumably in conjunction with whatever was going on. In contrast, we are told that Muraharu had gained no personal advantage and yet he was privy to the theft and let it happen, so he was reduced by two grades and dismissed, just like Wobito.
By all accounts this feels pretty serious. Honestly, it seems more serious than impersonating a palace guard, to me. This seems to be outright theft from the State coffers—which means from the sovereign’s own fund. I suspect that there was some kind of laundering that they were trying to do with the money—the clerks were likely in a position to provide some amount of official cover for whatever Wobito was doing, which he was presumably cutting them in on.
The outlier is Muraharu, who wasn’t directly involved. Still, as the auditor, he either knew or should have known what was happening. Since he allowed it to happen on his watch, that was apparently enough to deserve punishment similar to what Wobito himself received.
Reduction in rank was pretty severe. It would have meant a decrease in the stipend that a person received, and potentially decreased the size of house they were allowed in the capital, once it was built. That said, I would point out that this wasn’t exile. Indeed, both Wobito and Muraharu would go on to have fairly lengthy and distinguished careers in the court, so even though they were accused and found guilty, it wasn’t like that was the end for them, surprisingly enough.
And here we see some of the uneven nature of laws and punishments in the archipelago. A relative nobody impersonates a palace guard—a fairly low position—and they are exiled to Tosa. They likely didn’t really have a grade to be stripped, though their family may have been at least a “muraji” level family, so they would have had some standing. Meanwhile, a noble from a relatively well positioned family, who likely had political connections, is accused of theft and they are reduced two grades and stripped of their immediate authority, but it is clear that they could make their way back into the political system. It is possible that Hiroyama had this chance as well, and just never made anything of it. Amnesties were fairly regular occurrences, often mitigating all but the most serious punishments.
Wobito, indeed, would continue working for the state. We know that at some point in the decade after 693, he achieved the rank of Lower Junior 5th rank, which was actually two ranks above the position where he had been let go for his “dishonest practices”. By 703 he was the governor of Yamato. Five years later, he would later become the head of the capital guards—the Emonfu no Kami, where he appears to have been promoted in 713 to Upper Senior 5th rank and then Lower Junior 4th rank. In 717 he took the position as governor of Nagato. All in all, not bad for someone who apparently screwed up in his early career.
Banishment, demotion, and loss of one’s career were bad, but things could be worse. There was imprisonment, there were levels of banishment, and there was the death penalty. And there was also the possibility of being enslaved. Still, it does seem that one’s position in society had a great deal to do with what kind of punishment someone might receive—which perhaps really tells us that what we often see in today’s world, where it often seems that wealthy people can literally get away with murder, isn’t so different from ancient times, after all.
And on that cheerful note, I think we’ll leave it there for now. This largely closes out the reign of Uno no Sarara. There are a few other events, but mostly they will be better spoken of in connection with events that are coming up. So I think I’ll just hold on to those, for now.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please 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 reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Hansson, A. (08 Nov. 2021). Chinese Outcasts. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004487963
Anon. (2005). 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu: The Complete Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai Translation. Dover Publications. ISBN: 978-0486439594.
Nelson, T. (2004). Slavery in Medieval Japan. Monumenta Nipponica, 59(4), 463–492. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25066328
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 156: Ancient Pastimes of the Yamato Court

October 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Replicas of game boards (igo and bansugoroku) and wool felt “carpet” found in the Shōsōin at the 1300 year anniversary exhibit at the Heijō palace site. Photo by author.

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New Video Option

As you may be able to see, we have a new way to listen—or watch—the podcast. We have been uploading audio to YouTube for some time, and that will continue, but we will also have SDCJ-Live episodes. This is mostly just going to be me speaking into a camera, though we will see where we can go with the medium over time, as our editing skills get better. You should never need to go to YouTube, however—everything will still be geared towards the audio version of the podcast, available wherever you can find it, as well as ad free and early on Patreon. Expect SDCJ-Live to release on the same schedule as the regular podcast, as well. Comments? Shoot us a note.

Board Games

We talk a lot about board games in this episode. They were quite popular in Yamato and on the mainland. We cover some of the roots of a few of the most famous and well-known types of games, as well as a precursor that may have never made it across, but whose presence still was felt in various ways.

Liubo 六博

Carving of two men playing liubo

Han Dynasty. From the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author.

Carving of two men playing liubo

Han Dynasty. From the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author.

Carving of two men playing liubo

Han Dynasty. From the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author.

Two figures playing liubo

Han dynasty. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by author.

Two figures playing liubo

Han Dynasty. From the British Museum. Photo by author.

Model liubo board

Han dynasty. From the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by author.

TLV Mirror

You can see the “T”, “L”, and “V” shapes that match what we see on what we now know are liubo boards. Han Dynasty. From the Beijing Palace Museum. Photo by author.

This is one of the older board games in Asia, possibly older than weiqi, (or “go”) and seems to have been quite popular up to the Han dynasty. Weiqi seems to have eventually taken over in terms of popularity, and liubo declined such that it is no longer played. Not only that, but we do not exactly have a clear idea of the rules. We have various descriptions of the game in poetry and similar, but nothing that clearly tells us how the game was played. In actuality, it may have had different rules depending on where and when you are talking about, but the game board itself and the pieces seem to be somewhat consistent, at least in what we see in the Han Dynasty.

Weiqi 囲碁

Weiqi is what we know in Japanese a “igo” or just “go”. It is played on a cross-hatch board with stones, usually black and white. Players take turns placing stones on the board in an attempt to capture territory.

You can read more about it here.

Sugoroku 双六・雙六

Today, this refers to a variety of games played with a pair of dice, hence the name. In the old days it was known as suguroku, and today it is often divided up into e-sugoroku (絵双六 - Picture Sugoroku) or ban-sugoroku (盤双六 - Board Sugoroku). Ban-sugoroku could refer to anything using a solid board but most often refers to the game we know in the west as Backgammon.

We have more, including how to play, here.

Shōgi 将棋

This game is a variant of chess. The pieces are typically flat and made of wood, usually in the shape of an elongated pentagon so that you can clearly see the direction it is pointed in, which is important to know which player owns the piece. Instead of the pieces being different shapes, as in other chess variants, each piece has a character indicating what it is, with most pieces having a character on the reverse side in case it gets “promoted”. This is a feature similar to xiangqi, another chess variant found on the mainland. However, in xiangqi the pieces are clearly marked—through color or through the use of different characters—as to which side they belong to. Shōgi has a unique rule, however.

In shōgi, when a piece is captured by the opponent it can be put in play on their side. They simply turn the piece around so that it is facing in the opposite direction, placing it in any legal square of the board as their move. So capturing pieces isn’t just about depleting your rival’s forces, but also about strengthening your own. This can lead to different tactical considerations compared to modern chess.

For more on shōgi, check out this page.

Ohajiki 御弾き

Ohajiki is a game similar to marbles. Today it uses flattened round glass pieces, though it may have used stones or similar pieces, originally. It is similar to marbles, and there are several boards in the Shōsōin that are thought to have been used for this or a similar game.

Poetry

Kaifūsō 懐風藻

Our oldest collection of Japanese court poetry. Specifically, this is poetry in the Sinitic style—more commonly called Classical Chinese Poetry, or kanshi (漢詩), in Japanese. It was completed in 751 CE, and includes poets’ names and information about them and the poems that we’ve already used in talking about figures like Prince Ōtomo, aka Kōbun Tennō, who took the reins of government after his father, Naka no Ōe (Tenji Tennō) passed away, only to perish in the ensuing conflict with his uncle, Ōama (Temmu Tennō). Compared to the official record in the Nihon Shoki, the Kaifūsō is much more sympathetic to Ōtomo, suggesting that the Nihon Shoki account may be more than a little biased.

Many of the kanshi poems were based on the number of kanji, or Sinitic characters, that they used. Pronounced in what we often know as Early Middle Chinese, these would have generally been one syllable per character, though in the on’yomi used in Japan, the syllable count often cannot be maintained. Even in modern Chinese dialects, the rhymes may not match up due to changes in pronunciation, but there are rhyming dictionaries which can help which also help us to better understand how at least some speakers of Early Middle Chinese likely pronounced things.

Man’yōshū 万葉集

In contrast to the Kaifūsō, the Man’yōshū is a collection of Japanese poetry, collectively known as waka (和歌). Waka is made up of “Wa” for Japan, and “Ka”, meaning “to sing”. Whereas kanshi are written in classical Sinitic, waka are meant to be read in Japanese. Since Japanese has particles and conjugations that just don’t exist in classical Sinitic, they needed ways of representing those. And since the specific sounds were also important, those likewise needed to be made clear.

The answer that they arrived at was to use a combination of various methods. Some words and phrases could be written in Sinitic characters and then read in Japanese—either on’yomi or kun’yomi readings, depending on what makes sense. Other times, the characters were used for their sound rather than their meaning. This is what we refer to as “man’yōgana”, or “man’yō characters”, though we see it in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki, well before the Man’yōshū was completed. On occasion one sees that the same word and sounds can be represented differently, even in the same poem.

The Man’yōshū could not have been finished before 759, as that is the date on the most recent poem listed in the collection. It spans some 20 books and contains over 4500 poems. Poems are often listed with their book and poem number to identify which ones they are. Below are the poems we referenced in this episode. I’m using the Man’yōhakka (万葉百科) from the Nara Prefectural Man’yō Cultural Center for the original text and pronunciation guides, though line breaks are my own—in many cases these are presented as just a string of characters and it isn’t always easy to determine where it is supposed to break:

巻1-1　Yūryaku Tennō

籠毛與　美籠母乳
布久思毛與　美夫君志持
此岳尒　菜採須兒
家吉閑　名告沙根
虚見津　山跡乃國者
押奈戸手　吾許曽居
師吉名倍手　吾己曽座
我許曽者告目
家呼毛名雄母

こもよ　みこもち
ふくしもよ　みぶくしもち
このをかに　なつますこ
いへきかな　なのらさね
そらみつ　やまとのくには
おしなべて　われこそをれ
しきなべて　われこそませ
われこそはのらめ
いへをもなをも

KO MOYO / MI-KO MOTI
FUKUSI MOYO / MI-BUKUSI MOTI
KONO WOKA NI / NATUMASUKO
IHE KIKANA / NA NORASANE
SORAMITU / YAMATO NO KUNI HA
OSI NABETE / WARE KOSO WORE
SIKI NABETE / WARE KOSO MASE
WARE KOSO NORAME
IHE WOMO NA WOMO

Your Basket, your pretty basket,
Your Trowel, with your little trowel
Maiden, picking herbs on this hill-side
I would ask: Where is your home
Will you not tell me your name?
Over the spacious land of Yamato
It is I who reign so wide and far
It is I who rule so wide and far
I myself, as your lord, will tell you
Of my home, and my name.

- Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai translation

巻1-2 Attributed to Jomei Tennō

やまとには　むらやまあれど
とりよろふ　あまのかぐやま
のぼりたち　くにみをすれば
くにはらは　けぶりたちたつ
うなはらは　かまめたちたつ
うましくにそ　あきづしま
やまとのくには

山常庭               村山有等
取與呂布          天乃香具山
騰立                    國見乎為者
國原波               煙立龍
海原波               加萬目立多都
怜𪫧國曽          蜻嶋
八間跡能國者

Countless are the mountains in Yamato
But perfect is the heavenly hill of Kagu
When I climb it and survey my realm,
Over the wide plain the smoke-wreaths rise and rise,
Over the wide lake the gulls are on the wing;
A beautiful land it is, the Land of Yamato!

- Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai translation

YAMATO NI HA              MURA YAMA AREDO
TORIYOROFU                AMA NO KAGUYAMA
NOBORITACHI              KUNIMI WO SUREBA
KUNI HARA HA             KEBURI TACHI TATSU
UNA HARA HA              KAMAME TACHI TATU
UMASI KUNI SO     AKI ZU SHIMA
YAMATO NO KUNI HA

巻3-236 Jitō Tennō

いなといへど
しふるしひのが
しひかたり
このころきかず
てわれこひにけり

不聴跡雖云
強流志斐能我
強語
比者不聞而
朕戀尒家里

“No more,” I say to her,
Yet Shihi insists on telling me her tales;
Lately I have not heard them
And I miss them now!

- Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai translation

“INA” TO IHEDO
SIFURU SIHI NO GA
SIHI KATARI
KONO KORO KIKAZUTE
WARE KOHI NI KERI

巻3-237 Shihi no Omina — Old Lady Shihi

いなといへど
かたれかたれと
のらせこそ
しひいはまをせ
しひかたりといふ

不聴雖謂
話礼〻〻常
詔許曽
志斐伊波奏
強話登言

“No more,” I say to you,
Yet you urge, “Tell me, tell me.”
So I continue; then you say,
“It is Shihi who insists.”

- Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai translation

“INA” TO IHEDO
KATARE KATARE TO
NORASE KOSO
SIHI IHAMAWOSE
SIHI KATARI TO IFU

巻16-3827 Naga no Imiki Okimaro

一二之目
耳不有
五六三
四佐倍有来
双六乃佐叡

いちにのめ
のみにはあらず
ごろくさむ
しさへありけり
すぐろくのさえ

ICHI NI NO ME
NOMI NI HA ARAZU
GO ROKU SAMU
SHI SAHE ARIKERI
SUGUROKU NO SAE

It doesn’t have just one or two eyes.
It has five, six, three,
Or even four eyes.
It is the die for sugoroku.

巻16-3838 Abe no Asomi no Kohoji

わぎもこが
ひたひにおふる
すぐろくの
ことひのうしの
くらのうへのかさ

吾妹児之
額尒生流
双六乃
事負乃牛之
倉上之瘡

My beloved (“younger sister”) has a lump
Growing upon her forehead
Like the swell on top of a saddle
Of the bull
Of suguroku

WA GIMOKO GA
HITAHI NI OFURU
SUGUROKU NO
KOTOHI NO USI NO
KURA NO UHE NO KASA

巻16-3839 Abe no Asomi no Kohoji

わがせこが
たふさきにする
つぶれしの
よしののやまに
ひをそさがれる

吾兄子之
犢鼻尒為流
都夫礼石之
吉野乃山尒
氷魚曽懸有

In the mountains of Yoshino,
Whence come the round rocks
I use as loincloth
Around my hips
Are hanging young sweet trout.

WAGA SEKO GA
TAFUSAKI NI SURU
TUBURESI NO
YOSHINO NO YAMA NI
HIWO SO SAGARERU

(One last thing about these two: “Wagimoko” and “Wagaseko” appear to also riff on the idea of “My Younger Sister” and “My Younger Brother” while also having other meanings)

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 156: Ancient Pastimes of the Yamato Court
The walls of the newly erected mansion were stark and gleaming. The smells of freshly cut wood and new roof thatch were still thick in the air. Outside, workers continued to labor to erect the rest of the buildings as servants brought in various furnishings, setting up their lord’s new home as he—or perhaps more appropriately as his wife—had dictated.
The mansion was abuzz with activity, and so one may not have noticed the sound of dice being rolled in the back rooms of the building. They echoed in the cup, and clattered to the floor, the sound echoing even more loudly than usual without any of the soft furnishings and regular accoutrements to muffle it. As the sounds died down, one could then hear the clack-clack-clack of stones being moved.
Two men sat and looked down at the wooden board before them with the same intensity with which they viewed their rivals at court, with whom they were similarly used to playing games. They had finished their work, and while their servants bustled about, they were relaxing, but that didn’t mean there were no stakes. The two men were friends, perhaps—colleagues at least. The game was almost a distraction from the rest of the things they had to discuss.
There was so much going on, as the new state was being built—from stone and wood and ceramic tiles, yes, but also through laws and the machinations of those who had a seat at the table. It was a relief, in many ways, to be playing for stakes that were merely about money and reputation, and not something even more consequential.
We are clinging to the last remnants of the Nihon Shoki while also beginning to dip our toes into new waters with the Shoku Nihongi and other works—including the Man’yoshu, which we will start to get into this episode. I’m going to try to group various themes together as best I can over a reasonable period. I don’t want to jump too far forward and back, but I also want to be able to discuss individual things more in depth, using the chronicles as much as a launching point as anything else.
This episode, we are going to look at various courtly pastimes of the ancient elite of Yamato. This includes feasting, archery, poetry, and, one of my favorite topics: boardgames.
Yes, you heard that correctly. Apparently the court at this time were big board game fans. Don’t get me wrong, they also liked their archery and horse racing as well, so it isn’t like they were just staying at home all the time. But they definitely were fans of the games of their day—and those games could get quite cutthroat. Many games were accompanied by gambling, and all that gambling entailed—from the bad feelings it could engender in the loser to accusations of cheating and just plain gambling addictions.
This may be why we see a note that in the 12th month of 689, the court banned the game of “sugoroku”, or backgammon.
For many people in the west, Backgammon is not a game immediately associated with Japan, and yet it has a long history. In many areas of the world, backgammon and chess competed for supremacy as the game of choice. Backgammon, with its reliance on the roll of the dice, certainly has a higher reliance on chance to determine the outcome—though any wily player will no doubt attest to the fact that one’s strategy is at least part of what allows one to exploit good roles or mitigate poor ones. The game is still extremely popular in the middle east, and boards resembling backgammon go back over 5,000 years. We know it flourished in Sassanid Persia, around the time that Persia was a major trading partner on what we know as the Silk Road. That is likely the route that the game took to eventually get to the Japanese archipelago.
For those who don’t know the game, backgammon is typically played on a board with twenty-four spaces, usually depicted as triangular “spikes” of alternating colors, twelve on either side of the board. Each player has about 15 round pieces in one of two colors, typically black and white, to differentiate them. There are many variations on the rules. In the old Persian game, known as Nard, all 15 pieces are on a “starting” triangle at one end of the board. Two dice are rolled, and a piece can move a number of spaces—or spikes—as shown on the die. The goal is to be the first to get all of your pieces through all twenty-four spikes and off the board, bearing off from the spike opposite from which you started—which also happens to be where your opponent has their starting position. So you are effectively racing past each other.
A key element of the game turns on the fact that a piece may not land on a spike that is occupied by two or more of the opponent’s pieces. If there is only one of the opponent’s pieces on that position, then that piece is sent to the middle and must be brought back into play from the starting position with a roll of the die—assuming there is a place to put it. So there are tactics in how to move pieces so that they can both be safe from being sent back, to block areas of the board, and to otherwise try to get past the opponent.
Modern backgammon and sugoroku—or, more fully, ban-sugoroku—tend to start with pieces already placed on various positions as though coming into a game already in progress. This eliminates some of the early game and moves the pieces more directly into conflict with each other. The doubling cube, which helped track and systematize the betting system, wasn’t developed until much later, in the US. Up until that point you just had to keep track of your wagers, I guess.
The name in Japanese for the game, Sugoroku, appears to come from the kanji, which means double six, referring to the two six-sided dice used in the game. Eventually, Sugoroku would come to be used for just about any kind of board game utilizing dice. Ban-sugoroku was the name for games played on a board, like backgammon, while E-sugoroku would be played on a picture mat. Some of the earliest E-sugoroku were games similar to what we know of as Chutes and Ladders—or, in some areas, Snakes and Ladders. These were basic “chase” games where both players were trying to be the first to reach a goal. Certain spaces would contain advantages or disadvantages, however—the “chutes” taking you down and the “ladders” moving you forward. The earliest forms appear to come out of India, and they seem to have focused on the idea of karma, with the goal of ascending to rebirth in the heavens. Some Buddhist versions added features where rebirth in the Heavens was actually a lesser goal—being reborn as an immortal god effectively trapped you in this plane and would not allow you to ascend to Nirvana, the ultimate goal.
In bureaucratic China we see examples of the game focused on rising through the system of court rank. In Japan we see examples where you were passing through various stations on a pilgrimage or similar. The varieties were endless, and the game often changed based on the social values and conventions of the time. However, due to the nature of the paper boards on which these versions were played, we have less evidence for them. The oldest form of E-sugoroku that we have in Japan is a version called Jodo-sugoroku, from the 15th century, which taught Pure Land Buddhist morals and lessons.
That said, we see the terms for these kinds of games first appear in the 5th century. Theseearliest terms are translations of the Sanskrit “prāsaka”, meaning dice. The name changed over time, and we see the form “Sugoroku” first appearing in the Southern Court and the Tang dynasty. It appears that the original pronunciation in Japan was “Su-GU-roku”, but the name “Su-GO-roku” is common today.
In contrast to the paper E-sugoroku pictures, many of which would have had a hard time surviving, we have a number of examples of ban-sugoroku boards. In fact, there are a few housed in the Shosoin repository of Todaiji temple. The Shosoin repository was created in 756 and, over the course of several years, numerous objects related to the sovereign known as Shoumu Tennou were donated on his behalf, creating an incredible historical record. Many of the items were luxury goods from the silk road, and the conditions under which they’ve been preserved are truly remarkable, giving us examples of things that are otherwise no longer extant in the lands where they were originally produced.
Amongst this treasure trove are dice, game pieces, a dice cup, and various game boards, including several with markings indicative of some version of backgammon, or Persian nard, i.e. ban-sugoroku. There are also other boards identified as game boards that may have been more for a kind of marbles-like game called ohagi. There are also go-boards, as well. One of my favorites in the collection has two drawers for the stones that are shaped like turtles, but concealed under the board, and when you pull the turtle out there is a mechanism under the board to push the other drawer out as well so that they come out together.
Speaking of other games, we do know that other games existed and were played in the archipelago and on the continent. One of the oldest games we know of we only know by its name and from funerary examples, called “Liubo”, or “six sticks”. We have examples of people playing it from tomb figurines in the Han dynasty, and we know what the board looked like: A square in the center, surrounded by “T” and “L” shapes, with squares in the corner. This same design shows up on early bronze mirrors, known as “T-L-V” mirrors in English because of this game.
Liubo game sets have also been found in tombs, and they appear to have quite a bit of paraphernalia attached to them. Literary descriptions of playing the game differ, possibly because of different rules and methods of playing in different times and places—like trying to find two people who play Monopoly exactly the same way.
Liubo declined after the Han dynasty, and by the 6th century people had already forgotten how to play. This was probably because of the rise of another game: Weiqi, known to us as Go, or “I-go” in Japanese.
Compared to everything needed for Liubo, or even sugoroku, the game of Go is deceptively simple. You have a square board with a cross-hatched pattern and each player has a set of stones, typically black or white. Each turn, a player may place a stone on the board at the intersection of two lines, as long as, at the end of the turn, the player’s contiguous pieces are not completely surrounded by the opponent. If the placement of a piece fills in the last open space around one or more of the opponent’s pieces, those pieces are captured and removed from the board. This results in formations of stones that create fenced in territories. At its simplest, the winner is the one who, at the end of the game, has the most unoccupied space in their territories, minus the number of stones that were captured. As such, players may choose to pass rather than to play a stone that would not benefit them. If both players pass, the game is over and the board is scored.
From a relatively simple mechanic—placing stones on a board—enormously complex systems of play can emerge, and even today the game has a devoted following.
Traditionally, the introduction of go to the archipelago is often attributed to the famous poet, ambassador, and stateman, Kibi Makibi, who was born in 695 and at the height of his power and influence in mid to late 8th century. However, the game is referenced in the Taiho codes of the early 700s and is also mentioned in the Sui dynasty record of country of Wo, indicating that it was likely around for some time before Makibi came along.
Compared to Sugoroku, which relies on dice, and therefore a certain element of luck, every move in Go is the choice of the player and based on the condition of the board at the time. Therefore it is often seen as a more strategic game. It is similar to chess, in that there are ways to place pressure on the opponent and force them to move, and yet, with its simpler ruleset, it is said to outstrip even chess for the multiple variations that any one game can take. In early computer modeling, chess could generally be programmed by considering the totality of future moves, but it took some time before computers were able to play go at that same level. In 1997, IBM’s Deep Blue was able to defeat world chess champion Garry Kasparov in a match, but it wouldn’t be until 2015 and 2017 that the program “AlphaGo” would be able to defeat professional Go players without some sort of initial handicap, due to the nature of the game and the numerous possible outcomes and changes that could occur during play.
Speaking of chess, there were chess variants in East Asia and Japan as well. The earliest history of chess is not well documented, but it seems to trace its roots back to a game known in India as “chaturanga”. There is physical evidence of boards and pieces from earlier, but the rules are not entirely clear. However, from the numerous variations that were spawned, including chess in the West, Mak-ruk in Thailand, Xiangqi in China, and Shogi, in Japan, we can get an idea of the game. It was played on a board made with intersecting lines. Unlike backgammon or go, there were numerous types of pieces, each with their own rules on how they could move across the board. This is generally thought to represent a kind of army, with different units having different abilities—so in some ways this is the precursor to modern games like Warhammer with the painted miniatures and the like.
We see that by the Qin dynasty there is a game called “Xiangqi”. The characters reference an elephant and the word “qi”, which just means a game, as in “wei-qi”, the modern Chinese name for Go. That “Xiang” may refer to one of the pieces and the idea of using elephants in armies would not be out of place in south Asia, but that character has other meanings as well, including references to celestial or astronomical phenomena. So this could be the Elephant Game or the Celestial Game. It could also refer to ivory, which may have been what the early pieces were made out of.
Xiangqi differs from chess in that that field of play is not just a simple board of intersecting lines. In the middle of the board there is a section known as the river, which some pieces cannot cross and others gain different abilities once they do. There is also an area marked as the “Palace” where the king or general resides. Traditionally the board itself can just be drawn on a piece of paper, which may also explain why we don’t have as much evidence for the game, more generally.
In contrast to chess and other variants, Xiangqi pieces are usually flat disks that have the name of the piece written in red or black ink. To further distinguish the pieces, slightly different but similar characters are used for each side, so that even if you can’t tell the color you should be able to distinguish the pieces. The pieces are played on the intersection of the lines, much like the stones in go.
Some of this gets carried over into the Japanese version, known as Shogi, but there are plenty of differences, and there is some question of whether Shogi originates with Xiangqi or from another variant, possibly one out of Southeast Asia. The pieces in Shogi are traditionally made of wood in a pentagonal shape, which provides a clear directionality for the piece. Unlike in Xiangqi, Shogi characters use the same names for pieces on both sides, except for the king, or general. This is important for a key feature, which I’ll describe in a bit. The pieces are also double sided, except for the general, so that if they are “promoted” by reaching the last three rows of the board, they can be turned over, indicating their new status. Each piece promotes differently, with new movement typically associated in each case. The board itself is simply made of squares, like a modern chessboard, and pieces are played inside the squares rather than on the intersections.
A key feature of shogi is the fact that captured pieces can be brought back into play by the player who captured them. A captured piece can be put back into play—or dropped—on almost any spot on the board, with some limitations. This led our founder, Tony, to describe Shogi as “Zombie Paratrooper Chess”.
Unlike Sugoroku and Go, we have less evidence for when Shogi arrived in the archipelago. Some suggest that it arrived, in some form, around the same time as those other games, probably in the 6th century. Others say that it came in the Nara period. Our first real evidence of the game, however, seems to be from the Heian period, in the 11th century. It was likely around some time before that, but how long is uncertain. It is probably notable that there is no copy of a shogi, xiangqi, or chess board in the Shousouin collection.
We do, however, have evidence of other pastimes besides board games. For example, we have touko, the pitch-pot, which we briefly touched on in episode 112. There we talked about how much the court loved archery, and how Confucius even encouraged it. Archery, however, takes space and a certain amount of athletic skill. Touko, on the other hand, could be played indoors.
A touko, also known by its Chinese name of Touhu or the English name of “pitch-pot”, is based around a pot with a wide base and a narrow mouth. Typically, there are rings around the top of the pot, like handles. Contestants take small, blunted arrows and toss them, like lawn darts, with the goal of getting them in the pot. You get the most points for getting the arrow into the mouth of the pot itself, but there are also points for getting the arrow in one of the side rings or even just hitting the pot. In some versions, more points are scored for the first and fourth arrows thrown.
The origins of Touko, or Touhu, are unclear, but it probably originated among soldiers sitting around in the camps. It later came to be used as a drinking game for elites, and was considered a martial pursuit, along with archery.
Because the game was mentioned by Confucius, it has come to be closely associated with Confucian morality. A Confucian gentleman was supposed to cultivate both “wen” and “wu”—or “bun” and “bu” in Japanese—the civil and martial virtues. Likely due to this association, the game has continued to be a popular game in Korea, where it is known as Tuho and typically played during New Year’s celebrations. There are rules for playing online if you want to try.
While we are covering popular pastimes in the court, we shouldn’t forget banquets and poetry competitions. We’ve mentioned banquets in the past—food and drink were always a good excuse to get together. There were formal banquets held in the official palace buildings, but there was also an entire pond and garden complex built outside of the palace proper, which you know they were also using for large gatherings, which were likely a bit more informal than the official banquets held in the official buildings of the State government—perhaps somewhat like the difference between a party in the office and an office picnic, if your office was all the most wealthy and powerful people in the entire country.
Within the court, reputation was extremely important, and these gatherings and pastimes weren’t just fun opportunities to blow off steam, they were opportunities for people to demonstrate their skill, prowess, wit, and culture. Besides traditional games, another way to demonstrate one’s skills and wit was through the composition and performance of poetry. The term used here, “uta”, means “song” and doesn’t really differentiate between spoken poetry, folk songs, or similar. In fact, there are examples of poets being given a biwa to accompany their poetry.
For the most part, the poems we see mentioned are not necessarily long compositions that a poet slaved over, but there was a certain expectation of spontaneity. Most of the poetry can be divided into two different types: classical Chinese style poetry or kanshi, and native Japanese poetry or waka.
The first type, the Sinitic, or Classical Chinese, poetry, not only demonstrated the skill of the composer, but also their education. “Kanshi”, or “Han poetry”, and, at least by the Heian period, it would be the most popular form of poetry amongst the elite. This style of poetry came from the continent and was included in all of the written works that were being brought over and studied.
Kanshi style poetry was based on the pronunciation of the individual characters, using classical rhyme patterns and rhythms that were popular in the Tang dynasty. Because of all of this, there was a certain amount of training that was needed both to create and to understand it, but it still remained quite popular, up through the Edo period and even into modern times. The oldest compilation of kanshi that we have is the Kaifuusou, written in 751—it is in fact the oldest compilation of Japanese poetry, and includes poetry from a number of individuals, many of whom are mentioned in the histories.

Although classical Chinese poetry could have different character patterns, many of the kanshi poems from this era followed a pattern of 5 or 7 characters per line, with each character generally being a single syllable in the original pronunciation. Those were popular in the Tang court, and also in Japan, and it is very interesting that lines of 5 and 7 morae were also popular in the indigenous Japanese poetry, known as waka.
Morae and Syllables are similar, but differ slightly. Most English speakers are familiar with a syllable being some combination of a vowel or dipthong with optional consonants before and after. A mora is measured more in the time it takes to say it. For example, let’s take a look at the name of the poetry compilation, the Kaifuusou. In English, we would probably count it as three syllables: Kai, Fuu, Sou. In Japanese, however, it is broken into six morae: KA I FU U SO U. This may not seem like much, but the extra length of a vowel in Japanese has actual, lexical meaning. One example would be the following words: Tori, Toori, and Torii. The First is TO RI (Tori) and it means bird. Then TO O RI (Toori) and it means road or path. Then there is TO RI I (Torii), the name for the gates at the entrance to Shinto shrines. Another, more modern, example, might be “biru” versus “biiru”. “Biru” means “building”, coming from “birudingu”, while biiru means “beer”.
And this becomes important with most forms of Waka, or Japanese song, or poetry. Waka typically has alternating verses of 5 or 7 morae. At its most basic we have the tanka, the short poem, which has three lines of 5-7-5 followed by two lines of 7 morae each. The top three lines would eventually become known as a Haiku, but that was many centuries to come. Instead, it was more common to see some form of Chouka, or long poem, which would be composed of a number of lines, alternating between 5 and 7 morae per line and also ending with a pair of 7-morae lines.
This kind of poetry, tanka or choka, was the kind of thing that we are most likely to see when there is mention of a spontaneous composition in the moment. The form fits with the Japanese language and we already have plenty of examples of these kinds of compositions throughout the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki. However, in the 8th century we get an even larger composition: the Man’yoshu. This is a compilation of over 4500 poems from various authors. We don’t know when it was compiled, and it may have actually been a project with multiple editors bringing together different poems and stories, but it is assumed to have been assembled during the Nara period. It may have even been a private work, originally.
While the Kaifuusou was using Sinitic characters to write down poetry in literary Sinitic, the Man’yoshu faced an issue: How to represent the sounds of the Japanese language using Sinitic characters. In many contexts, one could write a sentence in literary Sinitic and then read it out in Japanese—essentially translating it on the fly. That certainly gets across meaning, but it doesn’t necessarily help when you are trying to be precise, such as counting the number or morae in a poem. For certain words, such as nouns, that isn’t typically a problem, but there are many parts of Japanese that are not really represented in literary Sinitic, and so they had to come up with something else.
The answer was what became known as Man’yogana. We touched on this briefly back in episode 133, and during the recent interview with Dr. Ross Bender. Man’yogana are Sinitic characters, or kanji, which are chosen for their sound—effectively turning them from logograms to phonograms. The actual meaning of the character is ignored in favor of representing a particular sound. The Man’yoshu isn’t the first time we see this—they used Man’yogana in the various historical chronicles, both for names and poetry and anything else where they were transcribing sound instead of meaning.
The use of Man’yogana in the Man’yoshu are hardly consistent. Even within the same poem or song, the writer can vary the characters used to represent the same sound in the same word. Sometimes you see characters that are clearly meant to be read for their meaning—like the characters for “mountain” and “island” being read as “yama” and “shima”, respectively—while in other cases they are being used for the sound produced by the on’yomi, the Sino-Japanese reading of the character. And yet, in other cases, they are using the Japanese word represented by the character, but still using it for the sound it produces. For example, the word for garden is “niwa”—or “niha” or “nipa” in Old Japonic—and it is used as a stand-in for the particles “ni” and “ha”—or “wa”—that are commonly found together. Something-something-“ni wa” is a very common way of saying things, even today.
If this all sounds incredibly confusing, congratulations, it really is. We don’t have clear standards, but we do see some preferences in terms of certain manyo’gana that became popular for certain sounds. Fortunately for those of us, today, there are plenty of scholars who have worked out what these characters most likely meant, and so we can usually crib from the work of others—which is absolutely the route I’m going to be taking here.
Issues of pronunciation aside, the poems of the Man’yoshu are not all contemporary to the compilation. In fact, the poems of the Man’yoshu cover a period starting in about the 5th century and including poems all the way up to 759. Early poems are typically given with vague dates—in the reign of such-and-such sovereign—while many of those from the Nara period are given exact dates. The latest date given is 759, so the work could not have been completed before then.
The whole thing is also divided into 20 books. The first two are focused on the sovereigns and the royal institution, and may have even been part of some kind of official request. However, other books in the collection organize poems around different themes. The poems are not necessarily in strict chronological order, though some sections do tend that way. Early books tend to have poems from earlier in history, but not necessarily.
This has led to plenty of speculation about the nature of the work. Was it put together all at once or, as is generally thought, were different editors responsible for putting together different books, and this is just the final form of the compilation? Certain, more prolific authors, show up more in certain sections, likewise suggesting that there was some temporal component to putting it altogether, with the poet Ohotomo Yakamochi showing up most prominently in the last four books, including the poem dated to 759. Some suggest he may have been responsible for the current iteration of the composition as we have it today.
Unfortunately, for all of the writing that went into the Man’yoshu, one thing it lacks is a preface. There is nothing upfront to tell us who wrote it or even why. Instead, we get a collection of poems, with a brief explanation of each, which typically includes when it was written and on what occasion, as well as who wrote it, if known.
The very first poem is actually attributed to none other than Yuuryaku Tennou, aka Wakatakiru no Ohokimi, who is thought to have ruled Yamato in the 5th century. We covered that in episodes 60 through about Episode 64. This strikes me as an attempt to start the entire work off with something that plants its roots firmly in ancient traditions. And so it chooses a sovereign who is known to have been a powerful ruler. It then recounts what appears to be a song whose verses go as follows:
Ko moyo                           miko mochi
Fukushi moyo               Mibukushi mochi
Kono oka ni                    Na tsumasu ko
Ie kikana                          Na Norasane
Soramitsu                       Yamato no Kuni wa
Oshi nabete                   Ware koso Ore
Shiki nabete                   Ware koso mase
Ware koso ha Norame
Ie wo mo na wo mo

Here is an English translation. All English translations are from the Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkoukai translation, unless stated otherwise.

Your Basket, your pretty basket,
Your Trowel, with your little trowel
Maiden, picking herbs on this hill-side
I would ask: Where is your home
Will you not tell me your name?
Over the spacious land of Yamato
It is I who reign so wide and far
It is I who rule so wide and far
I myself, as your lord, will tell you
Of my home, and my name.

Now some of you may already have figured out that this poem immediately seems to fail at several of the traditional hallmarks of Japanese poetry. It is certainly not sticking to the 5-7-5 style of court poetry. Instead, we see paired phrases. So “Your basket, your pretty basket” is followed by “Your trowel, with your little trowel”.
Ko moyo                           miko mochi
Fukushi moyo               Mibukushi mochi
For a bit it seems to get into a more standard groove, but then you hit the “Soramitsu Yamato no Kuni ha”—Over the spacious land of Yamato. From there we see more repeats.
Oshi nabete                   Ware koso Ore
Shiki nabete                   Ware koso mase
It is I who reign so wide and far
It is I who rule so wide and far

And it ends mirroring the “Ware koso” of the last couple of lines, which count 8 morae and 7 morae—not quite the 14-morae ending pair we might expect:
Ware koso ha Norame
Ie wo mo na wo mo
I myself, as your lord, will tell you
Of my home, and my name.

One explanation is that this may have been a popular song about courtship. A man, running into a woman, complimenting her things, asking for her name, and perhaps a bit more.

That song was then attributed to an ancient figure because it seemed like something he might have said. It also mentions “Soramitsu Yamato no Kuni”, as though only a sovereign would think to mention the land that they were in. But really we are likely seeing the preservation of the lyrics to an old traditional song. Unfortunately, there is likely no way to ever know exactly how this song was sung—that part has been lost to time—but it does give us a glimpse into the past, or at least how the past was viewed by those in the 8th century.
So that is the first poem. The second poem likewise seems rather politically motivated. We jump from Wakatakiru no Ohokimi to the works of the sovereign who ruled from the Takechi Okamoto palace. This is clarified as Okinaga Tarashi Hi Hiro Nuka no Sumera no Mikoto, aka Jomei Tennou. We are further informed that it was when the sovereign climbed Mt. Kagu to view the land.
YAMATO NI HA              MURA YAMA AREDO
TORIYOROFU                AMA NO KAGUYAMA
NOBORITACHI              KUNIMI WO SUREBA
KUNI HARA HA             KEBURI TACHI TATSU
UNA HARA HA              KAMAME TACHI TATSU
(U)MASHI KUNI SO     AKI ZU SHIMA
YAMATO NO KUNI HA
山常庭               村山有等
取與呂布          天乃香具山
騰立                    國見乎為者
國原波               煙立龍
海原波               加萬目立多都
怜𪫧國曽          蜻嶋
八間跡能國者
Countless are the mountains in Yamato
But perfect is the heavenly hill of Kagu
When I climb it and survey my realm,
Over the wide plain the smoke-wreaths rise and rise,
Over the wide lake the gulls are on the wing;
A beautiful land it is, the Land of Yamato!

Whether or not this was actually the former Prince Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, or not, there is a lot here. For the most part it follows the general pattern of 5-7-5 with a single line of 7 morae at the end. It does have one line that sticks out for having one extra mora, though this is not uncommon in waka poetry, similarly to how English-language poets might cram an extra syllable into a line if needed. Still, this seems like a pretty straightforward chouka, or long poem.
The subject is Kaguyama, which would have been at the center of the landscape of the Asuka area and, eventually, the Fujiwara palace. From the top of Kaguyama, looking south, one does see the plain of the Yamato basin, set out before them. As for the smoke wreaths, those would have been from the various households across the plains. Compare this to the episode from the reign of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou, where the lack of smoke—the lack of cooking fires—suggested that the realm was in trouble and so he declared an exemption from taxes for three years; we discussed this back in episode 51. Thus, in this case, we are seeing a prosperous land.
There is also some evidence that there was apparently a lake of some size at the foot of Kaguyama, known as Haniyasu Pond, situated between Kaguyama and the Fujiwara palace. That explains the reference to the lake and the gulls on the shore.
The concept of the sovereign surveying the realm appears frequently enough as “Kunimi” literally “country viewing”—it is the idea that a sovereign or a local ruler would go to some high place to survey their realm as an act of demonstrating their hegemony. In fact, as Dr. Torquil Duthie points out, this poem serves as the model of the “kunimi ritual”. It may have come from agricultural rituals of finding some high point to survey the land to see what was going on and help plan for planting and harvesting, but it seems, at least to me, that it had further connotations of declaring or reinforcing the ruler’s right to the land.
So our first poem we get a song that is attributed to a famous ruler from the past, anchoring the project in antiquity. The second poem we get a more recent sovereign—though one who was still likely beyond the reach of living memory at the time—and it is referencing both Yamato, the sacred geography laid out in the Nihon Shoki, and the rights of the royal family to sovereignty over the land, the cornerstone of the State’s authority.
This all complements the idea that the Man’yoshu reflects and even reinforces concepts of the new Japanese state—and by the time the Man’yoshu had come out, we have most certainly entered into the period where Yamato had become “Nihon”—or Japan. Dr. Torquil Duthie at UCLA literally wrote the book on the subject: Man’yoshu and the Imperial Imagination in Early Japan. There he goes into some depth on how one can read the poems of the Man’yoshu and see how the court was forming its ideas of Japan as a sovereign entity under an imperial system of rule, based on the continental style, though with a distinct cultural twist. However, he also points out that, unlike the Nihon Shoki and Kojiki, the Man’yoshu does not appear to be a project that the sovereign themselves commanded so much as it captures, through its choice and composition, concepts of imperial kingship that were being bandied about in the court at that time.
For example, just these first two poems that I read. We see how they start with Yuuryauku, aka Wakatakiru, who, in the Kojiki, at least, is linked through the maternal line with the Okinaga lineage, and thus with Tamura—which is to say Jomei Tennou. And Naka no Oe and Oama—Tenji and Temmu Tennou, respectively—are both descendants of Jomei, and thus, so are all later members of the royal family who sit on the throne. So whether deliberately planned or just reflecting the norms of the court at the time, the politics of the court shine through the works of the Man’yoshu.
There are many things that one can pull from the poetry of the Man’yoshu. The topics touch on many things, from plants and animals to locations and various activities. We can also see various relationships, sometimes mentioned in the poems and sometimes mentioned in the description of the occasion of the poem. We are not going to be going that far into this, but we may at least touch on poems as they are relevant to the narrative.
To that end, I would like to touch on a couple more poems. Many of the poems are poems to or between lovers—this would be a common motif for centuries, and even become de rigeur within the dating scene of the elite Nara and Heian world. However, there are other conversations that we get as well, such as these two poems between Uno no Sarara, aka Jitou Tennou, and someone known as “Old Lady Shihi”.
The first poem is from Uno no Sarara, and it goes like this:
“INA” TO IHEDO
SHIFURU SHIHI NO GA
SHIHI KATARI
KONO KORO KIKAZUTE
WARE KOHI NI KERI
“No more,” I say to her,
               Yet Shihi insists on telling me her tales;
Lately I have not heard them
And I miss them now!
不聴跡雖云
強流志斐能我
強語
比者不聞而
朕戀尒家里
This is a fairly standard tanka, meant to be read in the style of a top section of 5-7-5 and a bottom section of 7-7, even though it technically breaks those numbers twice. Shihi’s name appears to be repeated as a pun “SHIHI KATARI”. “SHIFURU” is “strong”, and it comes back as “SHIHI” for “SHIHI NO KATARI”—strong tales, or, in this case, insistent.
We don’t know exactly who Lady Shihi is, but she is likely a lady in waiting working in the palace who seems to have gained Uno no Sarara’s favor for her stories. It has been suggested that she might be a storyteller, or kataribe, attached to the Nakatomi.
In this case we don’t just see Uno no Sarara’s lament, but we see Shihi’s response:
“INA” TO IHEDO
KATARE KATARE TO
NORASE KOSO
SHIHI IHAMAWOSE
SHIHI KATARI TO IFU
“No more,” I say to you,
               Yet you urge, “Tell me, tell me.”
So I continue; then you say,
“It is Shihi who insists.”

不聴雖謂
話礼〻〻常
詔許曽
志斐伊波奏
強話登言
Again, we see the fairly straightforward tanka style. They continue to play fast and loose with the morae count, but it should be pretty apparent by now that those were really more like guidelines than strict rules. We can see that it very obviously plays off the language of the first poem, even copying its opening line, and reusing the same words, so there is no mistaking what is being said.
There is a certain playfulness in the exchange. Uno no Sarara is acting exasperated by Shihi’s constant stories; like that one friend in the friend group who always is always speaking up. And yet, when she does go quiet, Sarara admits she actually enjoyed them.
And Shihi comes back with a “No you didn’t” attitude. It was Sarara who was always insisting on stories, to the point that Shihi had to have a break. So what is all this about Shihi being “insistent”?
There is clearly a pun on Shihi’s name, here, and this whole thing feels like something between two close friends. This is despite the difference in rank that must have existed between them. We also don’t know when this happened, exactly, other than we are told that the “Sovereign” gave this poem to lady Shihi. For context, access to the private quarters of the sovereign and the royal family more generally was quite limited. It would have been restricted to those working in the royal household or to those of sufficient rank to be invited. Shihi, whose name appears to be a family designation, without a given name, other than “omina”, meaning “grown” or “old” woman, must have been someone of rank or talent—or both—to be in the sovereign’s company and on such good terms, but we don’t really know.
This kind of “slice of life” glimpse is also part of what makes the Man’yoshu interesting, to me. While it would be naïve to say that poetry was not political, it provides a different view of the world than what we get through the Chronicles. Much like looking into the other pasttimes of the court, such as the games they played.
Speaking of which, those games also appeared in the Man’yoshu, like this poem from Book 16, dedicated to the dice of Sugoroku, attributed to the poet Naga no Okimaro:
ICHI NI NO ME
NOMI NI HA ARAZU
GO ROKU SAMU
SHI SAHE ARIKERI
SUGUROKU NO SAE
一二之目
耳不有
五六三
四佐倍有来
双六乃佐叡
This one was not part of the Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai translation, so here is my rough approximation of what it is saying:
It doesn’t have just one or two eyes.
It has three, four, five, or also six eyes.
It is the die for sugoroku.
This poem perhaps is not quite as heavy or lofty a meaning as the others we’ve touched on. It is more like just a witty riddle wrapped in poetry. If this were riddles in the dark, Tolkein might have asked something similar: “In its head, not one or two eyes, but five, six, three, or even four? What is it?” It also gives “Suguroku” as the pronunciation for the game, at least by about the middle of the 8th century.
We have one more poem about the game, also in the 16th book. This is from Abe no Ason no Kohoji, and there is a note that says it was when Prince Toneri offered a prize for someone to make a poem about nothing at all. Kohoji apparently won with two poems, which I’ll try to provide, here. Again, these will be my own translation into English, based on various translations into modern Japanese, so forgive any crudeness or mistakes—though I don’t know if I can really make them more nonsensical than they already are:
WA GIMOKO GA
HITAHI NI OFURU
SUGUROKU NO
KOTOHI NO USHI NO
KURA NO UHE NO KASA
My beloved has a lump
Growing upon her forehead
Like the swell on top of a saddle
Of the bull
Of suguroku

And then:

WAGA SEKO GA
TAFUSAKI NI SURU
TSUBURESHI NO
YOSHINO NO YAMA NI
HIWO SO SAGARERU
In the mountains of Yoshino,
Whence come the round rocks
I use as loincloth
Around my hips
Are hanging young sweet trout.

These poems are meant to be humorous. In the first one, we are talking about one’s beloved as having a huge lump on her forehead, and then comparing that to the lump on the saddle of a bull. Here the nonsense strikes me as being why would a poem talk about a feature like a lump on someone’s head? And then comparing that to the lump on a bull’s saddle, but you don’t saddle a bull, you saddle a horse. And that bull is a bull—or “strong ox” some translate it, “Gouriki”—of Sugoroku. That last one I might be missing—if anyone knows the reference to a ‘gouriki’ or of a “strong ox” in sugoroku terms, I’d love to hear your ideas.
The second is likewise just as nonsensical. “Tafusaki” appears to be an old term of “fundoshi”, or loincloth. “Hiwo” is a fish, the young ayu, or sweet trout, found in Lake Biwa. So we have fish found hanging in the mountains of Yoshino where the round pebbles, the “tsubureshi” are used as the poet’s loincloth?
In both cases they are fairly ridiculous strings of words to form together, and yet they are just cohesive enough to seem like they make sense if you don’t look at them. As in, they grammatically make sense, AND they fit the requirements of tanka in terms of general morae count. But they are absolutely ridiculous, which seems to have made Prince Toneri laugh out loud.
And with that, I think we’ll close out this episode. I hope you enjoyed discussing ancient pastimes. We’ll keep working our way through more of the poems of the Man’yoshu as we touch on a few other things from this reign and into the larger period of the Fujiwara capital with the reigns of Prince Karu—aka Monmu Tennou—and his successor, the lady Abe, aka Genmei Tennou.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please 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 reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bender, Ross L. (2026). Emperors Monmu, Genmei, Genshō: Shoku Nihongi 697-724.
Bender, Ross L. (2025). SHOKU NIHONGI 697-791: A Translation of Maki 1-40.
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Duthie, T. (09 Jan. 2014). Man’yōshū and the Imperial Imagination in Early Japan. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004264540
Anon. (2005). 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu: The Complete Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai Translation. Dover Publications. ISBN: 978-0486439594.
Finkel, Y. Irving., Mackenzie, C., (2004). Asian games: the art of contest. Smithsonian Institution. New York: Asia Society. ISBN: 9780878480999
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.
Websites
-, -. (last checked 9/29/2026). “万葉百科万葉集関連情報検索システム”. 奈良県立万葉文化館. https://manyo-hyakka.pref.nara.jp/

Interview with Dr. Ross Bender

September 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Five of Dr. Ross Bender's works, including translations of the Shoku Nihongi and his work on the Japanese Imperial Institution in the 8th century. — Many of Dr. Bender’s books are available via Amazon in physical or Kindle editions. You can also find some of his papers up on JSTOR.org.

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This episode I had the opportunity to interview Dr. Ross Bender, PhD, who has translated the Shoku Nihongi, the official history following the Nihon Shoki through to the end of the Nara Period. Our discussion ran through a variety of topics and I’ve tried to capture some notes here—though these are only snippets of information as to go in depth into every topic would make this an incredibly unwieldy project.

We touch on Hachiman and the Hachiman cult and shrines. We discussed the Six National Histories, or Rikkokushi. We also mentioned various historical works, like Heike Monogatari and Hojoki. And we bring up numerous names in the field of Japanese history. I’ve tried to collect that information, below, and I included links to sites and references to books that we discussed at the bottom, below the transcript of the interview. I hope this is helpful.

The Dōkyō Incident aka The Usa Hachimangū Oracle Incident　宇佐八幡宮神託事件

(For more, check out Dr. Bender’s dissertation: “The Hachiman Cult and the Dōkyō Incident”.)

In 738, Royal Princess Abe (“阿倍”, not the daughter of Naka no Ōe, whose name is “阿部”) was designated as heir apparent by her father, and she ascended to the throne in 749. She ruled until 758, when she was forced to abdicate the throne for Royal Prince Ōi, later known as Junnin Tennō. Abe became known as Daijō Tennō, and took the name Kōya. After a failed rebellion by her cousin, Fujiwara no Nakamaro, she deposed Ōi and re-ascended the throne, ruling until 770. In her first reign she is known as Kōken and in her second as Shōtoku.
Abe’s reign saw numerous rebellions. Abe is often held up as similar to Empress Wu, the only woman in China to rule in her own right. There are numerous parallels, including the vilification of each after their reign, leading to traditions stating the women should not ascend to the throne.
Dōkyō was a priest who is said to have been favored by Abe. There is a reference to them meeting in the Hora Capital (保良宮). The Hora Capital was in Afumi (Ōmi), and only lasted a couple of years in early 760s as the “Northern Capital”.
Eventually, Dōkyō was promoted to the position of Hō’ō, “Prince of the Law” (法王); an important court position overseeing Buddhist institutions in Japan. In 769, it is said that an oracle from Usa Hachiman Shrine suggested he should be named sovereign. This caused an emissary to be dispatched, Wake no Kiyomaro, to verify the oracle. Kiyomaro returned and said that Hachiman declared that nobody outside the royal line should ascend the throne.
Since then, rumors abounded about the relationship between Abe and Dōkyō, with many tales suggesting that they were having an affair. Abe was unmarried and without a direct heir. This is affair is often cited in works talking about Abe’s position as the last true female sovereign in her own right (i.e. not serving as a regent for a son or other male relative).
Early in Abe’s reign, Tachibana no Naramaro, a powerful noble, came into conflict with Abe and the powerful Fujiwara no Nakamaro. In 757, Naramaro was implicated in a plot to raise troops to kill Nakamaro and replace Abe with a more sympathetic sovereign. He and others were executed as rebels. Later, however, he would be posthumously rewarded the position and rank of his rival, Nakamaro: that is he would be granted the posthumous position of Dajō-daijin and the Upper First Rank.
A court noble who, early on, held Abe’s favor and who rose quickly through the court ranks. In 757 he defeated his chief rival, Tachibana no Naramaro, and he would later go on to challenge Abe’s power. After Naramaro’s failed rebellion, Nakamaro positioned Abe to step down in favor of Prince Ōi, but she was still Daijō-Tennō, a powerful position with her hand still at the helm. Nakamaro attempted to consolidate military power over the four provinces, with the goal of ousting Abe entirely, but she learned of his plot and had him stripped of his position. Ōi was deposed and exiled and Abe came back to the throne in 764.
Wake no Kiyomaro was sent to Usa Hachiman shrine to investigate the oracle that had claimed Dōkyō should become sovereign. He returned with an emphatic answer that the sovereign should come from the royal family. This was in contravention of what the Dazaifu officials had represented, and it halted any plans that Dōkyō or his allies may have had to try and put him on the throne as a Buddhist sovereign. Kiyomaro would go on to live a full life, with a biography given in the Nihon Kōki upon his passing.

Hachiman 八幡

Hachiman is a deity worshipped at shrines across Japan. The worship appears to have started in Usa. Hachiman worship is marked by several continental and even Buddhist hallmarks, making Hachiman worship stand out from other Shintō practices. Today, Hachiman is said to be the spirit of Homuda Wake—aka Ōjin Tennō—and is also a tutelary deity for the Minamoto clan. The latter is where he often gets depicted as a kami for war and warriors.

Hachiman is often associated with Homuda Wake’s mother, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingū Tennō, as well as a female deity known as Himegami. These are the Hachiman Mikami, or three Hachiman Deities.

Hachiman Shrines

Hachiman shrines are known as Hachimangu (八幡宮) rather than as just Jinja (神社).

Perhaps the original shrine, it is in modern Kyūshū. It maintains an impressive complex, with unique practices, such as clapping three times instead of just the normal two.
Previously known as Otokoyama Hachimangū, this shrine was founded in the 9th century near the then capital of Heian-kyō. It is the site of the play “Yumi Yawata” and may be where Hachiman was formally merged with the image of Ōjin Tennō.
A Noh play, where envoys of the sovereign are given a wrapped bow at Otokoyama Hachiman Shrine (modern Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine), and when they go to open it to look at the bow they are told that it should stay wrapped, just like a sword should stay sheathed. It contrasts the period of conquest mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, from sovereigns Jimmu to Jingū, with the relatively peaceful reign in the account of Ōjin Tennō—who later would become associated as the deity, Hachiman.
“Yumi” here means “bow” and “Yawata” is another reading for the characters “Hachiman”.
For more, check out Dr. Bender’s paper: “Metamorphosis of a Deity. The Image of Hachiman in Yumi Yawata”, where he talks about how this Noh play was talking about maintaining the peace in a time of warrior rule under the shōgunate.
The Minamoto were descendants of the royal house who had been given a surname and thus barred from the throne. As such they had a connection with Ōjin Tennō, aka Hachiman. Minamoto Yoriyoshi, the Chinjufu-shōgun (鎮守府将軍), led the forces of the central court against the Abe and Emishi during the Former Nine Years War in Tōhoku (ancient Mutsu), and is credited with founding a branch shrine of Iwashimizu Hachimangū at the beach of Yuigahama. His son, Minamoto Yoshiie, went through his genpuku, or coming of age, ceremony at Iwashimizu, and would be known as Hachimantarō Yoshiie. He would fight alongside his father and eventually succeed to the position of Chinjufu Shōgun and becoming a model for later Minamoto warriors.
When Minamoto no Yoritomo founded the Kamakura Bakufu following the Genpei War, he had the shrine at Yuigahama moved to the current position. At the height of Kamakura’s power, the shrine held a pride of place in the shōgun’s capital. From that point on, Hachiman was very closely associated with the Minamoto and the warrior class, i.e. the samurai.
This wasn’t discussed but in case it comes up: this is shrine in the Ōsaka area of Habikino in front of the kofun designated as that of Ōjin Tennō, which claims to be the oldest Hachiman shrine. However, it likely was just a shrine to Ōjin Tennō, and only later renamed as a Hachiman shrine once Ōjin and Hachiman were recognized as one and the same.
“Konda” is a reading of the characters “Homuda”, as in “Homuda Wake”, the name of the sovereign known as Ōjin Tennō.

The Six National Histories 六国史

Six official histories produced between the Nara and Heian periods that capture the institutional history of the early Japanese state.

Digital Copies of the Rikkokushi in Japanese can be found here: http://www.kikuchi2.com/sheet/rikkoku.html

These appear to have been digitized from the Asahi Shinbun’s 1940 publication, which can also be found at the National Diet Library online.

Description Completed: 720
- Period: Mythological “Age of the Gods” to 697
- Size: 30 volumes
- Notes: Largely designed to tell the history of the royal family. Starts at the mythical Age of the Gods and tells the story of the mythical, legendary, and finally historical rulers. Generally thought to cover the Kofun and then Asuka periods, up to the founding of the Fujiwara Capital in Kashihara.
- Completed: 797
- Period: 697-791
- Size: 40 volumes
- Notes: History of the Nara period, from the Fujiwara Capital, the move to Heijō-kyō (Nara), and eventual move to Nagaoka-kyō
- Completed: 840
- Period: 792-833
- Size: 40 volumes
- Notes: Covers the founding of Heian-kyō (modern Kyōto) and the early Heian court.
- Completed: 869
- Period: 833-850
- Size: 20 volumes
- Notes: Noticeably smaller in terms of number of volumes, covering a relatively brief period—less than two decades—and only a single reign (that of Ninmyō Tennō).
- Completed: 879
- Period: 827-858
- Size: 10 volumes
- Notes: Covers the reign of Montoku Tennō, who had also been the one to order the previous work (Shoku Nihon Kōki)
- Completed: 901
- Period: 858-887
- Size: 50 volumes
- Notes: A much larger work, and highly detailed, covering three reigns (Seiwa, Yōzei, and Kōkō). Many of the volumes were omitted in later copies of the manuscript. This would be the last national history. A seventh was drafted but not completed. Instead, much of the history from this point forward were private projects rather than national texts like these.

Honorable Mention

Two of the histories we’ve relied on are not part of the official Rikkokushi.

- Completed: 718
- Period: Age of the gods up to 628
- Size: 3 volumes
- Notes: The Kojiki purports to be the written version of the history as memorized by Hieda no Are for recitation at court. This history is less detailed and has more of a narrative focus compared to its contemporary, the Nihon Shoki, though they were likely pulling from many of the same sources. It often makes different choices for representing Japanese words with the sinitic characters. Being shorter, it was also an easier read, and as such tended to be much more popular with many people.
- Completed: Unk. Likely between 807 and 936 (though there are arguments for an earlier date)
- Period: Up to 628
- Size: 10 volumes
- Notes: The work is attributed to the legendary Prince Shōtoku, but is almost certainly later. It shares certain passages with the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki. Besides the history of the royal line, it also contains biographies of members of the Mononobe and related Owari families. It also contains a list of the first provincial governors. It was thought to be one of the earliest histories before it was criticized in the Edo period as an imitation, copying parts of the Nihon Shoki, Kojiki, and Kogo Shūi.

Historical Works

The Man’yōshu is an early compilation of over 4,500 Japanese poems, or waka. Because of the unique syllabic counts required for waka, the poems used Man’yogana to help ensure that the phonetic characteristics of the characters were captured. However, the system was not standardized, and even the Man’yōshu, which likely involved multiple editors pulling from multiple different works, is not always consistent.
The Man’yōshu is also important in that the preface to many of the poems gives us some context in terms of the names of authors and occasionally some of the circumstances around the poem’s creation, which can provide greater insight into what was happening at a given time or during a given historical event.
Written between the 8th and 9th centuries, it is our oldest collection of Japanese Buddhist setsuwa—folk tales, stories, etc. It is three volumes and contains many tales with fantastical elements that involve historical figures and is often a key source for understanding how the people and events were viewed, ev en if the tales contain elements that strain credulity.
The Tale of the Heike, or Taira House, is a popular telling of the events of the Genpei Wars—the wars of the late 12th century between supporters of the Taira and Minamoto families, which ended with the fall of the Taira and the rise of Minamoto Yoritomo as the first Kamakura shōgun. It is a classic work, and opens with a line about the tolling of the bells in Gion, a district of Kyōto, the capital at the time.
Opening lines:
祇園精舍の鐘の声、諸行無常の響きあり。
ぎおんしょうじゃのかねのこえ、しょぎょうむじょうのひびきあり。
GION SHŌJA NO KANE NO KOE, SHOGYŌ-MUJŌ NO HIBIKI ARE.
The knell of the bells at the Gion temple
Echoes the impermanence of all things.
- P. G. O’Neill, trans.
The Hōjōki, or record of the Ten Foot Square Hut, is a famous work from the early 13th century that discusses the impermanence of the world. It is very Buddhist in its worldview, and not overly long, but quite influential.

Opening Lines
ゆく河の流れは絶えずして、しかも、もとの水にあらず。
ゆくかはのながれはたえずして、しかも、もとのみずにあらず
YUKU KAHA NO NAGARE WA TAEZUSHITE, SHIKAMO, MOTO NO MIZU NI ARAZU
The flow of the river never ceases,
And the water never stays the same.
- Matthew Stavros, trans.
Compiled in 1439, it is the 8th imperial poetry anthology. The full title translates to “New Anthology of Ancient and Modern Japanese Poems”. This continued a tradition started with the Kokinshū in the Heian period.
“The Narrow Road to Oku” or “The Narrow Road to the Interior/Deep North”, was written by the famous poet Matsuo Bashō and published posthumously in 1702. It is written in the form of a diary, with prose and poetic verse. It is based on a journey he took in 1689, and is considered a classic of Japanese literature.
Item description

Kana and Japanese writing systems

The Chinese language has a long history, and given its use of semantograms—symbols with with linguistic meaning but not necessarily strictly phonetic value—it could be widely used by different groups but also sometimes obscures the pronunciation. Today, there are numerous dialects that are mutually unintelligible while speaking, but which use the same written system.
Older versions of Chinese, or Sinitic, have been observed and scholars have done their best to get a sense of how things were pronounced and how pronunciation and grammar changed over time.
The language of the Tang court is often referred to as “Early Middle Chinese”, or EMC. Originally it was just “Middle Chinese”, but since then scholars have been able to further differentiate the linguistic elements across time. EMC is also called Qieyun, as one of the primary resources is a rhyme dictionary from 601, just before the start of the Tang dynasty. Rhyme dictionaries use tone and pronunciation to organize the Sinitic characters, rather than using common elements. This was used, even in ancient times, to help scholars better understand the language of the classics.
Kanbun reflects Sinitic, or Chinese, writing by Japanese authors. It is written almost entirely with kanji, and follows Sinitic grammar. Early kanbun was essentially just the Early Middle Chinese of the Tang Dynasty. Later centuries would see Japanese kanbun morph and evolve (as would languages on the continent). This was similar to how Latin evolved and changed in Europe, over time, occasionally generating localisms that may have changed how it was interpretted and translated.
To assist readers, some kanbun texts provide “yomi-kudashi” (読み下し), which is a way of representing the text with guides to help with grammar and Japanese pronunciation. It typically helps to make it understandable while preserving the original characters.
Man’yōgana are Sinitic characters (kanji) used as phonograms to write the sounds of Japanese words. This was the precursor to modern kana systems, like hiragana and katakana. However, since there are many kanji with the same or similar pronunciations, they could often be used interchangably. There is also some consideration that Old Japonic, the older form of Japanese, may have had more oor different sounds from what we use today.
The name comes from its prominent use in the Man’yōshu, the oldest extant collection of Japanese waka (traditional Japanese poetry).
The senmyō are royal (or imperial) edicts from the throne. They are often specifically called out in the text of the histories and written using a limited number of Man’yogana—Sinitic characters used as phonograms to write out Japonic texts. This is in contrast to the majority of the historical texts which were written in a version of Classical Chinese—specifically the Early Middle Chinese of the Tang dynasty—with Man’yogana used only where necessary to express unique pronunciation of Japonic words.
Old Japonic refers to the language(s) spoken in the archipelago in ancient times, as things were being written down. It differs significantly from modern Japanese, though shares a clear resemblance. Because we only have written text, and most of it is written prior to the use of hiragana or katakana, much of what is known has to be inferred . For example, “H” sounds were more likely pronounced as “P”, which we still see in some occasions. Likewise we see things like AFUMI which later becomes OUMI. There are also some theories that there may have been more sounds in Old Japonic that were lost or which became a single sound as the kana system was being developed.

Scholars

During the discussion we touched on a number of scholars, past, present, and up-and-coming. Rather than attempting to list all of their accomplishments, which would really make this too lengthy, I have simply provided names for those who wish to seek more information.

Pre-modern

Motoori Norinaga 本居宣長 (1730-1801)

Modern

Aoki, Kazuo　(青木和夫)

Bently, John R.

FARRIS, William Wayne

FELT, MATTHIEU

FRIDAY, Karl

HURST, G. Cameron “Cappy”

KANAGAWA, NADIA

KEENE, Donald

LAFLEUR, William “Bill”

LOWE, Bryan

MAIR, Victor

McBain, Abigail

MORRIS, Ivan

Sakaehara, Towao　(栄原永遠男)

Sansom, George

SIMPSON, EMILY

Snellen, J. B.

VARLEY, H. Paul

VOVIN, Alexander

Webb, HERSCHEL

Links

Oxford Ninjal Corpus of Old Japanese Texts
Guide to Shōsōin Research (Princeton University)
Pre-modern Japances Studies (PMJS) - A worldwide network of scholars, students, and professionals who research premodern Japan.
Monumenta Nipponica - Published by Sophia University since 1938.
Association for Asian Studies - A non-profit dedicated to the advancement of the field of Asian Studies through international exchange, networking, publications, research support, and career development.
文部科学省 Scholarship Programs- The Monbukagakushō, or Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology (formerly just the Ministry of Education, Monbushō 文部省 until 2001).

JOSHUA: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyō's Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is a special episode I'd like to share with you an interview I had with Doctor Ross Bender, translator of the shogunate. Now, some of you may know Doctor Bender from his work translating the Shoku Nihongi, the official history of the Japanese court compiled in 797 and covering from the end of the Nihon Shoki in 697 through the entirety of the Fujiwara capital and Nara periods ending at the 10th year of the reign of Kanmu Tennō in 791.
Not only has he translated the historical chronicles, but he has a series of books on the senmyō, the edicts, as well as more about that period, including institutional life more generally. And we cannot forget the paper that started at all, the Hachiman cult and the Dōkyō incident. We'll have links to all of this and more over on the episode blog post page.
Now, in this interview, we cover the Shoku Nihongi and Dr. Bender's academic journey. Throughout that journey, he has had the chance to converse and study with some of the big names in Japanese historical circles, such as Donald Keene, Alexander Vovin, G. Cameron “Cappy” Hurst, and more. It was absolutely a pleasure to be able to talk with him about his career, his work, and about the Shoku Nihongi and this period more generally, and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.
So without further ado, I give you Sengoku Daimyo’s interview of Dr. Ross Bender.

Dr. Bender, thank you very much for joining me for this. Dr. Bender has done some absolutely wonderful work, in particular with translating the Shoku Nihongi, which is going to be very key to some of the stuff we're going to be looking at here in the coming years.
I want to thank you, first of all, for all of your efforts and welcome you to Sengoku Daimyo’s Podcast, here; our little Chronicles of Japan.

DR. ROSS BENDER: Thank you. Happy to be here.

J: So your translation of the Shoku Nihongi: how did you come about deciding to do that? What was it that pulled you into the translation?

R: Well, it's a long story, but it does go back to my time in graduate school at Columbia in the 70s.
In 1974, I finished my Master's thesis, which was “The Hachiman Cult and the Dōkyō Incident”. I started grad school in 1971, and after a lot of intensive language training, became interested in Hachiman because, as you know, the common definition was that Hachiman was the Shinto god of war. Of course, at the time, the Vietnam War was raging. And so I became interested in, you know, what was this theology of a war God.
And so I became rather obsessed with Hachiman, and, two things: In 74, I was in a seminar with Donald Keene on the Noh theater, and I found a play--a Hachiman play--called “Yumi Yawata”. And I translated that and became interested in the way that Hachiman was portrayed in this Noh play. And then at the same time, I became interested in the Dōkyō incident and the Hachiman Oracle.
So that was really my first encounter with Shoku Nihongi.

Two things I suppose really struck me. The first was that although the text is in classical Chinese or literary Sinitic, the senmyō and a few of the- there are a few poems are in the old Japanese script inscribed in Shoku Nihongi.

J: And the “senmyō”: They are specifically the edicts.

R: They are the imperial edicts that are recorded in old Japanese.
And Motoori Norinaga, in the 18th century did an intensive study and interpretation, really, of them. And he came up with a canonical number of 62. There are some quibbles with that number, but that's the number. And so at the same time, I was discovering that some of the pioneers in the field had done work on these. So, for example, George Sansom in the 1920s had started to translate the senmyō, and he had also done work on the ritsuryo.
And then in the 30s, JB Snellen had begun translation of the Shoku Nihongi, and he completed the years 697 to 715. So the reigns of Monmu and Genmei and-

J: I remember actually going through that translation. I think at one point I found it and was so enamored of like, oh, we have some of this, but then it then it stops.

R: Then it stops.
And so both Sansom and Snellen are published in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan. And as I say, these were real pioneers, you know, digging into this stuff. And it was amusing because Snellen prefaced his work by saying that Shoku Nihongi is “dry as dust”. And he further said that translating it was like “intellectual coolie labor”.
But his translation, you know, is still very useful and extraordinarily well documented, footnoted. And of course, I was able to use that, although it needed updating.

J: You mentioned that you had language training before going into this.

R: Well, I started at Columbia in fall of 71 with no Japanese at all. I had visited Japan and as a teenager in 67, but no language training.
So they gave me an intensive full year of language study. So you had first year, second year, and third year all in the first calendar year. And then in the second year of study you started Bungo and further modern Japanese. And I have to say that I was very fortunate to be at Columbia at a time when some of the giants and pioneers of the field were there.
So Ivan Morris had the first class in classical Japanese, and we did bits of Hōjōki and Heike Monogatari. And he told us that when we eventually went to Japan, we might find ourselves at a cocktail party, and we could be sure to amaze the hosts. And so he had us memorize the opening lines of both of those.

J: That's fascinating. So, so all about the Gion bells, and-

R: Yes. “Gion shōja no kane no koe...”, and “Yuku kawa no nagare wa...” So I actually- I think there was one time I was at a party with, oddly enough, bunch of pediatricians from Kobe Children's Hospital, and I tried them out and with Hōjōki, and they couldn't get it. They said, oh, is that Hyakunin Isshu?

J: [laughing]
R: So I was kind of pleased about that. But then everybody knew the “Heike”.

J: Right.

R: Yeah. So actually my first class in ancient Japanese history was with Morris. He tragically died in 1976, so he had the Bungo introduction in the fall. And then Donald Keene came back from Japan and did it in the spring. And so he introduced us to a Noh play and “Oku no Hosomichi” and Shinkokinshu, I think. So the language training was just excellent. And then in the third year, Doctor Hakeda did Shingon Buddhism and classical Chinese and so forth. So yes, there was a lot of front-loading and intensive language study, but it was very pleasurable.

J: As you're studying about Dōkyō and the Dōkyō Incident and Hachiman, that then allowed you to access these sources and the senmyō, and all of that, correct?

R: Right. That was my first introduction to them. Both the “Yumi Yawata” and the “Hachiman and the Dōkyō Incident” were published in the late 70s in Monumenta Nipponica, and then in 1980, I finished my dissertation, which was the political meaning of the Hachiman cult in ancient and early medieval Japan.

J: I came across that as I was going through Ōjin Tennō’s period.
R: Yes, it was sort of a simplistic construction, but what I did basically was to posit three stages of the Hachiman cult. The first at Usa, which was the oracular stage, the second at Iwashimizu, which was where the Ōjin Tennō connection developed, and also the Hachiman Daibosatsu connection. And then the third stage, you know, identified with Tsurugaoka in Kamakura, which was the Minamoto- Where the martial aspect--the god of war--really developed.

J: And that is fascinating because, you know, you go to Hachiman shrines today and that's probably where people's minds will first go. But it is such a fascinating religious exercise of like Shinto, but also kind of Buddhist and kind of continental.

R: Yes. And I don't know what the statistics are today, but at least I think 35 or 40% of Shinto shrines have some connection with Hachiman.
So it's yeah, it's a fascinating study all by itself.

J: So as you were doing this, you come across the Shoku Nihongi. Can you talk a little bit about where the Shoku Nihongi falls in all of this?

R: Yes. Well, the notable thing about both Nihongi and Kojiki is that they begin with the Age of the Gods, so that the first sections, the Shinwa, are the mythologies.
Nihongi probably becomes historically accurate sometime in the late, I don't know, it's late six hundreds, but for the seven hundreds it's probably pretty much historically accurate. And of course, you know that John Bentley just recently did the first English translation since I think 1898 was going to ask, so that was long overdue. And that's a very useful publication.
J: It's interesting to see the differences in some of the things he updates and the different take he has on it in terms of how to do some of the translating.

R: Yes. And he is a historical linguist. And so he has a very valuable exegesis and commentary. And then, of course, Matthieu Felt just published the first volume of his translation.
It was Oxford Press. That just came out a few months ago. That's also a useful document. He actually has the text of the Nihon Shoki along with the translation. And so that's very useful. And I'm not sure when he's going to be publishing the second half, but that's something to watch for.

So the first one started with The Age of the gods.
Now, Shoku Nihongi is the second of the Rikkokushi, or ‘Six National Histories’, and it, unlike the first two, is judged to be a very accurate historical chronicle. And it, of course, was presented to the Court of Kanmu in two recensions, 794 and 797, and takes the story up to 791, which I think was the 10th year of Kanmu’s reign.
That's where it fits. And then, of course, you have the rest of the Rikkokushi. The next one is Nihon Kōki, which I'm just starting to get into now. Then Shoku Nihon Kōki, Nihon Montoku Tennō Jitsuroku, and then Nihon Sandai Jitsuroku. So they take the story up to 887, and they become increasingly detailed, and the language becomes more intricate as time goes on.
But that's where Shoku Nihongi sits in terms of the six national histories, and they're all court chronicles, compiled by court scholars and ordered by the emperors. And of course, the point of view is that of the central court.

J: Right. You're not getting Kyūshū’s take on things.

R: No. Although, you know, Kyūshū is a fascinating place. A lot happens there. So of course you have the Dazaifu, the Kyūshū government headquarters, which is an important outpost, almost a mini capital by itself.
J: The first several dazai sōchi, I think, all become Daijin. Like Sadaijin, Udaijin. They kind of come back and do that if they don't pass away in the meantime.

R: Yeah, it's an important post. People take that position and come back. But also what's interesting is that the Hayato people of southern Kyūshū begin to appear in the chronicles, and in the early years, there are some major Hayato rebellions, and that's a story all by itself.
Those rebellions are, for the most part, put down. And then there's some sort of accommodation because Hayato people show up at court almost as envoys from, you know, the barbarian realm, and then some of them become guards. So they are assimilated more or less early on. And then, of course, there's the whole question of the Hayato and the Emishi and where did they come from?
There are some theories that when the Yayoi people came in they mixed with the Jōmon people and assimilated. But some theories that the Hayato in the far southwest and the Emishi in the northeast were remnants of the old Jōmon. So that's, you know, it's a possibility, but it's certainly interesting. And unlike the Hayato, the Emishi, as you know, were constant problem for the Nara court.
And all through Shoku Nihongi, but particularly from about oh 780 on, there were more and more intense periods of warfare. And these are described in great detail in Shoku Nihongi. Karl Friday and Wayne Farris back in the 90s, both did books on. I think Farris was the “Heavenly Warriors: History of the Samurai”. And then Karl Friday also did a book on the samurai, but they paid a lot of attention to these Emishi wars, so that's well documented in English.
J: Getting back to the Shoku Nihongi, which includes all of this, really, what were some of the biggest challenges you found?

R: Well, part of the story is that after I finished my dissertation, I went off and did a variety of things, this and that, and finally wound up at University of Pennsylvania teaching in the English Language Programs, which was the program to teach English to foreign students.
At that time the majority of the students when I started were from Japan. So I actually ran a program for the Monbushō, and they would send over Japanese high school teachers of English for a summer session, and we would give them language classes, but also pedagogical training, how to teach English. And so that was my connection with Japan during that period.
And so I really was away from my original interest until the early 2000s. I took early retirement and I visited my old advisor, Paul Varley. He had, of course, taught at Columbia, but then he had retired and moved to University of Hawaii. I visited him, he introduced me to Wayne Farris, who was also there at the time, and they both encouraged me to get back, get back to work.
So that was sort of the impetus. I have to give them credit for that. So I found myself in Kobe for several months in 2006, and that was when I decided I was interested in the senmyō. So my first thought, my first ambition was to translate the senmyō. As you know, in the late 80s and 90s, the immense five volume Iwanami collated and critical edition had come out, the one edited by Aoki Kazuo and his team.
That was still a magnificent piece of work, you know, with I'm sure you've seen it with all of the head notes and footnotes, and on one page there's the kanbun and on on the facing page is the yomi-kudashi, and, you know, more than you could ever hope to know. But also at that time there were three modern Japanese translations, so that was very useful.
It was a good time to be starting into this, so I went to a secondhand bookstore in Kobe and got myself the books, and that started, I guess, what's turned out to be a 20 year project.

J: 2006 to 2026.

R: Right.

J: And it looks like you're doing most of this through self-publishing. Is that correct?

R: Yes. I discovered early on that what's now called Kindle Direct--it used to be called Create Space--through Amazon was a very useful piece of software. In fact, I first published several volumes of poetry in 2012, and that was my introduction to using this platform. And I've been very pleased with it, because I don't have to wait years and years to try to find an academic publisher. And actually they pay royalties through Amazon, so...
J: That's not bad.

R: Yeah, that's worked out well for me. So I never had a chance to have an academic position teaching Japanese studies. Although when I was at Penn, my friend Cappy Hurst--Cameron Hurst--was the chairman of the department and he had been a student also of Varley's at Columbia, although before my time. And he invited me to give some lectures in his class on Japanese history.
So another thing was that my classical Chinese needed an upgrade. Fortunately, at Penn, Victor Mair was teaching a year long course in classical Chinese, and so I sat through that and he was extremely, extremely helpful. Then one other thing was that I also got to know Alexander Vovin, who at the time was at Hawaii, and he, of course, is the- was the authority on old Japanese.
And, you know, his Man’yōshu translations and, and commentary are just really helpful. So he gave me some good advice. So I had good teachers all the way through. And, you know, I'm always very grateful for that.

J: You mentioned classical Chinese. I'm curious how much of it is a standard classical Chinese, or is it kind of their own thing in the archipelago? I'm curious what the language is like in the Shoku Nihongi.

R: Okay, so of course, at that time, the eighth century was sort of the apogee of the Tang dynasty, and at least from what Victor Mair told me. And he was very helpful in beginning this translation. And he would look at some of my stuff. And according to him, it was pretty much like the Tang dynasty Chinese.
I think that's called Early- I forget- Early Middle Chinese. So at least for the eighth century, that seemed to be the case. And, you know, you have records in the Shoku Nihongi of teachers who come from the mainland and lecture and teach the correct pronunciation and how to read. And then, of course, with the Buddhist monks, they're using the Chinese translations of some of the Sanskrit, and they have their own techniques for reading.
So, yeah, the eighth century is a really dynamic time because the Japanese, at least at the elite level, are and with the help of the Koreans and that should be emphasized after the fall of Paekche there were a large number of refugees and high ranking aristocrats who came to Japan and helped them to learn to read and write Chinese.
And then, of course, the Japanese started sending students to China and, you know, staying there for ten, twenty years. So, yeah, it was a very dynamic time. And then, of course, they were learning how to use Chinese characters to express old Japanese. And that's another story in itself, using the characters as semantograms, but also as phonograms. That's one of the things I found really fascinating about old Japanese, about the senmyō.
J: And how does that compare to- I think we usually just refer to “Man’yōgana” as any of that. Is it very similar to what's going on in the Man’yōshu, or is once again, is there something else going on with the senmyō?

R: The standard edition of the senmyō I think notes that there are about 250 some--if I've got the number right--of phonograms used in the senmyō. There is a huge number used in the Man’yōshu; much greater.
In fact, I think Vovin once said that it's not really known that you can't count. Although Bentley has a very excellent book, I think it's called an ABC Dictionary of Phonograms, like that. He has really scoured the landscape. So- But you could say that the phonograms in the senmyō are Man’yōgana, but that the set of Man’yōgana is far, far greater.
J: Only 250 phonograms to have to worry about, as opposed to going through the Man’yōshu and seeing every once in a while a character and going, which pronunciation or what are they trying to represent here?

R: Yeah, yeah. So I mean, Man’yō studies, you know, or a whole realm in themselves and some of the, the emperors--I’m thinking of Genmei especially, or is it Gensho? I think it's Gensho. She has three poems in the Shoku NIhongi and they may be included in Man’yōshu. So there's some crossover. I was going to say that, of course, once you start reading these phonograms, you begin to see where the kana systems developed from, from Man’yōgana.

J: Right. So I think I've read that in Old Japonic, we think that there were more or at least different sounds than maybe we have today.
R: Yes.

J: And so you see it represented in different ways. You'll see the same--what we would think of as the same character--represented differently, because to them it was different.

R: Yes. So there's still, as far as I know, no absolute standard for representing old Japanese. You'll see different scholars have their own takes on it, and Vovin, in his Man’yōshu translations, has his own very intricate system.
Another good place to look that's freely available. The Oxford, I think it's called the Oxford Ninjal Corpus of Old Japanese Texts, is an ongoing project. It's actually been ongoing for many years, but you can go there. They have laid out all of the Man’yōshu poems with their romanization system. I suspect that, you know, that's very prestigious and will eventually become a standard.
But that's where you find all these things. Like is it "Himiko" or "Pimiko"?

J: Do you say "Kapa", "Kaha", or "Kawa"?

R: Yes. There you go.

J: [Laughter]

R: Right. Yeah.

J: I’m constantly wondering that myself.

R: Yeah. So you'll see different scholars have different ways of approaching it. But my opinion is that the Oxford, which is a very long standing and slow running project, will probably produce the standard.

J: In doing this translation, were there any favorite moments or items of particular interest that you found?
R: So yes, actually my first go at the senmyō were the edicts of the lady we call Koken/Shotoku. Actually, I think almost half of the senmyō were produced during her reign. And so that was where I started. I think the first article I got around to writing in 2009 was for the journal Oral Tradition, and it was called Performative Loci of the Shoku Nihoingi Edict 749 to 770.
And also because of my interest in Dōkyō my interest in her went way back. So 2015 I did the edicts. I called it the Edicts of the Last Empress, and it was a translation of all of the edicts from her reign. That year and the next year I did the four volumes I called them, Nara Japan 749 to 757, 758 to 763.
So that period was, yeah, my first period of interest. And of course it went back to the Hachiman cult and the Dōkyō incident. I mean, you know, the stories about this wild empress I saw I saw an article that's just come out. I think it's a compilation of Women in Japanese Buddhism. And the title of the article by Emily Simpson is “The Depraved Empress”.
So that was one of the things that, early on, I decided was not accurate. That's a whole rabbit hole by itself. But according to Shoku Nihongi, there's no evidence, you know, of any illicit goings on between the two. But in Nihon Ryoiki, which appears in the early Heian period, not much later, you find the first really scurrilous story that about Dōkyō and the Empress.
And then, as if you look at, for example, Donald Keene's "Seeds in the Heart," he has a long excerpt from a medieval tale. I forget which one that, you know, really rings the changes. And what fascinated me was that in there was a Playboy fable- I forget they were called. Some sort of fabulous stories. This one was done anonymously, but it was a very scurrilous, licentious story about Dōkyō and the Empress, and done anonymously.
But it was later found to have been Bill LaFleur--William LaFleur--who taught at Penn and passed away unfortunately, some years ago.

J: So then in the Shoku Nihongi, it's just straight up politics, right? Just about Dōkyō’s rise. And then it's just the political conflict going on rather than anything else?

R: Right. And it's a very intense period of political-
So of course, the story was that when she was at the Hora capital, which was up near Otsu, it was a brief capital, and she was there and she was ill, and Dōkyō apparently at that time attended her as a physician. And that was the beginning of their relationship. So this would have been 760 or so. But the only phrase is that Dōkyō received the favor of the Empress, but it doesn't have a sexual connotation.
It's used in other political settings also.

J: Yeah, I have to wonder how much they weren't looking back at Wu in the Chinese, which of course she also gets excoriated for stuff that is questionable. How much worse was it than anything that any of the men did? But she was a woman doing it.

R: Yes. Well, that's what happens to female rulers.
You know, you have Catherine the Great in Russia. So. Yes. So that was initially my what really excited me. It was that period. And then I finished the “Edicts” translation. This was 2012. Bryan Lowe, who's a good friend at Princeton, he was finishing his doctorate and he had a workshop on Shosoin documents, and he invited Dr. Sakaehara Towao to present at the workshop.
And he had been Bryan's advisor in Japan. So I was able to meet him and then talk to him and said, you know, I think I'd like to translate Shoku Nihongi. And he basically said, go for it. But I met him later that fall in Nara. He was at the Todaiji Museum, and so he encouraged me. A lot of people gave encouragement along the way.
Yeah. So 20 years later, actually, I finished the translation 2025. And then this year in the spring, I did what I- is sort of considered the capstone, the volume: “The Japanese Imperial Institution in the Eighth Century.” That's available as an e-book and also paperback and hardcover. And so there I have about a 75 page overview of the eighth century and then the introductions, not the translations, but the introductions to each of the emperors throughout the period.
I'm very happy with that. And that sort of puts a cap on it. I should mention that that was in memory of Herschel Webb, another one of my great teachers at Columbia. He had done a book way back in 68 called “The Japanese Imperial Institution in the Tokugawa Era”. And so this is sort of an homage to his memory.

J: And we very much thank you for it.
I remember when that came out, and we definitely snapped it up as soon as we saw it.

R: Well, great.

J: [Laughter]

R: Yeah. And you know, it's all available on Amazon. So let me let me make my plug.

J: Absolutely. Absolutely. You mentioned something about the Nihon Kōki. Are you are you serious about taking this project on and moving forward, or is that just kind of something you're toying with?
R: Well, no, I'm actually I've actually made a start. That's an immense document. And what I'm interested in is finishing the reign of Emperor Kanmu. He dies in 806. And so Nihon Kōki begins in 792, and I’m currently up to 799. But I'm not putting as much energy into it. I do maybe an hour a day if I feel like it, but it's slow going.
But there's some really fascinating stuff. So Wake no Kiyomaro died in 799, and they've inserted this immensely long biography of his life at this point, although it was obviously produced later and it's set apart. But that has details of his miraculous trip to the Usa shrine. And, you know, it's not clear if somebody cut his tendons, but he was lame and so he was on his way to Kyūshū, and suddenly a pack of wild boars appeared and sort of escorted him down to the shrine.
It is just a really wonderful story. Then he has a vision of Hachiman, which is not part of the Shoku Nihongi tale. Yeah, I'm trucking along. My ambition is at least to finish the reign of Emperor Kanmu, and then we'll see what time there is beyond that.

J: So do you have any recommendations for current students of Japanese history? Those coming up?
R: Actually, there are some young scholars. I was at the Association for Asian Studies meeting in Columbus, Ohio, which was, I guess, yeah, 2025. And for some reason there were a good number of presentations on eighth and ninth century. So there's a scholar by the name of Nadia Kanagawa. She finished a dissertation at USC on immigrants in the eighth century.
Then Abigail McBain finished up at Columbia, and her dissertation was on specifically Tang Buddhist monks and interchange with Japan. Yeah, so there are some young scholars who are digging in to this. You know, I was just looking the other day at Wikipedia, which is a good start for anyone. I would say, you know, take it with a grain of salt.
But if you want to know the names of the, you know, the famous emperors and the rebels, you know, Tachibana no Naramaro, and Fujiwara no Nakamaro. And just, just the other day I found this amazing thing called ‘Grokipedia’, which apparently is a new. But it's one of those AI things. Yeah, but it had the best summary of the Shoku Nihongi that I've seen.
So with the AI revolution, goodness knows what's going to happen. But yeah, I find that it's possible to dip in and a lot of things are available. For example, the Rikkokushi text is online, it's been online, and it was first published by Asahi Shimbun way back when. But I used that and then that the Oxford project that I mentioned is online -- more and more it's becoming possible to access, you know, original documents.
J: Yeah, combination of making them available online, better online translations.

R: Machine translation is going great guns. Yeah-

J: Yeah. Although I have to admit, it can get you a sense of what the classical Chinese is kind of saying sometimes, but the translation for some of the old stuff just it still has some work to do. I think it's better if you can translate the at least the modern Japanese translation, rather than sometimes going back into this.
It's still tricky.

R: Yeah, well, it's I admit I'm getting old, but this this stuff is getting kind of frightening. This machine translation...

J: It is, yeah.

R: I feel like I’d be out of the job if I had a job.

J: Well, I think there's still a lot of questions to be asked on that. I don't think we need to get into a whole thing on AI right now, but I think there's some great benefits, obviously.
And then, you know, I definitely know there's some concerns too, because every once in a while it can just hallucinate an answer. And you might be going through things that seem absolutely wonderful and then find something that you're like, wait a minute, I never knew that. [laughter]

R: And then it turns out not to be true.

J: Yeah, I don't know if you heard there was one, and I mean, this was a year ago, which already seems, in AI terms, ages and ages, but apparently it hallucinated entire papers and authors.

R: Yes, that's there was I don't know if you follow the PMJS list.

J: Oh yeah.

R: But I think there was a discussion and an example of that. So it's-
J. But the world is going to be different.
J: Things are changing. And I think we will figure out how to use the tools that are useful will hopefully win out. And there's always going to be certain things. For instance, I remember early days, Wikipedia and still, you know, looking at Wikipedia sometimes for certain things around more popular subjects got to be a little more wary, though I have found the Japanese Wikipedia has been great when you're just trying to look for something and go, let me at least get what a common sense of this is so that I know the other things to go research.
R: Well, I was going to say, just to sort of sum up, yeah, we're in a very dynamic time, but the eighth century was very similar because the new technologies were pouring in from the continent and the peninsula, and people were learning these new methods of reading and writing and orality to literacy.

J: So any last thoughts? I do appreciate all your time. But any last thoughts as we finish up here?

R: Not really, but I noticed that yesterday you came up with a long spiel on the UNESCO World Heritage site, and that's exciting. The Asuka region you seem to have links to photographs that took me back to wandering around that area. The Ishibutai, I remember, was something. So party on and keep up the good work.
J: Thank you very much and thank you again. Thank you for your time today, and thank you for all the work that you've put into this. You have made these sources so much more accessible for people in English, and I think that is going to be critical as we move forward. I know for me this is a huge help.
I was looking at Shoku Nihongi going, okay, I know we've got like the first so many years so I can get through that and then I'm really going to have to up my game. Then I saw all the work that you'd been doing and it was like a big load felt lifted off of my back. Now I can, you know, take a look.
But at least with the idea that someone more experience than I has already done some of the really hard labor. I really want to say thank you for all of that.

R: Yeah, you're very welcome.

J: And once again, I would like to say thank you to Doctor Bender and thank all of you for listening. If you think that this is something you would like to see more of, please let us know.
We'll see what we can do. Perhaps we can make it the start of a new interview series. In the meantime, next episodes we get back to our regularly scheduled program. And as always, if you like what we are doing, please 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 thing going, we do have information about how you can donate on Patreon, where we have early and add free episodes for you to listen to.
You can also donate through our Ko-Fi or BuyMeACoffee Sites. Just look up SengokuDaimyo for all of that. You can also find the links over to our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com, where we will also have more discussion on topics from this episode. Finally, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.Sengoku.Daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you also to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now. Thank you again and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Simpson, Emily, (2026). “ The Depraved Empress: Sexuality and Womanhood in the Demonization of Empress Shōtoku”. Handbook of Women in Japanese Buddhism. United Kingdom: Routledge. ISBN - 9781041279037
Bender, Ross L. (2026). Emperors Monmu, Genmei, Genshō: Shoku Nihongi 697-724.
Bender, Ross L. (2026). The Japanese Imperial Institution in the Eighth Century. ISBN 979-8249752026
Bender, Ross L. (2025). SHOKU NIHONGI 697-791: A Translation of Maki 1-40.
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Farris, W. W. (2020). Heavenly Warriors: The Evolution of Japan’s Military, 500–1300. Netherlands: Brill. ISBN 9781684172979
Bender, Ross L. (2015). The Edicts of the Last Empress, 749-770: A Translation from Shoku Nihongi. ISBN 978-1500896027.
Bender, Ross L. (2009). “Performative Loci of the Imperial Edicts in Nara Japan, 749-70”. Oral Tradition, 24/1 (2009): 249-268. https://journal.oraltradition.org/wp-content/uploads/files/articles/24i/11_24.1.pdf
Farris, W. W. (1995). Heavenly Warriors: The Evolution of Japan’s Military, 500–1300 (1st ed., Vol. 157). Harvard University Asia Center. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt1tfjbcf
Friday, K. F. (1992). Hired Swords: The Rise of Private Warrior Power in Early Japan. United States: Stanford University Press. ISBN 9780804726962
青木, 和夫 (ed). (1989). 続日本紀全5巻セット. 岩波書店. ISBN 9784002004082.
Bender, Ross (1979). "The Hachiman Cult and the Dōkyō Incident". Monumenta Nipponica. 32 (2): 125–153. doi:10.2307/2384320. JSTOR 2384320.
Bender, R. (1978). “Metamorphosis of a Deity. The Image of Hachiman in Yumi Yawata”. Monumenta Nipponica, 33(2), 165–178. https://doi.org/10.2307/2384124
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 155: Immigrants, Priests, and Sweet Wine

September 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

A view of modern Moriyama, from Ōtsu. Mt. Ōmifuji—the Fuji of Ōmi—rises up in the distance, just on the other side of the Yasu River. In front of it, or slightly to the left, from this perspective, evidence was found for an ancient temple, which may be the Yasudera mentioned in the Nihon Shoki.

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Foreigners and Immigrants

In the Nihon Shoki we are often told of people who come from various locations outside of Yamato. Sometimes we are told that they are from another province, like a person of Tanba or a person of Afumi. Other times we are told that they are from the mainland—Silla, Baekje, or Goguryeo. These appear to be as much ethno-linquistic descriptions as anything else. Then there are two indigenous groups in the archipelago itself: The Hayato and the Emishi. Both are described as ethnicities, with locations often attached. So you have the Hayato of Ōsumi or the Hayato of Ata, as well as the Kikafu Emishi of Michinoku or the Emishi of Koshi or of Watarijima—aka Hokkaidō.

People from Goguryeo and Baekje had been arriving before the 7th century, but with the destruction of both countries as sovereign entities, there appears to have been an uptick in immigrants. There are various locations noted in the Nihon Shoki as places where people from either country had settled. We also see the evidence of their work in temple art and decoration as well as in the tomb building traditions that develop.

Later documents would track various family lineages back to the continent through people who had come over.

We are also told, on occasion, where people are sent. In the reign of Naka no Oe, we are told that people from Baekje were settled along the Echi river, in Afumi. And in this account we see people from Silla being settled in Musashi and Shimotsuke, in the Kanto region, and people from Goguryeo are settled up in Hitachi. All of these are at the eastern extent of Yamato, and likely were areas with plenty of land that could be opened up to cultivation. This would have been a way to not only settle the newcomers in communities where they could live and work together, but also create increased revenue for the State in terms of eventual crop yields.

Buddhism

One of the most referenced sutras for this time appears to be the Sutra of Golden Light (Konkōmyō-kyō 金光明経). The sutra itself is seen as beneficial for the State, and it is said that when rulers have the sutra read out loud it helps to protect the State itself. It discusses, among other things, the Shitennō, the Four Heavenly Kings, seen as representing the guardians of the four directions.

We see more and more various Buddhist moral concepts coming into play. So we see the prohibition on the killing of animals and fish—at least in certain regions—and even the idea of letting animals that have been captured go free. At the same time, we see continued patronage of Buddhist institutions and events. Some of this is focused on building up merit for the State, while some of it is focused on merit for a particular purpose—unfortunately it isn’t always obvious which is which, unless there is something expressly mentioned in the record.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 155: Immigrants, Priests, and Sweet Wine
The three priests and their companions could see the distinctive pagoda from a distance away.   It stood several stories tall, and the bells at the eave ends glinted in the morning light. To their right, a tall, conical peak stood out from the other mountains, much like a miniature Mt. Fuji. From there, the mountains swept down to the flat plain, which then ended at the edge of the giant body of water known as Lake Biwa. The pagoda rose up between the two, its uppermost spire jutting upwards towards the sky. Around it, much of the flat area had been carved into rectangular rice paddies, with paths and thatched roof buildings around—most of them low to the ground, distinctive of the muro style still prominent amongst most of the common people. As such, though it didn’t come anywhere near the grandeur of the temples in the capital, even a provincial temple stood out with its tiled roof and the brightly colored, red, white, and green walls and windows.
As they approached, the group saw a crowd of people by the gates. Many of them seemed ill and infirm. They had come to be healed by the waters of the temple—the same healing waters that had brought these priests all the way from the capital to investigate.

We are covering a bunch of different things from the reign of Uno no Sarara, from 686 to 697. This episode we take a journey through a few different topics. Mostly we are talking about foreigners—both those from overseas and the ones that Yamato shared the archipelago with—and with Buddhism and how the court used this continental religion that had already become a key organ of the Yamato State.
To start with, let’s talk about immigrants. Immigration to the archipelago by this point isn’t anything new—and I’m not just talking about the groups that came over and kickstarted the Yayoi culture and the eventual mounded tomb period that we know as the Kofun era. There were numerous ethno-linguistic groups that fell under Yamato’s hegemony, and evidence of active migration.
Of the various groups on the archipelago, there appear to be several categories. For instance, we have groups that are clearly external immigrants, from outside of the archipelago and then we have those groups that appear to be considered indigenous, at least by Yamato’s thinking.. Some of this can be seen in how they are treated, discussed, and even assimilated. Those external, while often presented as being in a tribute status, are still treated differently from those on the archipelago, where the land borders of Yamato would abut against the territories of local ethnic groups. This probably also had something to do with the claim that the Heavenly Grandchild and their descendants, the current Tennou, were presumably given sovereignty over the entire Land of the Central Reed Plains, aka the Japanese archipelago.
External immigrants included people from Silla, and, even though the kingdoms themselves had fallen and been absorbed by Silla, Gogureyo and Baekje. This last one might be a bit surprising if we think about it in modern terms where we tend to think in terms of citizenship and nationality first and foremost. So we think of someone as being American, French, or Japanese based on the country they came from. But that American might be Dine—aka Navaho—or they could identify as Cajun or their parents might have been immigrants from somewhere else and they are the first generation born in the US. That doesn’t mean they aren’t American, but “American” is only part of their identity. Likewise that Japanese person could be Ainu, Ryukyuan, or even one of the Bonin islanders. That is to say they may be from an ethno-linguistic group other than the majority ethnic group in that nation.
In the same vein, while it’s true that Baekje had been conquered by Silla, that doesn’t mean that the Baekje people were suddenly erased and that the people suddenly changed their lifestyles or language overnight. And so, while they may have been subjects of the Silla kingdom, there were still Baekje people both in Silla and in the archipelago. And as late as 690, decades after it was conquered, we see that Baekje immigrants were arriving in Japan.
Similarly, we see Goguryeo immigrants who came over in 687, three years earlier, even though that kingdom no longer existed. They were settled in Hitachi, where they were given lands, received an allowance of grain to help tide them over, and then allowed to grow their community and work, as long as they did so peacefully, under the care of the local Yamato officials.
And it isn’t difficult to see why people of Baekje and Goguryeo might come to the archipelago. Their other options were to head to the Great Tang, which had been the other conquering force, or possibly to go find refuge with various Tungusic ethnic groups around the Amur river area, outside of Tang control.
What actually strikes me as a bit more surprising, to be honest, is the immigration of people from Silla. After all, Silla was ascendant, was it not? They had just unified the peninsula and this seems like it would have been a great time to be team Silla, and yet we see people leaving to come to Yamato.
For instance, in 687 we see 14 immigrants from Silla settled in Shimotsuke. 22 more were presented by the Dazai-Sochi and settled in the land of Musashi. In 689 and then in 690 we see more Silla immigrants settled in both places. We also had 50 people come over with Buddhist priests, though we don’t know where they ended up settling. So both Musashi and Shimotsuke were being settled with immigrants from Silla.
Musashi, if you didn’t already know, is the name for the area that would largely become the Tokyo metropolis in modern times. Shimotsuke was the land adjoining it to the northeast. In all likelihood, all of these people were probably being located to areas near each other, even though they are mentioned as being in different provinces. That may have been more of an administrative distinction. That also seems to indicate that they were likely being relocated to border areas where there weren’t already large populations, probably because that is where there was open land that wasn’t already claimed. We see something similar with the court sending the people from Goguryeo all the way to Hitachi.
It does make me wonder what must have happened for someone to choose to come to the Japanese archipelago from Silla to be sent all the way to the far end of Yamato to work the land. In previous centuries I would have assumed that these were captives brought back from raids against the mainland, but by all accounts—and the fact that we continue to have relatively cordial diplomatic relations between Yamato and Silla—it appears that Yamato wasn’t sending raids and that these individuals were likely coming willingly. Perhaps they were getting crowded out somewhere in Silla, and had heard of new opportunities. Or perhaps they had done something to make them persona-non-grata, as they say, back in their home country.   Whatever the reason, there were a number of people coming over, who would have also brought their cultural and technological knowledge along with them. And many of them were being settled in the far eastern end of Honshu—though that may be something for another time.
The indigenous category includes not only the Wa people of Yamato, but also the Hayato and the Emishi. Of these we don’t have a lot of information about who they were or what languages they spoke. For the Hayato we only have a few possible words of their language, and various other things that we know from Yamato’s court records. We know that the Yamato officials needed interpreters to speak with the Hayato. There are those that theorize that the Hayato language had evolved from one of the languages spoken during the Jomon era—which doesn’t give us much to go on other than the idea that it may not have been a Japonic language. Attempts have been made to connect the Hayato with the unique burial features and other material artifacts of southern Kyushu, and then to the previous ethnic group, known as the Kumaso—or possibly the Kuma and So—but so far there are theories but no hard and fast connections.
For example, we know that the Hayato were said to be from Ata and Ohosumi, according to the records of the court, but they also only show up in the late 7th century. Prior to that we have stories of the Kumaso, and even people called Tsuchigumo. Were those previous names for the ancestors of the Hayato? Or were the Hayato encountered later, as Yamato’s borders expanded, having perhaps encompassed the lands of the Kumaso and now running into the Hayato? The fact that they show up so late in the narrative is particularly interesting, as they really only get mentioned in the reign of Ohoama and then Uno no Sarara—though they would be particularly active in the years to come, when the Nihon Shoki was being compiled. For example, we know that the Hayato were brought into the court system, and also that they resisted, with numerous rebellions in the 8th century, though at this early point, things seemed to be going well.
So Hayato were coming to the court, likely seeing some benefit in their association with Yamato. They are shown coming in fairly significant numbers as well.
Meanwhile, we have the ongoing assimilation of the Emishi. Unlike the Hayato, the Emishi have shown up in the narrative since the legendary period. We’ve talked about them quite a bit in various episodes. Even within the Emishi, the Emishi of Koshi are differentiated from the Emishi further north in Tohoku. Linguistically, a lot of place names in Tohoku and eastern Honshu have been compared to the Ainu language, with suspicions that a related language was in use in eastern and northeastern Japan for some time. Tohoku is also the area that most resisted Yayoi culture, based on archaeological finds. We know that wet rice paddy agriculture also made early in-roads into Tohoku, but then retreated much farther south, perhaps because it wasn’t as suitable for the colder climate at that time. Northern material culture continued to exhibit signs of evolution from the previous Jomon era, with Hokkaido continuing a tradition that we know as the Epi-Jomon, which we first talked about back in episode 50, and several times since then as well.. There were some mounded tombs—even some keyhole shaped tombs around Sendai and Osaki, in modern Miyagi prefecture—but nothing comparable to the large numbers of tombs found in areas further to the south.
The Yamato people had had regular encounters with people called “Emishi” since at least the time of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno. During the time that Takara Hime was on the throne a second time, there were massive military operations, first against the Emishi, and then supporting them against the Mishihase people in what appears to have been Hokkaido. The Emishi were further brought under the Yamato court and into the court rank system, and we see rank handed out to various members of the group. Then, in the reign of Uno no Sarara, we start to see further cultural assimilation in the form of the spread of Buddhism.
In 689, we are told of Shiriko, an “Emishi of Kikafu, in Ukitamu district, in Michinoku”.   This possibly refers to Okitama no Kori, a district in modern Yamagata Prefecture. Shiriko had two sons, Maro and Kanawori, who requested permission to shave their hair and become Buddhist priests. Perhaps related to this, about twenty days before, about 231 Emishi men and women had attended a banquet under the tsuki tree by Asukadera, where they were given gifts and rank. Did that inspire them to want to learn more about this “Buddhism” thing?
Either way, Uno no Sarara agreed. In the edict she commented that Maro and his brother were both refined and modest, despite their youth, and that they were eating vegetarian dishes and keeping the Buddhist precepts. So presumably this wasn’t a last minute decision on their part, though we should probably take the wording in the edict with at least a grain of salt, given their purpose.
Only six days later we see that the court is presenting a load of gifts to an Emishi monk named Doushin. Doushin is said to have been a Koshi Emishi, rather than the Kitafu Emishi of Michinoku. The court granted him a Buddhist statue, a purification flag, a wine cup, a begging bowl, five-colored silk cloth, thirteen pounds of flossed silk, 10 bolts of regular cloth, ten hoes, and a saddle. Six months later there is another priest: Jitoku, an Emishi of Michinoku, who is granted a gold-copper image of Yakushi Buddha and a gold-copper image of Kanzeon—or Kannon—Boddhisatva, as well as a bell, a begging bowl, a precious curtain, an incense burner, and a banner.
What this looks like, to me, is the court promoting Buddhism among the Emishi. This feels similar to the way that priests also spread the worship of Mt. Miwa or other kami. While Buddhism was technically universal, the Court had ensured that they had a hand on the center of Buddhist teaching, at least early on. Indeed, at the same time that Uno no Sarara was building up the Jingikan and bolstering the worship of Amaterasu at Ise Grand Shrine, she and the court were also leveraging Buddhism and Buddhist concepts in a variety of ways.
She put it in an edict to the ministers in 691. She noted that they had erected Buddhist Halls and Sutra repositories, and they practiced the six monthly fasts. The sovereigns would occasionally send Ohotoneri to inquire after the welfare of priests. As such, they should continue to uphold the Buddhsit Faith with zealous hearts.
Upholding the faith wasn’t just about words. There were actual financial contributions. Besides the national temples, there were gifts made, such as those to the Emishi priests, mentioned earlier. In 692, Kwansei was presented silk and cloth and commended for making white lead, which was a popular ingredient for cosmetics. Later that year, Yamada no Mikata was granted rank, and the fact that he had gone to Silla to study as a priest is mentioned in conjunction with that, though apparently he either didn’t take orders or had gone back to being a lay person.   And in 693 they gave the priest, Hokyo, 3 chou worth or rice-land. And in 696 there were 30 houses granted as a sustenance-fief to Bendou, a priest of Daikandaiji.
And that tells us the kinds of resources the State was putting towards it, but what were they using Buddhism for? What purpose did it serve the State, or was it purely altruistic?
A big part of it, as we have discussed in the past, was through the concept of karma and merit. The court seems to have been making a variety of decisions that look to be efforts to increase the State’s merit. This is a continuation of things we saw in Ohoama’s reign, along with some new moves. For instance, we have previously mentioned in passing how the court was giving alms to the elderly and infirm, at least in the capital, and we see a lot more amnesties—though often qualified amnesties, with various crimes excluded.
Then there were things like the edict of 689, in which Hunting and Fishing were prohibited in the Sea of Muko in the province of Settsu for a distance of 1000 paces, and for 20,000 shiro on the plain of Nagino in the district of Ate in the province of Kii, and for 20,000 shiro on the plains of Mino in the district and province of Iga. The edict also attached keepers to these places in the same way as the Sea of Takashi in the district of Ohotori in the province of Kawachi.
Right off the bat we know a few things. First off, this is the first time we’ve seen an edict like this, and yet the Chronicles say that this is similar to the way that “Keepers” were attached to the Sea of Takashi in Ohotori district. The term used for “Keepers” appears to be “shugo”, which would later be used for military governors in the Kamakura period, which would eventually become the shugo daimyo and then the Sengoku daimyo—our namesake. But in this case it appears that “shugo” is just a literal translation of a “protector”. In front of that is the word “oku”, meaning to keep or preserve. Hence Aston’s translation of these people as “keepers”. What is not clear to me is whether this is a reference to something that happened earlier, and just didn’t get recorded, or if the Chroniclers are talking about a later practice which the audience for the Nihon Shoki would have been familiar with.
The Takashi sea would refer to the Seto Inland Sea just off the coast of Takashi, which was in Kawachi, south of modern Osaka.    The other places we see named are the Sea of Muko, in Settsu, which would have been north and west from modern Osaka, as well as Nagino in Kii and Mino in Iga. Nagino’s location is not quite certain. Ate is likely Arida, and Nagino may be what was eventually Nago, now thought to be near or including the Hirogawa region of Wakayama. Later there were be prohibitions on fishining in the areas of Yuasa, Hiro, and Hirogawa, so perhaps there was also a prohibition on hunting on the plains. This is all on the west side of the Kii peninsula, south of modern Osaka, so still facing the Seto Inland Sea. Iga, however, was on the other side of the peninsula. Given that it was in Iga district of the land of Iga, this prohibition would definitely be about hunting, and not fishing.
It is also interesting to take a look at the measurements involved. The one clear prohibition on fishing, in the Sea of Muko, is measured in paces while the other two are mentioned as being on the “plains”—though technically it should probably be “Nagi Plain” and “Mi Plain”—and they are measured differently, in something called “shiro”. By the way, I tried to find how big a “shiro” was and I couldn’t quite do it.
I wonder if the difference there, though, is area versus length: For the sea of Muko it probably meant the waters directly out from the shore of Muko, and so I imagine that the paces were measure out from a certain point, walking along the shoreline, and then you couldn’t go out into the sea in those areas to fish. For the plains you could have more definitive markers indicating a particular area that was under the prohibition.
For another clue to protected areas and distances, we see later that “long-life places” were established throughout the various provinces, each one being 1000 paces. Aston notes that “long life places” indicated areas where animals couldn’t be harmed, and given that they talk about it in terms of “paces” I would assume that means these were probably more prohibitions on fishing.
That language also suggests to me that there was some kind of Buddhist reasoning behind it—mercy for the creatures of the land. It isn’t clear how long these prohibitions remained in effect, either.
This may also explain an order just a few days later that a white swallow that was caught in Mike, in the land of Sanuki, should be set free. Unusually white or albino animals were often caught and presented to the throne as auspicious omens, not always in a live state. However, Buddhism often teaches that there is merit in releasing animals, and so this feels like it was a way of demonstrating mercy and building merit, while also acknowledging the auspicious omen that accompanied its appearance.
Also in this edict is who it is directed to: Tanaka no Ason no Norimaro, who is named as the “soryo” of Iyo. We’ve mentioned this before, in passing; this was a position similar to the Dazai no Sochi. Effectively, the government official in charge of Iyo was in charge of the entire island of Shikoku. Unlike the Dazai no Sochi, this position does not seem to have remained for long; instead, Shikoku was divided up into separate provinces and then each province had its own governor.
By the way, we’ve talked about Norimaro before, as well. He was previously in charge of the mission to Silla, when they went to announce Ohoama’s demise, but then ran into a bunch of diplomatic etiquette issues such that they weren’t able to deliver the news—or perhaps more appropriately they decided they couldn’t deliver the news. So from representing the court on missions, Norimaro went on to become the government official in Iyo overseeing all of Shikoku. A couple of years later he would show up again, this time sending gold and silver that had apparently been found at Mt. Mima in Uwa district—modern Uwajima. Unfortunately, after that he disappears from the narrative, and the position seems to end with him.
Speaking of animals—the presentation of auspicious plants animals continued, and was often wrapped up with amnesties and similar such things. The year 692 seems to have been of particular significance. There we see the Governor of Sagami presenting a pair of fledgling red crows that had been caught in Miura. Later we see that the governor, the vice governor, and the individual who had caught the crows—Kashima no Omi no Kusu—were gifted with rank and presents, while Miura district had its taxes and forced labor remitted for a period of three years.
Later that same year, the Governor of Ise presented auspicious stalks of rice while the Governor of Echizen, that is to say the western part of Koshi closest to the capital, presented a white moth. The stalks of rice don’t seem to have warranted much, but the white moth, which presumably was not just a moth that is naturally white, was apparently considered something noteworthy. We are told that it was caught on the shore at Uragami, in the district of Tsuruga. As such, the Fief of the Kebi no Kami—the kami of Kebi, or at least his shrine—was increased by 20 houses. Unfortunately, we have a lacuna or gap in the text so we don’t get everything else. This is a good reminder that sometimes we don’t have anything because it wasn’t written down, and sometimes because accidents happen. Either something doesn’t get transcribed properly or something gets damaged early on and there aren’t enough copies for it to propagate from another source.
Our next omens come in 694—the same year that the Fujiwara Palace was occupied. We are told that a white copper-pheasant was presented by Sarara in Kawachi. So the Governor and Vice-Governor of the district received promotions, as did the many who had caught it, Osakabe no Miyatsuko no Karakuni. Four months later, a white bat was found by a man in Araki, in Hida province. His name was Ohokunibe no Otohi, and he didn’t receive a promotion in court rank, but he did get material presents in terms of silk cloth and floss, and, perhaps more importantly, he was exempted from all forced labor for the rest of his life. Not a bad deal, if you ask me.
Now omens were good and all, but omens were hardly active expressions by the government. When things were happening—like damaging rains—or perhaps not happening—like droughts—people wanted the government to do something. I know it may be hard for people to believe in this day and age, but many people believed that the government was responsible for all sorts of things that it had little control over. In this case, that was the weather, and the state could at least prepare by collecting taxes in rice and then providing relief via those same resources. But that still only did so much. So when months went by with no rain falling, the state would turn towards ritual. In some cases that ritual was directed at the kami and the new Jingikan, but in other cases, it fell on Buddhist priests.
So, for example, in 688 we are told that there was a drought and the court initiated prayers for rain. Those prayers were carried out by the priest Douzou. Douzou was of Baekje extraction, but that didn’t concern the court—they just wanted to know that he was effective. Sure enough, after praying for rain, the clouds opened up and before morning the rain had fallen. We are told it fell “across the realm”, which I’m pretty sure is hyperbole. It probably fell all across the Nara plains and surrounding areas, which was enough for the court.
In 691, they were struck with the opposite problem, which we know because the court issued an edict dated to the 19th day of the 6th month of that year. Apparently rain had fallen for two straight months. And while the fifth month rains—the Satsuki-ame—are well-known, this apparently had started back in the 4th month of that year, and now there was a worry that it would start to injure the crops, reducing the annual yield. The conclusion appears to have been that the country did not have enough merit. Therefore the ministers and officials were prohibited from the use of strong drink or meat—Aston translates it directly as “animal food”. They were also ordered to compose their hearts and repent of any sins they may have committed. At the same time, the priests in the temples of the capital and Home provinces were told to recite sutras for five straight days. We also know that a day later they announced an amnesty for various criminals, as well. Another act of mercy and hopefully for making merit.
And it seems to have worked. Or one could just say that the natural monsoon rains finally stopped after a particularly heavy season. Who’s to say?
In the 5th intercalary month of 692, the rains were again pretty bad. This time it isn’t that they were long, but that it was heavy rain—what Japanese meteorology reports would likely call “Oyu”, or Great Rain—which brought with it floods. Unfortunately, while they could pray for rain to start or stop, floods are another matter. By the time you know the flood has happened it is too late. And so this is where the government’s preparedness came into focus. Commissioners were sent to visit the districts and provinces. There they found people affected by the flooding and they were empowered to make loans to provide relief. Furthermore, they allowed people to access resources that might otherwise have been restricted, allowing them to fish and cut wood in the hills, forests, ponds, and marshes, even if that was normally a prohibited activity, so that they could sustain themselves until they were able to get back on their feet. At the same time, the Sutra of Golden Light, the Konkwoumyou Sutra, one of the sutras for protecting the state, was to be read aloud in the capital and the Home Provinces. The Sutra of Golden Light is the one which not only talks about the Shitennou, the four heavenly kings, but also emphasizes that if rulers support and honor the recitation of the sutra, then their kingdoms would be prosperous and peaceful, so what better time to read it than during or just after a disaster?
There were other recitations and congregations that were not quite so obviously connected. In 690, there were discourses in the inner precinct of the palace during the “Vassa”, known in Japanese as “Ango” or “Dwelling in Peace”. This comes from the tradition in Buddhism where it is said that the Buddha and his disciples, though normally traveling around the countryside, would come together during the rainy season. During this time they would talk and share. It is still practiced in many Theravada schools, where monks will gather in temples during the rainy season. Of course, as we’ve discussed, the 5th month was right in the middle of Japan’s rainy season, so it seems like they may have been attempting to emulate that tradition.
Three years later, we are told that they held a great-congregation of monks on that same date—the 15th day of the 5th month. This is not referred to as an Ango, however, possibly noting a change in the way they were organizing or conducting it—or possibly just because it was referred to differently in the record the Chroniclers used. That said, a great-congregation was simply a Buddhist gathering, where various priests would provide sermons or sutra readings, and not necessarily tied to a particular time. Another one was called in the 9th month of 693 on behalf of the late sovereign, Ohoama and all prisoners were released, which was no doubt merit seen as accruing to the late sovereign.
A month after that, the Benevolent King Sutra, or Ninnou-kyou, was expounded in the provinces for four days. This is another one of the sutras considered important for the well-being of the state.
In 694 we have 100 copies of the Konkwoumyou sutra—the Sutra of Golden Light—being sent out to the provinces, with the intent that they should be read together, at a certain time, when the moon of the first month was in the first quarter. Any fees or resources needed by the temples to carry this out were to be defrayed from the public revenues of the provinces. As Aston points out, “revenues” in this case would not necessarily be cash money. Not that they didn’t have coins—they had the Fuhonsen coins from Ohoama’s time; see Episode 146 for more information. We are even told that in 694 the court appointed three officials—Ohoyake no Maro, Utena no Yashima, and Kibumi no Honjitsu—to be governors for the mint, although Aston notes a Shoku Nihongi account from 708 that claimed that was the “first time” the title was given out. Either way, even though they were minting coins, these wouldn’t have been in common circulation. The government may have used them to pay for things, but taxes coming in, especially in the provinces would have been in-kind taxes, meaning that the revenue to the temples were likely paid in rice, cloth, or similar.
We similarly see another edict to read the Golden Light sutra on the first day of the twelfth month of 696. This time it wasn’t just a one time reading, though: they were setting a precedent. The edict was to expound the Sutra of Golden Light and then, every year hence, they would schedule ten people of pure life who should be inducted as monks on the eve of the New Year. I have to wonder about how they had people take orders—and whether it was a lifelong commitment or, as in some cultures, today, a temporary position. After all, Ohoama took orders but didn’t exactly remain “retired” for all that long.
The same thing had happened back in 694, when one hundred and four people were made to enter religion for the sake of Royal Princess Asuka. So how long did they remain Buddhist priests?
There is a reference, in 693, of a priest being stripped of his monkhood. It was done by royal order for a Goguryeo priest Fukuka, and it isn’t made clear why. Was it something that the priest wanted? Maybe they wanted to stop being a monk for some reason? Or was it done as a punishment? There was apparently a great-congregation only about two weeks prior. Maybe there was some drama? We’ll probably never know.
In 697, there was an uptick in merit-making. In the third month, a great-congregation was being held in the Eastern Palace. The Eastern Palace was the home of the Crown Prince, so this may have something to do with the planned succession, but then in the 6th month we see a bunch of things happening. There was a royal order for sutras to be read in temples in the Home Provinces, and then, nine days later, an order that people of 5th rank and lower were to go spend time cleaning out the temples in the capital. On the 26th, 11 days after that, we get a record the seems to bring this into focus, as the Ministers and public functionaries started making votive images of the Buddha for the sake of Uno no Sarara’s illness. It seems that she was feeling unwell, which probably kicked off a lot of this activity, and may even be why she finally decided to abdicate.
There was one more seemingly related note. On the 29th day of the 7th month the Ministers and public functionaries prepared a festival for the installation of Buddhist images in the temple of Yakushiji. This was the temple Ohoama had originally commissioned for Uno no Sarara during his reign when she was sick back then. She had recovered, then, and she would recover again—but her faith in the healing power of the Buddha may have been limited. She would abdicate a few days later, leaving the throne to Prince Karu—the future Monmu Tennou.
One last thing, somewhat tangential, it seems. In the 11th month of 693, three priests, Houin, Zen’ou, and Shingi, set out, along with others, to the Yasu district in Afumi to taste the sweet wine of the local springs. This is likely the area around the Yasu river, where it flows northwest from the mountains into Lake Biwa. Today it is Yasu city on one side of the river and Moriyama city on the other.
They apparently came back in the third month of the following year, as that is when we get a royal edict concerning said springs. Based on that, we are told that the spring of quote-unquote “sweet wine” or “sweet sake” bubbled up at Mt. Tsuga in the Yasu district of Afumi. Mt. Tsuga, or Tsugayama, may be related to “Moriyama”, and Moriyama city is still known for the spring water that comes out of the nearby mountains.
In the edict they mention that people who were afflicted with various disease would stay at Yasudera, where they presumably drank the water from the springs, and many of them found themselves healed. For this miraculous occurrence, the temple itself was awarded four chou of rice-land, and an amount of cloth. In addition, the district of Yasu was exempted from taxes and forced labor, as well as from any other kinds of corvees that might be levied, for at least one year. Local authorities were promoted a grade in rank, and gifts were made out to those who were credited with first discovering the springs and their miraculous properties—Kadono no Hatsuki and the daughter of Kudara no Tsurara.
A couple of extra notes, based on what we see here. First off, it is unfortunately too often the case that we see women described like this—the daughter of so-and-so—without providing an actual name. It is interesting that she is the daughter of someone with the name “Kudara”, meaning “Baekje”. During the reign of Naka no Ohoe, aka Tenji Tennou, a number of Baekje people were settled in the areas around Lake Biwa and the Echi River, the next major river to the northeast.
The temple mentioned, Yasudera, would have been the local temple, probably run by the local elites. That likely means the Yasu no Atai family. The temple itself is no more, and we aren’t sure exactly where it was, but there is a strong case to be made that archaeological remains at Yoshimi-chou, in modern Moriyama city, might be that temple. Still, there is no conclusive evidence.
As for springs having healing properties—this is nothing new. Minerals could have given the water a sweet taste, or perhaps there was something that clouded it, like nigori-zake—unfiltered rice wine. Whether or not there were any natural healing properties I leave up to your own imagining. Did people actually benefit from the waters? Or maybe just because they believed? Was the fact that a Buddhist temple was involved part of it, or is this just the same thing we see with people going to various springs and imparting to them some healing properties?
Either way, it seems that at some point the spring no longer produced the “sweet wine” that had made it famous in its day, and people moved on to a different location.
For now, I think we can stop here. We have probably one more episode talking about specific items from this reign, but we are starting to get more and more sources, including the poetry of the Man’yoshu, which I hope to dig into here in a bit. Plus a few other things in the works.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please 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 reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bender, Ross L. (2026). Emperors Monmu, Genmei, Genshō: Shoku Nihongi 697-724.
Bender, Ross L. (2025). SHOKU NIHONGI 697-791: A Translation of Maki 1-40.
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Duthie, T. (09 Jan. 2014). Man’yōshū and the Imperial Imagination in Early Japan. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004264540
Ooms, H. (2009). Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan: The Tenmu Dynasty, 650-800. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press. https://muse.jhu.edu/book/8316.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.
Websites
-, -. (last checked 7/30/2026). 熊野本宮大社. https://www.hongutaisha.jp/

UNESCO world heritage site: the Ancient Capitals of Asuka and Fujiwara

August 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Panoramic view of Asuka, today. This is what it looks like, now—a far cry from the bustling center it once was.

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This is a special episode covering the recent designation of the Asuka and Fujiwara Ancient Capitals as UNESCO recognized World Heritage cultural sites. Below are the sites and here is a link to photos about the Asuka and Kashihara regions. (NOTE: Please be patient—I hope to come back here and fill in more, but that is going to take some time to gather and collate photos and other information)

Asuka Palace Site 飛鳥宮跡

Asuka Pond Garden Site　飛鳥京跡苑池遺跡

CC0 from Wikimedia Commons

Asuka Water Clock Site (Mizuochi Ruins) 水落遺跡

Sakafuneishi Ritual Site 坂船石遺跡

CC0 by Wikimedia Commons.

Asuka-dera Temple Site 飛鳥寺

Gallery includes images from the Gokurakubo at Gangoji, which is thought to have wooden beams and tiles from the original building, relocated from Asuka, and may include some of the original design of the Asuka buildings, though the interior was remodeled.

Tachibana-dera Temple Site 橘寺

Kawara-dera Temple Site 川原寺跡

Yamada-dera Temple Site 山田寺跡

Hinokuma-dera Temple Site 檜隈寺跡

Takanuka, CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons。　Original from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hinokuma-dera_Temple_Ruins.jpg

Ishibutai Mounded Tomb 石舞台古墳

Click for 360 Photosphere effect

Shobuike Mounded Tomb 菖蒲池古墳

CC0 from Wikimedia Commons.

Kengoshizuka Mounded Tomb 牽牛子塚古墳

By 名古屋太郎, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Fujiwara Palace Site 藤原宮跡

Fujiwara-kyo Exhibition Room

(Click the link above to see photos from the Fujiwara Palace Exhibition room, with various pottery, mokkan, and other aspects of daily life at the capital)

Daikandaiji Temple Site 大官大寺跡

Indiana jo, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

CC0 from Wikimedia Commons.

Motoyakushiji Temple Site 本薬師寺跡

CC0 from Wikimedia Commons.

Mounded Tomb of Emperor Temmu and Empress Jito　天武・持統天皇檜隈大内陵

Nakaoyama Mounded Tomb　中尾山古墳

CC0, from Wikimedia Commons.

Kitora Mounded Tomb キトラ古墳

CC0, from Wikimedia Commons.

Takamatsuzuka Mounded Tomb　高松塚古墳

Temple and Palace Layouts

Top: Askuadera, Shitennoji, Yamadadera. Middle: Horyuji Sai’in, Kawaradera, Kibi-no-ike Haiji (Kudara Otera). Bottom: Daikandaiji of Monmu’s court, Motoyakushiji.
From the Asuka Historical Museum, photo by author.

Left to Right: Oharida Palace (603-649), Toyosaki Naniwa Palace (651-686), Asuka Kiyomihara Palace (656-694), Fujiwara Palace (694-710), Heijo Palace I (Early 8th C), Heijo Palace II (Later 8th C), Heian Palace (794 - )

Larger galleries with relevant photos:

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is a special episode on Japan’s newest UNESCO world heritage site: the Ancient Capitals of Asuka and Fujiwara.
Rarely do I focus too much on current events in this podcast. After all, we are still dealing with the events of the 7th century, and that is hardly “current” in any sense. However, just last month, at the end of July 2026, the UNESCO World Heritage Convention met and made a ruling on inducting the Ancient Capitals of Asuka and Fujiwara as one of the newest World Heritage sites. Given the obvious relevance of this to this podcast, I thought it was worth talking about.
As such we’ll go into a little history of the UNESCO world heritage convention, what it means, and how sites get added—or even removed—from the list. And then we’ll talk about the addition of the Ancient Capitals of Asuka and Fujiwara, what is included in that description, and what part those various locations play in the story of Japan’s history, which we’ve been laying out for the past several years. Warning up front: This is probably going to be a longer episode than usual, as there is a lot to cover, but it still didn’t seem to make sense to break it up into two parts.
Before we get into the background of UNESCO more generally, let’s talk briefly about the news. The Ancient Capitals of Asuka and Fuijwara had been on UNESCO’s tentative list since 2007, and following an on-site evaluation in September of 2025, the International Council on Monuments and Sites, or ICOMOS, made a recommendation in June 2026 that the property be inscribed on the World Heritage list. On 26 July, 2026, the UNESCO World Heritage Committee met in Busan, South Korea and accepted the recommendation. This becomes Japan’s 22nd cultural World Heritage site, and the 27th World Heritage property in Japan, since the World Heritage program is also inclusive of natural heritage sites, such as Yakushima, Amami-Ohoshima, the Ogasawara islands, and the mountainous regions of Shirakami-Sanchi, and Shiretoko, in Hokkaido.
The recommendation for Asuka and Fujiwara was not just for a single site, but includes 19 individual sites and over 1,100 hectares of “buffer zone”. The individual sites are listed on the UNSECO World Heritage website as follows:
•             Asuka Palace Site
•             Asuka Pond Garden Site
•             Asuka Water Clock Site
•             Sakafuneishi Ritual Site
•             Asuka-dera Temple Site
•             Tachibana-dera Temple Site
•             Yamada-dera Temple Site
•             Kawara-dera Temple Site
•             Hinokuma-dera Temple Site
•             Ishibutai Mounded Tomb
•             Shobuike Mounded Tomb
•             Kengoshizuka Mounded Tomb
•             Fujiwara Palace Site
•             Daikandaiji Temple Site
•             Motoyakushiji Temple Site
•             Mounded Tomb of Emperor Temmu and Empress Jito
•             Nakaoyama Mounded Tomb
•             Kitora Mounded Tomb
•             Takamatsuzuka Mounded Tomb

So these are the specific locations, that were included in the single designation.   And these are how they are officially listed on the UNESCO World Heritage site in English, so for anyone who is going to comment that saying Asuka-dera Temple is redundant, because “Tera” already means “Temple”, let’s just not, shall we?
They are all in the Asuka and Kashihara area, and easily accessible, one from the other, so you can go and visit them if you would like. I suspect that there is going to be a bit of push for that area in the coming tourist season as they now put up official UNESCO world heritage site markers. And you may have noticed that a lot of these site names may sound very familiar, because the majority of them are places we’ve already mentioned on the podcast – but more on that later.
But first, what does it mean to be a UNESCO World Heritage Site?
UNESCO is the “United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization”. It was founded in 1945, with the stand-up of the UN itself, as a successor to the League of Nations’ International Committee on Intellectual Cooperation. That said, the idea of a “World Heritage Site” didn’t come about until 1975, with the Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage, with the first sites being designated in 1978.
Prior to this, UNESCO had been involved in various attempts to help preserve various monuments of historical significance. They begin working with various museums and other organizations, and in 1965 UNESCO created ICOMOS, an international professional association to work towards the conservation and protection of cultural heritage. A site designated as a World Heritage Site must be considered to be of “outstanding universal value” and can fall under one of two categories. The first, and perhaps the one that most often comes to mind, are the cultural sites. The second are natural sites considered of outstanding value.   With the 1975 convention, UNESCO had leaned heavily on ICOMOS as an advisory body regarding sites of particular cultural significance. A similar body, the World Conservation Union, provides input on sites of natural significance.
To be determined a World Heritage site, there is a set of ten criteria, and a site must meet at least one of the ten. This means that a site must:
i.            Represent a masterpiece of human creative genius
ii.           Exhibit an important interchange of human values
iii.          Bear a unique or at least exceptional testimony to a cultural tradition or to a civilization
iv.           Illustrate a significant stage in human history
v.            Be an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement, land-use, or sea-use
vi.          Be directly or tangibly associated with events or living traditions, with ideas, or with beliefs, with artistic and literary works of outstanding universal significance; or it must
vii.         Contain superlative natural phenomena
viii.        Be an outstanding example representing major stages of earth’s history
ix.          Be an outstanding example representing significant on-going ecological and biological processes in the evolution and development of ecosystems and communities of plants and animals; or it must
x.           Contain the most important and significant natural habitats for conservation of biological diversity.
I abbreviated that list, but it gives you an idea of what the committee is looking for.
To be placed on the list, a site must first be nominated. Nominations are made by UN member countries and placed on a Tentative List. From there, they can be selected into a Nomination File, which is then evaluated by the advisory organizations as appropriate. The World Heritage committee meets once a year, at which time they may determine whether a nominated site will be added to the World Heritage list or if more information is needed.
Having a site listed as an UNESCO world heritage site carries prestige and can drive tourism and revenue to help protect the site. Members can request financial assistance with some conservation projects, and signatory nations are expected to contribute to the conservation of world heritage sites. At the same time, the host country is expected to provide regular reports on the conditions of the site and efforts being undertaken to conserve it. Should the situation change so that key aspects of the site’s intrinsic value are lost, the World Heritage Committee may choose to revoke a designation. This has only been done a few times, but it is always a possibility.
All of this means that the Asuka and Fujiwara capital sites are now eligible for certain types of financial assistance and international aid to help further preserve and even restore certain aspects, such as the tomb murals in the Takamatsuzuka and Kitora kofun. But let’s talk about the sites that have actually been included, and to do that, we’ll go through in roughly chronological order, based on the timeline that was given by Japan in the nomination documents, and what makes the most sense for narrative cohesion.   That said, it is important to note that the dates on the timeline in the UNESCO nominating document are where we first see mentions of the monuments, not necessarily when the temples were first constructed or anything like that. If you want to learn more, check out the documentation submitted on the UNESCO world heritage website.
And speaking of learning more, many of the sites we are about to discuss we have covered in previous episodes—though some more than others. We’ll call out relevant episodes as we can, but you can also find out more by searching on our website, sengokudaimyo.com, for more information about any of these topics.
Let’s start with Asukadera, or Asuka Temple. The nominating document notes that it was completed in 596, though it had been started quite a bit earlier. We discussed Askua-dera and many of the other temples back in episode 142, though Asuka-dera itself has been a part of the story since at least Episode 92, with the rise of Soga no Umako. Asuka-dera, as you may recall, started off as a private temple for the Soga family, though they were so intertwined with the royal family that it almost didn’t make a difference. For the longest time it was the primary temple site at least in the Asuka region, and defined what Buddhism looked like early on. Later it would be included as one of the Four Great Temples, and it would eventually move to Nara, though a temple would continue to operate on the site until the modern day. That said, through fires and reduced patronage, the current temple is much reduced from its former glory. Still, archeologies have found indications at the site demonstrating the true extent of the temple at the height of its power and influence, and how it truly played a key role in numerous events surrounding the building of a continental style state government.
Speaking of the Soga family, the next site on the list, dated to 626, is Ishibutai kofun. Ishibutai kofun was originally a square kofun, or Houfun, thought to be the resting place of Soga no Umako, the Grand Minister and head of the Soga family who led it to prominence in the age of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno. We talked about his passing in episode 103. Excavations have suggested that the tomb took up an area about 85 meters to a side. This included an outer moat and an inner, platform, about 50 meters square. The burial chamber is a horizontal stone chamber created with impressive megaliths—a fancy word that just means “big stones”. In this case we are talking about stones that rival or even dwarf those at monuments like the famous Stonehenge, in England. The stones are part of what give it its name, Ishibutai, or Stone Stage, because unlike in other kofun, these ones are exposed. There is a theory that after the fall of the Soga family, and the deaths of Soga no Iruka and Soga no Emishi, the tomb was deliberately uncovered as a form of posthumous punishment.
Because it is not a tomb under the care of the Imperial Household Agency, Ishibutai kofun has seen extensive excavation from 1933 to 1975. That said, most of the funerary goods were likely stolen a long time ago. There were some various bits and pieces found here and there—gilt and bronze implements and earthenware shards, but otherwise nothing truly significant. They did find evidence of other tombs, nearby. Perhaps ironically it seems that these other tombs were leveled to make room for Ishibutai kofun, making its own uncovering feel somewhat karmic, in a way.
The next site, if we were to follow the timeline, is the Asuka Palace site. This actually encompasses the site of at least four different palaces, which we discussed back in episode 134, with a blogpost showing the various palace remains, if you want to compare them. In 630 we have the construction of the Okamoto Palace of Kashikiya Hime. Then, in 643, we have the Itabuki Palace built for Takara Hime during her first reign as Kogyoku Tenno. This was the location of the famous Isshi Incident, when Takara Hime’s son, Naka no Oe, instituted the coup against Soga no Iruka and his father, killing Iruka in court in front of his mother. For more on that, check out episode 106. It was later used when she and Naka no Oe left the Toyosaki Naniwa Palace and returned to Asuka.
It may be during the time of the Itabuki Palace that another one of the monuments was built. This is the Shobuike Kofun. The nomination document doesn’t give a precise date for this one, and we really only know for certain that it was built in the 7th century, but they place it on the timeline shortly after the events of 643. Like Ishibutai kofun, it is a hofun, or square kofun, surrounded by a moat with a horizontal burial chamber. At only 30 meters long, it is not as large or as prominent as Ishibutai Kofun, possibly indicating that the occupants were not as prominent or that kofun building as a whole was falling out of fashion. Inside, there were two stone coffins, in the “house shape”, meaning the lid had a peaked roof appearance. In addition, the interior of the coffins was lacquered, making these unique in the archipelago. Finally, perhaps as is the case with Ishibutai kofun, the mound appears to have been deliberately dismantled at some point in the early 8th century, when Fujiwara-kyo was still the capital.
We do not know who was buried at Shobuike Kofun, but there are two theories. One theory proposes that, given the unique features, it may have been a member of the royal family. Another theory suggests that it may be a tomb for members of the Soga family. This theory is connected to the idea that Ishibutai is the tomb of Soga no Umako. Given its shape and similarities, perhaps this tomb is for a relative? In addition, though not part of the World Heritage Site nomination, there is a nearby square kofun known as Koyamada Kofun. There is a theory that this other tomb might also have been a royal tomb—perhaps even a first burial for Tamura no Ohokimi, aka Jomei Tenno. However, there is another theory that these two tombs, together, make up the tombs of Soga no Emishi and Soga no Iruka. That would explain them both being of similar shapes, and similar to the kofun thought to be that of Soga no Umako. It could also explain why Shobuike kofun was later destroyed, like with Ishibutai Kofun.
Shortly after Shobuike Kofun was thought to have been built, the court moved to Naniwa for a time, before eventually returning to the Itabuki Palace. Then, in 656, we have the Nochi-no-Okamoto Palace, aka the Later Okamoto Palace, built after the Itabuki palace burned down. It was repurposed by Ohoama when he brought the court back from Ohotsu, and then expanded with the Ebinoko Enclosure, among other changes, turning it into the Kiyomihara palace, where Ohoama and then Uno no Sarara ruled until the completion of the Fujiwara Palace around 694.
Around the same time as the Later Okamoto Palace was the construction of the Sakafuneishi Ritual Site. This site is located on a hill on the east side of the Asuka valley, overlooking the Asuka palace site. There they have found stone walls, a strange carved stone with channels for what appears to be water or liquid for some kind of ritual purpose, and, towards the bottom of the hill, a stone turtle basin and water spout that appears to have once been connected to a spring.
Of all of the included sites, this is perhaps the most enigmatic in terms of how it was used and what was going on there. It is likely that this is what is referred to in the Chronicle as the Tou no Mine site, where it is said that they built an enclosure encircling two tsuki trees, calling the site the Futatsuki Palace. That said, today the name “tou-no-mine” is applied to a peak some distance further up the valley and into the mountains, and I do not believe that any concrete evidence of a “palace” has been found at either location. Still, it demonstrates that there was something going on that was important enough to build walls and create intricate stone carvings—not something we necessarily find everywhere, though they are particularly prolific in the Asuka region once you consider all the various stone carvings that have been located there. Current thinking seems to suggest that it was a site where sovereigns from Kashikiya Hime through Uno no Sarara conducted rites associated with ascension to the throne.
The walls show evidence of being built earlier in the 7th century, which we discussed in Episode 118, and then damaged during the incredibly powerful Nankai earthquake during the Hakuho era. We talked about this earthquake back in episode 139, along with other natural disasters. This was an earthquake of immense power, known as a Nankai Megathrust Earthquake, that caused destruction across the archipelago, from Shikoku up through the Kanto region. Walls show evidence of being repaired in Temmu’s time and the site appears to have been in use up through the 9th century. This means it was still being used in some capacity even after the court had moved up to Heian-kyo, in modern Kyoto, but who knows by whom.
By the way, I feel like I should address something here. Often times there is a bit of an archaeological joke that if you don’t know what something is it gets termed a “ritual site” or a “ritual implement”. And, granted, “ritual” does not necessarily mean “religious”. Brushing your teeth each day could be considered a ritual. So is the inauguration of a new president or prime minister. It just refers to something that we do regularly, usually as part of a societal tradition. Often it is symbolic, though sometimes it can have a greater function. So in all likelihood whatever was happening at the Sakafuneishi site probably was a kind of “ritual”, whether it was religious or not, but we just don’t have enough info to know what that might have looked like. The physical evidence does not conform to any other well known practice, so we are left guessing.
Compare this to another “ritual” site, the next on our list: The Mizuochi site. When it was first discovered in 1972, it was clear that it was important. There was a large building foundation, in the shape of a square podium, faced with paving stones. It was also near to Asukadera and the location where various stone figures had been found at the turn of the century. It would take several more years to discern enough features to come to the realization of what it was for. This was due to the discovery of highly unusual features and artifacts.
For instance, there is the central building, designated SB200. It had pillars set on base stones, forming a grid pattern in a square—four spans long on each side. This is unusual compared to other buildings on the site, which had more conventional pillars embedded in the ground. Each span of the pillars at SB200 was a uniform distance. The podium on which the building was placed was just under 11 meters on each side, and a little more than a meter in height. The pillar bases were further strengthened under the floor level, meaning that the resulting structure would have been remarkably sturdy. In the center of the building was a stone platform, set about a meter below the surface, where they found the remains of a large and small lacquered wooden boxes. Around the platform were buried wooden culverts and copper pipes, which would have been able to carry water to and from the site.
There was nothing else like this discovered anywhere else, but given the nature of everything, it seemed to make sense that this was the site of the clepsydra, the water clock, which Naka no Oe is said to have built. Pottery shards from around the 650s and 660s seem to back up this identification, and simulations have demonstrated how the water clock may have actually worked. As such, the site seems to have been fairly well identified, which is really remarkable, and provides an incredible link to that era. Not only that, but the technology demonstrated was incredibly advanced for its time. As such, it truly is a remarkable site.
For more, check out Episode 127, where we talked more in depth about the importance of time and direction in Ancient Yamato.
The next site on the list is the Kengoshizuka Kofun. This mounded tomb is said to have been built around 667 CE—around the time that Yamato was supporting Baekje in a failed attempt to stave off that country’s destruction at the hands of the Silla-Tang alliance. This is an octagonal shaped kofun—a shape which is thought to have only been used by members of the royal family. The academic position is that this is the tomb of Takara Hime—aka Saimei Tennou—who had died just as Yamato was starting to send troops to the Korean peninsula. This theory is at odds with the Imperial Household Agency, which has designated a different tomb—Kurumaki-Kenno Kofun—as Saimei Tennou’s mausoleum
The story as it is recounted in the Nihon Shoki goes something like this. As Yamato was gathering forces to defend Baekje—see episodes 123 and 124 for what happened—Takara Hime passed away at the temporary court set up in Asakura, in modern Kyushu.   With Yamato just about to launch a military campaign, they couldn’t also hold a royal funeral, so they had her body taken back to the Nara basin.. Takara Hime’s remains were temporarily interred at the plain of the Asuka River—Asuka-gawara. It wouldn’t be until after the conflict was over—a little more than 5 years later—that she would be buried.
At that time, we are told that she was buried together with Royal Princess Hashibito, her sister-in-law, at Wochi Hill—little market hill—and that the royal granddaughter, Princess Ohota, was buried in front. And indeed, the layout of Kengoshizuka Kofun has space for two coffins, and the archeologists found evidence of another burial in “front” of the kofun. So in all ways this seems to accord with the Chronicles, though the Imperial Household Agency has not chosen to change its designation. I suspect that if they did it might cause some issues due to the limits of what archaeologists are allowed to do with tombs designated as royal mausoleums.
Kengoshizuka Kofun has been remarkably reconstructed, so that you can go and see what it probably looked like when it was first built. Since it was not designated as an imperial mausoleum by the Imperial Household Agency, archaeologists were able to excavate Kengoshizuka, and they found some remarkable finds, including a particularly spectacular coffin fitting made of cloisonne hexagonal plates with images of flowers that were connected to each other. There also appears to have been a coffin made with lacquered linen, rather than the stone or tuff coffins found elsewhere.
So that’s Kengoshizuka Kofun. That’s #7 on our list. Moving on to #8, on the timeline at 673, it is Kawara-dera, and I’m going to lump this in with Tachibana-dera, which is noted on the timeline at 680. In fact, the nominating document proposes a much earlier timeline for the start of Tachibana-dera, starting in the 640s, with Kawara-dera in the 660s, about two decades later.
These two temples sit across from one another, and at one time they appear to have been coupled together as a monastery and a nunnery. In fact, the nominating documents call out Tachibana-dera as Japan’s oldest nunnery.
The actual founding of these two temples is somewhat in dispute. Let me start with Tachibana-dera. Tachibana-dera claims to have been founded by none other than the legendary Shotoku Taishi. It is said that the land of Tachibana-dera was the area of the palace where Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, was born, and that in 606 he had the property turned into a temple. As such, it claims to be one of seven major temples built by the Prince. However, we don’t have any actual documentation for the temple until it shows up in 680, due to the report of a fire. We do see it in numerous poems in the Man’yoshu, which is one of the ways we can also tell that it was a nunnery.
More information can be gleaned from the archaeological excavations at the site. The original temple was clearly built on the same Baekje designs as others of that period. In an interesting twist, it appears as though the temple was not oriented north to south, as others were, but rather it was oriented west to east. This would have had it facing the royal palace, initially, in a configuration very similar to that of Shitennoji, in Osaka, or Yamadadera, which is also one of the sites included in UNESCO World Heritage designation.
The original temple had a middle gate, a pagoda, a main hall—or kondo—and a lecture hall (Koudou). It was surrounded by a walled corridor. Some of the roof tiles that have been found appear to be from the first quarter of the 7th century, but there are many more from the mid-7th century, suggesting that full-scale construction wasn’t carried out until that period. None of the original buildings appear to have survived, though there is an Asuka era stone statue, as well as various important cultural properties that have been preserved, and excavations have given us an idea of what it looked like, originally.
Compare that to Kawara-dera, which sits to the north of Tachibana-dera. We’ve talked about Kawara-dera before, as it was eventually designated one of the four national temples. It was clearly built at a later date than Tachibana-dera, though when, exactly, is still unclear. There is mention of a Kawara-dera in an entry for 653, but even then, the Chronicles note that may have actually been at Yamada-dera, on the other side of Asuka, indicating that even the Chroniclers weren’t entirely sure. That leaves the first clean mention of the temple at 673, in the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tenno.
There is a note, prior to this, in about 656, which talks about “Kawara no Miya”, or the Kawara Palace. This is where Takara Hime briefly moved after the fires damaged the Itabuki Palace, which was rebuilt into the Later Okamoto Palace. It is thought that Kawara-dera is on the site of that temporary palace, and it is possible that the building of that palace lent something to the eventual creation of Kawara-dera.
Kawara-dera has a unique layout, known specifically as the Kawara-dera style temple layout. Although the overall temple is built on a north-south axis, the west main hall faces east, towards the pagoda, in the southern courtyard. There was then a central main hall, and then the northern courtyard, with the koudou, or lecture hall, facing south. There is also evidence that the east gate was sizeable—possibly larger than the south gate. If so, it may be that this temple, like Tachibana-dera, was also facing east—facing the palace—but it was, at the same time, also on the same north-south access as other buildings and facilities. This almost seems like they were perhaps compromising between facing the palace and utilizing the continental idea of a north-south alignment. I almost wonder if the pagoda and western kondou weren’t first built and then someone decided to change the orientation mid-way through the building process. Either way, it is definitely unique.
Although Kawara-dera was designated as one of the four national temples, it is the only temple that was not eventually moved up to Heijo-kyo, or Nara, when the capital eventually moved up there. There are numerous theories as to why, but regardless of that, it stayed in Asuka and was no longer considered a national temple. Over time it declined, and repairs could not be maintained across the entire complex. Today, a successor temple, Gufuku-ji, sits on the site, but it is much reduced. Fortunately, you can still see many of the exposed footings and get an idea for just what this temple was like back in its heyday.
Now since we’ve mentioned it, it is probably worth talking about Yamada-dera, which is also on the list. Like the others, there is a small successor temple to the north, but most of the ancient Yamada-dera grounds are visible, and if you go out there you can clearly see where all the buildings were. There are signs and raised platforms depicting where the various buildings were at, so you can easily see what was there. Furthermore, if you check out the Asuka Historical Museum, they have a remarkably well-preserved section of one of the walls of the gallery from the temple, including some roof elements. It appears to have fallen down during a fire, and other material must have fallen on top of it so that the fire could not consume that section, leaving it in incredible shape.
Yamada-dera is part of the Hosso sect—that is the sect following the teachings of the monk Xuanzang. We talked about Xuanzang, and the monks who studied with him, back in episodes 120 to 122. It is said to have been founded by Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro. He was a relative of Soga no Emishi who supported Prince Naka no Oe in his coup in 645. Soga no Kurayamada eventually became Udaijin, or Minister of the Right, and he was essential in implementing the Taika reforms. Long story short, he was slandered, and fled to Yamada-dera, which was still under construction. Rather than being taken by government forces, he took his own life, as well as that of his wife and eight children. You can listen to the whole story back in Episode 112. All of that is said to have happened here at that temple, in the year 649. Perhaps because of the stain of that incident, the temple construction appears to have been halted for a time. It wouldn’t be completed until 685, when Ohoama and his wife, Uno no Sarara, a direct descendant of Soga no Kurayamada, were on the throne.
Finally, there is one more temple from this early period that is mentioned, and that is Hinokuma-dera. Of all of the temples so far, this one we probably have mentioned the least in the main podcast. Hinokuma-dera is located to the southwest of the main Asuka valley, south of the famous Takamatsuzuka kofun. It is first mentioned in a record dated to 686. That indicates it must have been built some time prior, and archaeological excavations seem to place it at the second half of the 7th century, with the pagoda and main hall being completed in the late 7th century.   The temple continued to be maintained through the 8th century, but declined after the Heian period when the pagoda and lecture hall collapsed. In the early 20th century a local Shinto shrine was relocated here, and remains, today.
Hinokuma-dera was built as a private temple by the Yamato no Aya. The Yamato no Aya are an intriguing group of people. The name “Aya” implies a group that was originally employed as weavers, a technology brought over from the continent. Indeed, they are said to have been largely immigrants who came and brought the technology with them. The Aya were broken into different groups, with the Yamato no Aya being one of the more powerful. The name appears again and again in the Chronicles, though in the time of Ohoama they were put on notice as a clan. We aren’t told what they did, exactly. They seem to have made their way back into the court’s good graces over time, however.
Hinokuma-dera is interesting in that it is much smaller than the other temples we have discussed, and the form is quite different. It isn’t organized along cardinal directions, but rather with the koudou, or lecture hall, in the northwest and the kondou, or main hall, in the southeast. The pagoda was between the two, slightly off-center to the northeast, directly across from the main gate, which faced southwest. This means that you would enter from the southwest into a large, rectangular courtyard. You could be facing a pagoda near the rear wall, with a lecture hall to your left and the main image hall to your right. This is compared to Baekje temples that were on the periphery of the Baekje capital, and this may have been in a similar situation. Based on the surrounding geography, it appears that some of the choices may have been made to conform with local geologic features, such as the ridge that it is on.
It is interesting, however, for its uniqueness, especially as a private temple that did not have the resources of the court. There were probably quite a few of these kinds of temples that we just don’t see or hear about in the record. When the court moved, first up to Heijo-kyo, but later on to Heian-kyo, in modern Kyoto, the head of the Yamato no Aya no doubt moved as well, and that probably led to the temple’s decline, over time.
Speaking of the court, there is one more part of the Asuka court that we should touch on before we leave the era of the Asuka palace. At some point, probably related to the Later Okamoto Palace, the court created a pond and garden. This Asuka Pond Garden site is first mentioned in 685, though it likely existed for some time. Evidence suggests that it was built around the same time as the later Okamoto Palace, so sometime around 656, and based on excavations, we know that there was a south and north pond, divided by a middle bank. Water flowed from the south pond to the north pond through a wooden pipe in that middle bank. The south pond had a pentagonal shape, about 65 meters long, east to west, and 55 meters wide, north to south. It was only 30 cm at its deepest point, with two islands in the pond itself. The north pond was 36 meters east to west and 52 meters north to south, and it was up to 4 meters deep. There was a stone overflow channel that was built for water to flow back into the Asuka river. There was also a stone fountain, like that found at the Sakafuneishi site, and evidence of buildings and a wall around the site. There has also been analysis of seed pollen, indicating what kinds of vegetation might have been grown in the garden.
This was a lavish area that was purpose-built for entertainments of various kinds. This is the area that the royal family and various nobles likely adjourned to at the end of the day for relaxation and for various banquets and other such gatherings.
Of course, not all the court proceedings were so joyful. In 686, Ohoama died, and for the next couple of years the court business was taken up with eulogies and memorials. This is also when they built the next site included in the list: The mounded tomb of Temmu Tennou and, eventually, Jitou Tennou. The tomb is an octagonal kofun, similar to the Kengoshizuka kofun for Takara Hime. It is built to the southwest of the Asuka basin, a fair distance from the palace. However, this positioning also puts it directly south of the site of the new Fujiwara Palace. As the Fujiwara capital and palace site had already been selected, they would have been able to build this tomb in relation to the future palace, creating a direct north-south link between the two. It is also along the same ridgeline as the tomb of Kengoshizuka and the tomb attributed to Kinmei Tennou and Princess Kibi no Himemiko.
The octagonal tomb was built in five tiers. It is about 42 meters on a side, built with rammed earth and then covered, originally, with dressed stones, while the surrounding area was paved. Ohoama was buried in a sealed stone burial chamber in a dry-lacquered linen-made coffin, similar to what was found, again, at Kengoshizuka. Later, when Uno no Sarara passed away, her urn was added to the tomb.
Speaking of that, I cannot believe I didn’t mention this in the last episode on Queen Uno no Sarara, but yes, she was cremated. In fact, she is the first Yamato sovereign to have been cremated in the Buddhist style, rather than to have her body buried intact. Today, almost cremation is the default in Japan—to the point that it actually has caused some issues with people who, for religious reasons, request a different type of burial. However, at this point, it was still somewhat new.   Prior to Buddhism, all indications are that bodies were simply buried. Buddhism brought in the concept of at least four different types of funerary rites. There is dosou, or earth burial, but there was also suisou, water burial; fuusou, wind—or “air”—burial; and then kasou, fire burial. Suisou would be committing a body to water, and fuusou generally means leaving the body on a stand, out in the open, to allow the body to decompose while birds, ideally vultures, come and do their work. Of these, “kasou”, fire burial or cremation, is linked to the historical Buddha, whose physical body is said to have been cremated, with the bones and teeth left behind considered holy relics. That Uno no Sarara requested cremation would seem to indicate her own support of Buddhism and Buddhist institutions.
The tomb of Temmu and Jitou has remained largely intact—at least compared to some that we have discussed this episode-- but not inviolate. Over time, the site was allowed to become overgrown with trees and other vegetation. In 1235 the tomb was robbed and in 1881 it was officially designated as an Imperial Mausoleum by the Imperial Household Agency, which now manages the site. You can approach up to a point, but the tomb itself is largely off-limits to the public.
Speaking of Uno no Sarara’s support of Buddhism, we’ve already talked about her connections to Yakushi-ji, the next site on our list. This temple was commissioned by Ohoama when his wife, Uno no Sarara, grew unexpectedly ill in 680. She did recover, and the temple would eventually be considered one of the four National temples of the Yamato state. It appears to have been built—possibly shifted slightly—specifically in line with the new avenues being laid out for Fujiwara-kyo, the new capital, and it fits neatly into place, taking up an entire city block. When the capital moved, the temple was also moved. The new temple sits up near modern Nara, in the area known as Nishi-no-kyou—the West (side of the) capital. For the new site, the court may have used some of the materials from the original temple, though there does seem to have been a continued presence at the Fujiwara capital site until the 11th century. To avoid confusion, the temple in the old Fujiwara capital site is referred to as “Moto-Yakushiji”, meaning the Real or Original Yakushi Temple.
Yakushiji was commissioned in 680, but work on the temple wasn’t completed until 698, four years after the move to the new Fujiwara Palace. Key features at this time were its size and its double pagodas, rather than just the single pagoda common in earlier temples. This mimicked temple innovations happening on the continent, and was later adopted by several temples in the new capital of Heijo-kyo.
Another national temple from around this time, also included in the nomination letter, is Daikandaiji. Like Yakushiji, this temple was a grand statement of the Yamato state’s ambitions. Both were large temples that would have stood out, and as national temples they were symbols of state power and authority in matters both secular and spiritual.
We discussed all of this in a previous episode, Episode 142, where we covered the four national temples, so I don’t want to belabor it too much other than to give a brief overview. In summary, what we know as Daikandaiji today is very likely the old Kudara Ohodera, Kudara, in this instance, being spelled with the same kanji as for “Baekje”. Kudara Ohodera was the largest of the Asuka and Fujiwara era temples. Its pagoda was over 80 meters tall, one of the tallest in Yamato at that time, and the main hall rivaled that of the Daigokuden, the main hall of the Fujiwara palace.
It also appears to have been moved twice. First it was moved from its original location closer to the Asuka palace. And then it appears to have been shifted to align with the avenues of the new Fujiwara capital. The name was also changed. “Kudara Ohodera” likely referred to the location where the temple was first founded by Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou. It was then moved to Asuka and took on the name “Takechi Ohodera”, given its new location, but then was renamed to Ohotsukasa no Ohodera, the Great Temple of the High Officials, or something like that. This same name, read with the on’yomi reading, becomes “Daikandaiji”. The temple was later moved to Heijo-kyo, where it was renamed to “Daianji”, which means something like the Temple of Great Safety or Protection.
There is another story that says that the temple actually originated in the Kumagori dojo created by the legendary Shotoku Taishi, but, like so many such stories, that may have been added later to increase the temple’s prestige.
As with so many of these temples, when the move was made to Heijo-kyo, the temple lost its national status, but remained active. Without the upkeep by the court, it eventually declined, finally disappearing almost entirely. Remains were rediscovered in the Edo and Meiji period, with major excavations in the 1970s and 80s. From this, there is evidence of fire, even before construction was completed. Indeed, there is a record of fire in 711. The temple was likely under construction for much of the period of the Fujiwara capital’s existence.
This is probably as good a point as any to talk about the Fujiwara Palace itself. I would note that the World Heritage site designation only includes the palace site, and not the entire capital city of Fujiwara-kyo. That is probably for the best, as findings have suggested that the ancient capital was built on a plan far grander that previously thought.
Initially, it was believed that the Fujiwara capital was built similar to Heijo-kyo and Heian-kyo, which is to say that it was modeled after the Tang capital of Chang’an. This model creates a rectangular city with the main palace complex at the far north of the city. Lower classes are typically housed in the southern regions while upper classes and nobility are provided land in the northern areas of the city. Part of the reason to believe that the city was laid out like this has to do with the three mountains: Mt. Unebi, Mt. Miminashi, and Mt. Kagu. If the palace were located at the northern end of the city, then the city would fit rather nicely in the plains between these three mountains.
However, it appears that the plans for Fujiwara-kyo were much grander, and it appears that the Fujiwara palace sat not at the northern top of the capital, but instead it was in the middle. This more closely approximates the ideal Confucian model, which created a square city divided into nine districts with the palace in the center. However, it also means that the city grid is interrupted by the mountains, particularly by Mt. Miminashi, in the north. To cover all of that land would be untenable, and much of it has been built up or under cultivation for centuries.
Furthermore, it is unclear how built up Fujiwara-kyo ever was. Imagine trying to just create a city from scratch. Not only was it about building the temples and the palace, but about all of the other houses, which would have been organized by the individual owners. One also has to wonder just how many workers there were, and materials, to do all of this. If much of this was done as traditional wooden buildings, then many of the blocks may not have left any significant remains, though new construction in the area does perform exploratory archaeology just in case. There are a lot of interesting features that have been found.
However, let’s focus just on the Fujiwara Palace. As I’ve previously pointed out—just back in Episode 152, for example, the Fujiwara Palace was, in many ways, getting back to the type of palace that the Toyosaki Naniwa Palace had tried to be. This was a massive State complex. The overall property appears to have been a square, with nine gates—once again, mimicking the geometric perfection suggested in ancient sources. That wall, which was defined by post-holes in the ground, was also surrounded by a moat. The south central gate was known as the Suzaku-mon, or Suzaku gate, named for Suzaku, the crimson bird of the south. This was at the north end of Suzaku Oji, or Suzaku Avenue, the central road of the Fujiwara capital. This road was 24 meters wide, with 4 meter ditches on either side. The ditches would have carried water throughout the city, while also allowing the city to drain water during large rains.
From the Suzaku gate to the north the palace opened up to the first courtyard, with two building where officials could prepare for the day. Originally this would have been the place for officials to change into their formal robes, though later they were commanded to show up to work already dressed. From there, once it opened, they would pass through another gate into the Choudouin, or State Hall. Here, the 8 bureaus, or ministries, each had a Choudou, or court hall, where they would perform their work. There were also four other halls for other governmental work.
Besides the southern gate, there were gates on the east and west, which led to further government offices to the west and east of the court. A fourth gate, at the north end of the Choudouin enclosure, would lead to the Daigokuden, the Great Audience Hall. This was part of a reduced enclosure. Two buildings have been discovered to the east and west of the enclosure, and north of the enclosure would have led to the private quarters of the sovereign and their family.
The government buildings are more obvious than some others—many of the buildings were built in the continental style, meaning with stone footings, leaving a lot of evidence of their existence. Meanwhile, the buildings of the sovereign’s private residence were likely still in the indigenous style—plain wood with posts sunk directly into the ground, and thatched roof. That would all leave a lot fewer traces, not to say that they haven’t ever found anything.
Today, the Fujiwara Palace site is a large open area where many of the features that have been found are indicated with modern crimson colored pillars, demonstrating where the various pillars were found. At the same time, any above-ground reconstructions would have be conjectural, as we don’t have enough remaining to know exactly what the palace looked like beyond the pillar locations.
This palace and the city was ambitious. It was huge and clearly meant as a permanent capital. The fact that it was only occupied until about 710, when the capital moved north, to Heijou-kyou, is something we’ll talk about in a later episode. But still, it was absolutely an incredible move. Think of how much labor this took and what kind of costs were involved? This was truly a flex of the state’s ability to mobilize labor to be able to do all of this, and generally marks the moment where the Yamato government really came into its own. It also marks the period where the name “Yamato” is thought to have been officially changed to refer to “Nihon”, the “Origin of the Sun”, the name by which Japan would be known ever since. It really is a symbol of Japan’s changing state.
There are only three more monuments included in the World Heritage Site designation, and they are all tombs.
The first is Nakaoyama Kofun. This is another octagonal kofun, approximately 19.5 meters from one side to the other. It is only three tiers, as opposed to the five tiers of the tomb of Temmu and Jitou, and similarly covered in stone and surrounded by stone pavement. The sealed burial chamber is narrow—designed for an urn rather than for a full-body coffin. This is the first such mound clearly built to accommodate Buddhist style cremation, rather than a coffin. While the keyhole shaped kofun had stopped being utilized for some time, this appears to put the final seal on the coffin, as it were, of the kofun building period, which had started back in the mid-3rd century. Certainly, royal tombs continued to be built in the form of mountains, but they would stop having the same kind of artificial mound.
It is unclear who was buried in the mound. It was plundered around the 13th century, and there was considerable damage noted in the Edo period. However, given Kengoshizuka Kofun and the kofun of Temmu and Jitou Tennou, it seems hard to deny the general consensus that this is the tomb of none other than Karu—that is to say Monmu Tennou. However, as with Kengoshizuka Kofun, the Imperial Household Agency has named a different kofun, that of Kurihara-tsuka’ana Kofun, slightly to the south of Nakaoyama. I would note that while this is an octagonal kofun, similar to the others we have seen, the Kurihara kofun, aka the Hinokuma Anko Misasagi, is a round kofun, which, in the consideration of modern scholarship, is not generally thought to have been a shape used for a royal tomb.
There are two other tombs on the world heritage list that are round tombs, however—though they are not thought to have been royal tombs. These are the Takamatsuzuka and Kitora kofun, and both of them have incredible features that are considered of particular importance to the indication of the development of the state. This is because in both tombs elaborate tomb mural paintings were discovered.
The murals of the Kitora kofun are perhaps the simpler between the two. The Kitora murals have the four directional guardians on the walls of the tomb. Again, we talked about this back in episode 127. It was the idea that there was a directional guardian for each of the four cardinal directions. This includes Genbu, the black tortoise of the north; Byakkou, the White Tiger of the West; Seiryuu, the Blue (or green) Dragon of the East; and Suzaku, the Red Bird of the South. These descriptions were heavily tied in with various continental ideas of what would be known as “feng shui”, including different ideas of color, direction, and concepts of yin and yang. The Kitora kofun clearly shows these four guardians.
Based on the style of the tomb and the paintings, it is assumed that this tomb was built in the very beginning of the 8th century. Combined with tomb goods found, while we don’t know who was buried there it is very likely that it was either a royal prince or high ranking noble. It has been suggested that this could have been the tomb for the Minister of the Right, others have suggested that it could be Royal Prince Takechi, who died in the late 7th century, or possibly even a high ranking member of the Baekje nobility living in the archipelago since the fall of their country, given some of the continental features of the tomb and its murals.
In addition to the spectacular directional guardians, on the ceiling of Kitora Kofun is a depiction of the stars. This star chart has been the focus of considerable study, as it depicts the stars in the sky as they might have been seen from the ground. Though there are some errors, it is remarkably accurate, and it has been heralded as the oldest such star chart in the world. There are earlier depictions of the sky, like the Nebra Sky Disc, from modern Nebra, in Germany, which dates to about 1800-1600 BCE, but those are more like an astronomical rule, rather than a chart.
It is also interesting that the positions of the stars don’t exactly correspond with the sky over the Fujiwara capital: instead, it seems that the latitude better fits with the capital of Pyongyang in Goguryeo. This opens up lots of intriguing possibilities about how this star chart came to be, and who created it. It may be that some of the errors we see in the star positions come from taking a star chart possibly from the Tang court, and then localizing it to the Goguryeo capital in Pyongyang. That chart then appears to have made its way to Japan where it was used in the Kitora kofun. That means that the artist wasn’t necessarily directly looking at the sky at the time, but rather looking at a depiction, probably drawn on paper which has since been lost. All of this points to the availability of, and importance placed on, astronomical information at the time.
In the Takamatsuzuka Kofun we similarly have directional animals, although in that case Suzaku, in the south, has been lost. There is also a depiction of the stars, though it is more based on the zodiac, with constellations depicted in the various “houses” of the sky, rather than a true chart of the sky. Most significantly in this tomb, however, are depictions of courtiers – groups of male and female attendance - in what appears to be court clothing, and indeed this is the best depiction we have of what court clothing may have looked like at this time. It very much is in keeping with the clothing we see on the continent. It is possible that the clothing depicted is not actually what was in use in the court, but possibly clothing from the continent as it was depicted in drawings and the like.   However, the style of clothing does seem to match the continental style clothing we see later in the Nara period, and so it does seem to be our best source for the clothing of the time barring us finding actual garments or further depictions.
Both of these tombs are stunning, and have greatly increased our knowledge of the world of the court of 8th century Japan. However, they are also both extremely fragile and in need of conservation. Since being opened, humidity levels in the tombs have risen, which has led to the deterioration of the paintings themselves. Japanese historians and conservators have gone to great lengths to preserve what they could before any more was lost, and there are depictions of what they looked like when they were originally found. One of the goals of the World Heritage determination appears to be the conservation of these incredible paintings for future generations to be able to see.
And there you have it. Those are the sites that were recently listed together on the UNESCO World Heritage list as the Ancient Capitals of Asuka and Fujiwara. I hope that everyone gets a chance to go see them in person some day—it really is a beautiful and rather bucolic area with history strewn all about. It isn’t difficult to walk most of it, either, though to see everything you probably want at least a couple of days, not including various museums and other institutions. And, of course, the rest of the Nara basin is full of even more treasures, such as Horyuji temple, the Makimuku Palace site, Mt. Miwa, and then the ancient capital of Nara, just to name a few.
But that will have to be for another day. For now, I think I’ve gone on long enough. This has been a bit longer than most episodes, so I hope that you enjoyed it. We’ll be back with our regularly scheduled episodes in a couple of weeks.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please 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 either our Ko-Fi or BuyMeACoffee sites—just look up SengokuDaimyo. For all of that, you can also find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bender, Ross L. (2026). Emperors Monmu, Genmei, Genshō: Shoku Nihongi 697-724.
Bender, Ross L. (2025). SHOKU NIHONGI 697-791: A Translation of Maki 1-40.
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.
Websites
-, -. (last checked 8/15/2026). UNESCO World Heritage Convention: Ancient Capitals of Asuka and Fujiwara. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1757/
-, -. (last checked 8/17/2026). Center for Preservation of Kitora Tumulus Mural Paintings. https://www.nabunken.go.jp/shijin/en/

Episode 154: Queen Uno no Sarara, Part 2

August 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Jitō Tennō as depicted by Katsukawa Shunshō in the 18th century as part of a collection of notable poets. She is depicted wearing the ceremonial robes of the Tenno, dressed in the same attire as her male counterparts. Image in the public domain, downloaded from Wikimedia Commons.

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We pick up in this episode where we left off, with the life and reign of Queen Uno no Sarara. We look at what she did in and out of the court, and all that she did to ensure the smooth transition of power to her grandchild, Prince Karu.

Below are a couple of the places and people discussed this episode:

Kii no Kuni (紀伊國)

The ancient country of Kii makes up the southern half of the Kii Penninsula in the area now known as Wakayama Prefecture as well as parts of southern Mie Prefecture, right up to the land of Ise. It is a largely mountainous region, and has long been an area with great spiritual connections. In the south of Kii was Kumano, the home of the Kumano Sanzan (熊野三山), the triple shrines of Kumano Hongu Taisha (熊野本宮大社), Kumano Hayatama Taisha (熊野速玉大社), and Kumano Nachi Taisha (熊野那智大社). The Buddhist incarnation of the three deities is referred to as the Kumano Gongen (熊野権現).

Tō-no-mine (多武峰)

Called “Tamu no Mine” by Aston, based on a phonetic reading of the characters—and likely somewhat closer to the original pronunciation—today this appears to refer to two places. There is a Tō-no-mine east of Asuka and due south of modern Sakurai. There is a natural path up through the valleys into the mountains, starting from the Ishibutai kofun group, today. However, there is also the idea that this may refer to something in Nara—a smaller ridge where there are ancient stone works from the time of about Takara Hime—Saimei Tennō. This is where we find the enigmatic Sakabune-ishi, as well as stone walls and a tortoise basin at the foot of the hill. These are all thought to have been related to work that Takara Hime had done, which included the building of a walled enclosure and the creation—or at least designation—of the Futatsuki Palace (両槻宮・ニ槻宮). However, this is all conjecture as there is no clear evidence of where things were happening. It could be that there was also a palace built further up in the mountains, or it could be that the name migrated at a later date, perhaps after many of the original names were forgotten. All of this becomes hard to prove one way or the other without more evidence.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 154: Queen Uno no Sarara, Part II
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Light drifted in from outside the grand audience hall. It filtered through barred windows and screens, and glinted off of bright gold and bronze accents, as well as the polished stone floor. Upon a raised dais, surrounded by curtains, sat the tennou, arrayed in all of his youthful majesty. Before him were princes and high ranking nobles, dressed in their finest court clothing. Rich brocades of silk and black gauze hats only added to the pomp and circumstance of the moment.
The nobles bowed and brought out a small tray. Upon it were seventeen scrolls, freshly made, representing the latest updates to the laws and punishments of the land. The nobles presented the work they had overseen, the culmination of a year’s effort to further bring into line the organization of the state.
Off to the side, behind a screen of her own, Uno no Sarara watched the proceedings. She thought back on all that had happened to bring them to this point. This glittering hall was a far cry from the plain wooden structures of the old Kiyomihara palace. And while she had never visited them, she could only imagine that this must rival the courts on the continent. Everything that she and her husband had worked and fought for—all of the battles they had fought, and all of the friends and children they had lost—she watched as it all came to fruition.
The court was never going to be entirely peaceful—there would always be those striving for wealth and power, however they could attain it—but at this moment she no doubt felt as confident as she ever had that her efforts hadn’t been for naught. No matter what happened from here, the State, and her line, would continue.
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So let’s recap: We started with Part I of Uno no Sarara’s reign back in episode 152, and then last episode we took a bit of a detour to go more in depth on the history of Ise and of the worship of Amaterasu more generally. We talked about how there is good reason to believe that Ise shrine’s prominence—and even many of the stories about Amaterasu and her importance in the story of the royal family—were either created or at least emphasized during the reigns of Ohoama and Uno no Sarara. We ended with a discussion of the Jingikan, the newly created government organization developed to deal with so-called “Kami Matters”, formally bringing the administration various shrines under the administration of the State. Specifically it seems to have focused on State sponsored rituals. I have no doubt that they took charge of the rituals at court itself, and they were likely involved in the worship at Ise Shrine, as well as the shrines of Tatsuta and Hirose. On the other hand, as with the spread of Buddhist temples, direct State control was likely limited, at least at this stage, likely focused on the most influential institutions.
This episode I want to continue with Uno no Sarara’s reign. She continued to make her mark on the court, tweaking how things worked, especially around the concept of rank. And then there were her various travels. These were mostly to her palace in Yoshino, but several other journeys, including a tour of the land of Kii—modern Wakayama prefecture—as well as a visit to her half-sister, Royal Princess Asuka. For all of that, however, the entry in the Nihon Shoki ends with what was perhaps one of the most direct and unique things she did: Ensuring a smooth transition of power to her grandchild, Prince Karu. And while in this episode we’ll (spoiler alert) cover both this power transition and Uno no Sarara’s eventual death, we won’t be done with her reign and its impact after this episode. After all, there is still a lot going on around this time, and multiple different threads to pull on. I expect several more episodes to cover things, such as the creation of hunting and fishing preserves, Buddhist merit-making, crime and punishment, and more. There are also a few more people to talk about, such as Kakinomoto no Hitormaro, the court poet, and Fujiwara no Fubito and the establishment of the Fujiwara family as we know it.

So let’s take a look at Uno no Sarara and what she was up to.
She was still very much putting her stamp on things, tweaking the codes and making edicts. One of the more impactful edicts would seem to be one where she had the government officials and people of the Home provinces all divided into nine classes. This seems to be introducing yet another rank system, though this one is a bit more technical than the ones that came before.
For one thing, it divided everyone up into nine ranks. To do this, the court were going to take a look at a period of up to 6 years for those who already had rank and up to 7 years for those who did not. The court—presumably court appointed judges—would use that period to evaluate individuals and slot them into a new system of nine classes. Those in the first four classes would be given cap-rank based on their individual merits, the services that they had performed, and the importance of their house. There isn’t really a mention about the other five classes, but as they were theoretically the lower classes of society, it may not have been quite so pertinent. BTW, of the three things that they were using to determine cap-rank, that last one, the importance of the individual’s house, strikes me as the nod to the fact that the Japanese had not yet gotten away from the idea of “kabane” type hierarchy. Granted, it isn’t like family was unimportant in the Tang court, the Japanese were just being much more blatant and direct about it.
Once everyone was properly sorted into the appropriate cap-rank, new edicts were issued on the official court clothing, which we discussed in Episode 150, and if you check out the blogpost you should be able to see what that looked like.
I would note that the cap-rank system would eventually go away and be replaced by a rank system also based on 9 ranks, which then were broken up into upper and lower and junior and senior, so very similar to what we see with cap-rank, with some slight changes.
Uno no Sarara continued to make tweaks to the system, while working on the various large scale projects of the reign. She wasn’t exactly a homebody, however. As she did all of this, she was regularly taking trips away from the capital.
For example, between 689 and 697 she took at least 30 trips to visit Yoshino, sometimes taking as many as five trips in a year. These were often short—a couple of days and then back to the grind of the court. However, that’s all that we get. Based on the dates, we can at least make a few inferences. For one, she was going down in all seasons, so she really must have enjoyed it, and it doesn’t seem like it was attached to any particular official date or ritual. Perhaps it just got her away from the pressure of official life.
Some of her travel appear to have been work trips. Her travel to Ise, which we talked about in the previous episodes, as well as things like traveling to visit the Castle of Takayasu and also to inspect horses at the embankment of Wani-no-kami. Those appear to have been both trips where she was keeping an eye on things. Other trips, however, provide fewer details. Mostly we know where she went. This included trips to Hatsuse, Kii, Takamiya, and Yonabari, in Uda. We are also told she ascended the Peak of Tou no Mine and later that she made another journey out to the Futatsuki Palace—presumably at the same place. And we also have a trip out to the country-house of Royal Princess Asuka.
Now Hatsuse, Kii, and Uda are all places we’ve previously talked about. They are all on the Kii peninsula. Hatsuse—or Hase—and Yonabari, in Uda, are both due east of modern Sakurai, following the Yamato upriver and then branching off to the aptly named Yonabari river. These areas are well-referenced in the rest of the Nihon Shoki.
“Kii” is a bit more ambiguous. Kii refers to the entire land of Kii, or Kii no Kuni—by the way, if you are familiar with the Japanese bookseller “Ki-no-kuni-ya”, that name directly references the land of Kii as the family who started it were from Wakayama in Kii, where they served under the Kishu—or Kii—branch of the Tokugawa family during the Edo period. That said, there were others who also used the name “Kinokuni” as a locative name as well, and you will occasionally see it here or there, even outside of the famous bookstore.
The land of Kii is basically all of the southern Kii peninsula. On the west side, it starts at roughly Wakayama, and includes the mountainous regions south of the Nara basin, wrapping around to the east side of the peninsula, to just south of Ise. Today it is split between Wakayama prefecture and parts of Mie prefecture, including the towns of Kihoku—literally “Northern Kii”—and Taiki—“Big Kii”. Today, “Taiki” is part of the Watarai district, Watarai being the name of the location where Ise shrine was located. So you can see that Kii basically included everything from one side of the peninsula to the other.
Most of the time, though, I would generally assume that travel to Kii is a reference to the nearby area of Wakayama, especially as there are other references to that area in the form of hunting and fishing restrictions, which we’ll discuss more fully in a later episode.
This particular trip to Kii sounds like it was a bit of a longer trip, incorporating several locations. We know that it took roughly eleven days—about a week and a half. That’s enough time to do quite a bit of sightseeing. In fact, shortly before leaving, Uno no Sarara says that she is going on a “tour” of the land of Kii, and as such the land-tax and poll-tax for Kii would not be collected for a year, since, instead, they were expected to support her visit so that she could travel in appropriate style and so that temporary palaces could be made available for her use.
Kii is an interesting place for Uno no Sarara to visit. It is mentioned occasionally throughout the chronicles, and its position puts it squarely in Yamato’s sphere of influence. At the same time, its mountainous nature means that it was never quite as populated as regions like the Nara basin or the Kawachi plains, where the large, flat areas were better suited to wet rice paddy agriculture. In Kii, there are only a few areas really suitable for supporting large populations through agriculture alone, and even today the mountains make travel and construction in the area more difficult, so you don’t have the highly concentrated population centers as in other regions. The area around modern Wakayama city provides some of the best land for agriculture, with some other coastal regions as well.
But it is mountains that Kii is known for, and the mountains often have spiritual significance. Mt. Koya, or Koyasan, would be found in 805 as the center of Shingon Buddhism, but well before that you have the Kumano shrines, also known as the Kumano Sanzan—the three mountains of Kumano.
There is a lot of evidence that worship at the three mountains of Kumano was heavily influenced by Buddhism and Buddhist traditions, but that this was a later influence on areas that were already important spiritual sites well before Buddhism arrived in the archipelago. The exact nature of worship is debated, but the area was important, with “Kumano” once treated as its own land, overseen by the Kumano Kuni no Miyatsuko. The deities of Kumano and the area more generally features in the Nihon Shoki in the legendary stories of Iware Biko, aka Jimmu Tenno.
The Kumano shrines are, ultimately, a series of shrines in the Kumano region, roughly 20-40 kilometers from each other. There are three main shrines—Kumano Hongu Taisha, Kumano Hayatama Taisha, and Kumano Nachi Taisha—known as the three mountains. There are numerous other shrines as well. There are three main deities worshipped, but then also another nine that are considered important as well, for at least twelve kami. The three main kami – Kumano Musubi no Ohokami, Hayatama no Ohokami, and Ketsumi Mikoto Ohokami – are also considered to be manifestations of Izanami, Izanagi, and Susano’o. Izanami and Izanagi are famously the progenitor kami of the archipelago, while Susano’o is the storm and ocean deity said to be the rambunctious and troublesome brother to Amaterasu Ohokami. It is quite likely that the connection with these other kami—who feature prominently in the later stories, was actually a later addition. Similarly, around the 9th century, the Kumano shrines were heavily influenced by Buddhism, which often co-opted indigenous kami worship by associating the native kami with incarnations of Buddhist figures. In this case: Thousand-armed Kannon, Yakushi—or the Medicine—Buddha, and Amithabha. I must say that associating Amithaba—or Amida—with Susano’o seems like a bold move. The deity who tossed a backwards flayed colt into Amaterasu’s weaving hut is also the Buddha who made the promise that all who call on his name would find their way to the western pure land? I guess.
Together, the kami of Kumano are known as the Kumano Gongen, and there is a pilgrimage trail, even today, that leads between the various shrines and peaks, as well as various temple complexes in the area.
There is one other interesting connection with Kumano shrines, and that is the fact that there is a Kumano Taisha up in the Izumo region. Today, they claim that despite the names being identical, there are no actual ties between Kumano Taisha and the Kumano Sanzan. The Kumano Taisha of Izumo is actually considered the Ichinomiya, or most important shrine, of Izumo—even more important than the famous Izumo shrine, itself. It lies 30 minutes south of modern Matsue, and enshrines a kami known as Kushi-mikenu-no-Mikoto, said to be another name for none other than the famous Susano’o.
Kumano Taisha claims to have been first mentioned in the Nihon Shoki back in the time of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou, in an entry from 659, though that entry simply states that the Izumo no Miyatsuko was to repair the shrine of the “Itsuki” kami, and doesn’t specifically mention Kumano Taisha by name. There is an entry attributed to the Izumo fudoki, which claims a shrine was located on Mt. Kumano, identified with modern day Tenguyama. And then, Kumano Taisha appears in the Engi Shiki in the 10th century. Suffice it to say, there are many different ways that this can be interpreted.
Scholars have attempted to look into the potential connections between Kumano Taisha in Izumo and the Kumano Gongen of Wakayama, but it does not appear that there is a fully formed consensus. I would note that we certainly see various important worship centers branching out throughout the archipelago, setting up branches elsewhere, and we also see the association of various local kami with other, more famous kami, making the claim that they are simply another name for the same entity. This would appear to be one way to bring different groups into communion with each other, as it were, and helping to gloss over the potential difficulties found in diverse belief and worship practices.
As a side note, there is at least one other Kumano Taisha of note, found up in the Tohoku region. It claims to be the “Ise of Tohoku”, with a focus on Izanami and Izanagi. It seems to claim a founding around the early 9th century at the Tenno’s request. Given that, I think we can ignore it for our current discussion.
To bring this all back around, it is unclear if Uno no Sarara’s tour of Wakayama included the Kumano shrines at this time. Certainly Kumano would play an important role in the legends and stories that the court was putting together, but what structures were in place at this point in the story are unclear. Her tour may have focused much more on the area around modern Wakayama. Her tour of the area took a total of eleven days, which is more than enough time to have seen a fair bit of the area, and certainly would have been enough time to get down to the Kumano region, but we don’t have any clear details that I see to say exactly what happened.
Still, I do find it interesting to look at the juxtaposition of the Kumano shrine story with that of Ise. Both took on some aspects of the official stories of the founding of Japan and appear to have been important shrines for the court to some extent, and both the trip to Ise and the trip to Kumano were events such that local taxes were commuted for a time to help pay for the royal visit.
But whereas Ise would go on to reject the merging of Buddhism with local kami worship, Kumano appears to have embraced it. Kumano worship took on a highly syncretic character, with Buddhism and Kami worship becoming inextricably intertwined, maintaining that character even today, despite numerous historical attempts to extricate the two from each other.
Ultimately, Ise shrine would take pride of place as the national shrine of the royal family, but I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Kumano had been more ascendant.
Getting back to our discussion of Uno no Sarara’s various peregrinations: we also have what appear to be two trips up to Tou-no-mine—the modern pronunciation for the name which Aston transliterates as “Tamu no Mine”. This is the peak where, about forty years earlier, Takara Hime is said to have built a circular enclosure and called “Futa-tsuki” or two “Tsuki” trees palace. It was also known as “Ama-tsu-miya”, the Heavenly Palace. The modern Tou-no-mine is a mountain to the southeast of Asuka, however, there is also a theory that the Tou-no-mine and Futa-tsuki palace were actually on a small hill just due east of the Kiyomihara palace site. This is where we find walls, the Sakafune-ishi stone, and other examples of work from the time when the Futa-tsuki palace would have been built.
That said, to get to Tou-no-mine, we are told it was a two day trip—one day out and one day back. That said, it wouldn’t have all been spent traveling. In fact, Tou-no-mine, today, is under two hours walking distance. The site by the palace is much closer, and the entry for going to the Futatsuski is only mentioned on a single day. So none of that is particularly helpful, in my opinion. Ultimately, we know that it was a location near Asuka and that it was associated with Takara Hime, the last female sovereign in her own right—even though her reign was arguably run largely by her son, Crown Prince Naka no Oe.
Speaking of whom, Naka no Oe was not only the father of Uno no Sarara, but also of Royal Princess Asuka. So when Uno no Sarara went to Asuka’s country house, also known as the Denso or Tadokoro, she was actually going to pay a visit on her own half-sister. By the way, “country-house” is the Aston translation. A more direct translation might be something like “Field Place”. It was a private estate belonging to powerful families, such as the local elites—or in this case the royal family. It is a rare glimpse into the living conditions of those royal princes and princesses who were not resident in the palace itself. I do find it interesting that it specifically identifies the royal princess and not some male relative or husband—and Uno no Sarara isn’t really noted as visiting a lot of family members all over the place. I’ve seen a suggestion that Asuka may have been married to Prince Osakabe, one of Temmu’s sons, but if so it is interesting that Uno no Sarara goes to visit her house and not his house.
Princess Asuka is not mentioned much, but given this and a few other things—including being mentioned in the Man’yoshu in connection with a poem by the famous Kakinomoto no Hitomaro—she seemed to be someone important, even though we don’t have a lot of information on what that looked like at the time.
And with that, we’ve covered most of Uno no Sarara’s travels. We discussed her near-constant trips to Yoshino, then there were official visits to inspect the fortifications and horses. Granted, that latter duty was also done just at the palace, in Asuka, so it wasn’t necessarily terribly special. There was her expedition to Ise, which we discussed in a previous episode, and then down to tour the land of Kii. There were short jaunts out to Hatsuse and Yonabari. And the largely unexplained visits to Tou-no-mine and the enigmatic Futa-tsuki palace. Finally, there was a note about her calling on her half-sister, Princess Asuka.
So that was what Uno no Sarara was doing when she wasn’t at the court. Otherwise, whether it was in the Asuka Kiyomihara palace or in the new Fujiwara Palace, she was dealing with the business of the state. Much of what is recorded are fairly common things—banquets, archery competitions, and similar events that are interesting in aggregate, perhaps, but maybe not so helpful in figuring out the larger trends that were occurring at the time. There were edicts and changes, but we can talk about those separately. There were natural disasters, as well.
Overall, she spent eleven years on the throne, from 686 to 697. In that time, she finished much of the work started by her husband, put her own stamp on the new government, and, perhaps most importantly, she set up her grandson for success. It is worth nothing that Uno no Sarara’s posthumous regnal name is Jitou Tennou, and while that was probably not something she chose for herself, it may give us some insight into how the Chroniclers viewed her. Remember that the brothers, Naka no Oe and Ohoama, were given the names “Tenji” and “Temmu”, respectively. Tenji is “Heavenly Wisdom”, and he is counted as the brains behind the Great Change, the Taika reforms, and much of the shape that the state took from 645 onwards. Temmu is something like “Heavenly Warrior”. The victor of the Jinshin no Ran was remembered for his military strategy, even though that was really only a small part of his overall reign. The characters of Jitou’s posthumous title are two characters. The first, “Ji”, means “to hold” or “to have”. The other character is “tou” and generally means “relationship” or “to control”. It can also refer to unification.
This is often considered to mean that her role was seen as continuing to hold the throne and continue the work of her husband and his line, his progeny. In this case, that means strengthening the state that Ohoama had built, following through on his national projects, and ultimately ensuring that the throne passed seamlessly to Ohoama’s grandson, ensuring that his line would continue. Of course, it probably should be noted that of course it was also her own bloodline that she was continuing as well, something that would become important in later years.
And it is easy for us to look at this as simply editorializing by the Chroniclers, who were, after all, trying to craft a national narrative as well as record the history. In many ways the use of these posthumous titles allowed them to do that—to summarize an entire reign into something that could be easily remembered. And yet, based on the actions that she has taken, there certainly seems to be something to this description of Uno no Sarara and her motivations.
We saw, early on, how she cleared the way for her own son, Crown Prince Kusakabe, getting rid of his potential rival for the throne, Prince Ohotsu, and thus potentially averting another conflict at the start of the reign. But then Kusakabe died, leaving her with his young son, and while placing a young infant on the throne might have become a thing in later centuries, that precedent had not quite been set just yet. Even as it was, Uno no Sarara likely had some concept that she could not know how many years she would get. A decade on the throne was nothing to sneeze at, and many sovereigns had much less.
And so, beyond setting up the structure of government that her grandson would inherit, she also had a few more things to ensure. She would want him to be old enough to be taken seriously, and she would need to make sure that there were no other claimants that could complicate matters. There was only one other serious candidate that fit that description, and that was Prince Takechi.
Remember, Prince Takechi was Ohoama’s eldest son. He was also a maternal descendant of the Munakata, meaning that he didn’t have the double-royal imprimatur that was presumably required to take the throne as the sovereign. And yet, Uno no Sarara was no doubt savvy enough to understand that those kinds of traditions changed quickly and easily in the past, as long as one had the right political backing.
At the same time, Uno no Sarara appears to have leaned heavily on Prince Takechi’s support. It was a risk, but his support for her efforts would help her do what she needed to do. Not only that, but if anything did happen to the young Prince Karu, Prince Takechi was the next in line. He was also the Dajou Daijin—the most powerful court position short of Uno no Sarara herself. For many reasons, it would have been difficult if the Queen felt she needed to take him out of the picture.
Perhaps then it was fortuitous that in 696 the issue resolved itself, when Royal Prince Takechi passed away.
This was no doubt a sad event, and yet it also may have set things in motion. Prince Karu had been born in 683, so he was fourteen years old—still quite young, but old enough. He was also surrounded by supporters, including his own mother, widow to the late Prince Kusakabe, Royal Princess Abe.
While it isn’t mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, we get a glimpse of how all this was planned in the Kaifuso, published in 751. There, in an entry for Prince Kadono, a son of Prince Ohotomo, we are told that after Prince Takechi’s death, Prince Kadono met with Uno no Sarara and others and suggested a course of action. He encourage Uno no Sarara to pass on the kingdom to Prince Karu, despite his youth. If true, this is quite the statement from someone whose own father was killed in the Jinshin no Ran, which brought Ohoama and Uno no Sarara to power in the first place. It appears as though she heeded his advice, setting up what would come next over the following year.
And so it is from the year after Prince Takechi’s death that we start to really see entries focused on Prince Karu. In the second month of 697, for instance, we see that Tahema no Mabito no Kunimi was appointed to be Prince Karu’s tutor. Likewise we see Michi no Mabito no Atomi and Kose no Ason no Ahamochi appointed as director and assistant director of the Spring Palace—the palace for the Crown Prince, the Heir Apparent. Interestingly, Aston notes that the Nihon Shoki never actually gives an entry for when Prince Karu was named Heir Apparent—it just seems to be assumed.
Ten days after the new directors were appointed, a public great-congregation was held at the Crown Prince’s palace—here called the Eastern Palace, and I’ll admit I’m not sure if “Eastern Palace” and “Spring Palace” were different names for the same place or what. I assume these were all part of the newly built Fujiwara Palace, though the most important part is the implications for Prince Karu. He was being introduced to the court, it seems, with a large congregation at his residence where the court would be expected to acknowledge his position as the crown prince and heir apparent.
Three months later, we are told that Uno no Sarara grew ill. The Ministers and various government officials made votive images of the Buddha in an attempt to make merit and help her to recover. While she would recover from whatever illness she experienced, I suspect that this was something of a wake-up call. Uno no Sarara was in her early 50s, and she wasn’t getting any younger. She also lived at a time where she had to realize that many others hadn’t made it as far, and perhaps her illness made her realize that if she was going to do something, she had better do it sooner, rather than later. And so, just a little more than a month later, on the first day of the 8th month, Uno no Sarara abdicated the throne in favor of her grandchild, Prince Karu, soon to become the next Tennou.
This isn’t the first time we’ve seen an abdication in the history of Yamato, but it is perhaps the first time we’ve seen it quite like this. When Takara Hime abdicated, I think we can agree that it was largely under duress. She had just seen her son lead a bloody coup against the most powerful court nobles, and that really does seem to have shaken her. No such bloody struggle was happening here, however. In fact, there is plenty to suggest that avoiding a bloody struggle was exactly Uno no Sarara’s point. By overseeing Prince Karu’s ascension while she was still around, Queen Uno no Sarara maintained significant control over the process.
Part of this rested on the fact that when she retired from the position of Tennou she didn’t just become some commoner or retreat to the position of Queen Mother or Dowager Queen or something similar. Instead, she took on a new titled: Retired Sovereign, or Dajou-Tennou. Technically this means that her own title was something like “Greater Sovereign”, compared to Karu’s “sovereign”.
This position was new, and may not have even been fully formed at the time of the initial abdication. Unlike when Takara Hime abdicated, effectively acknowledging that she wasn’t actually in charge, Uno no Sarara was planning to remain an active force in government. Her grandson would be set up as the formal sovereign, or Tennou. He would be responsible for the rituals and ensuring everything was properly carried out, but his mother, the Dajou-Tennou, would have a tremendous amount of clout and control.
By all accounts, this abdication and creation of the “Dajou-Tennou” position really does seem to have been specifically set up for this occasion, to ensure the smooth transition of power. This way, when Uno no Sarara eventually did pass away, there would be no question about who was seated on the throne. Given everything she had witnessed—from stories about her how her own father had come to power as well as the events of the Jinshin no Ran and then everything that happened in the aftermath of her own husband’s death—I can understand why Uno no Sarara would have been pre-occupied with the idea of ensuring a smooth transition to the next sovereign. She likely could not foresee how this new position would be used in the future, and yet it would become something of a staple in the politics of the Japanese court.
Initially, retired sovereigns were typically doing so for reasons similar to Uno no Sarara—to ensure a smooth transition of power from one to the other and to ensure that the next tennou could be established to avoid instability. However, it would become something even more. After all, why wait until your heir is actually ready? If you are going to be running things, anyway, why not remove yourself from the tedium of ritual while retaining your authority? And in later centuries we see the tennou retiring younger, leaving younger and younger heirs to hold the actual throne. There would also be a certain Buddhist aspect to it as well, allowing the retired tennou to be seen as a kind of Golden Wheel Turning Sovereign who was theoretically beyond the material cares of the day to day. The retired sovereigns would be referred to as “In”, which is likely a reference to the suffix given to their compounds, rather than the common “Miya” or “Gu”. And so the government under these retired sovereigns would become known as the Insei, or government by cloistered sovereigns, but that system was still in the future. For now, we are just seeing the seeds of what was to come, eventually.
To understand this later phase of Uno no Sarara’s life, we need to take our first few steps into a new source: The Shoku Nihongi. The Nihon Shoki ceases to describe anything after Uno no Sarara’s abdication, and the official history of Prince Karu’s reign—known to us as Monmu Tennou—is taken up by the Shoku Nihongi. This is literally the continued Japanese history, and we’ll talk about it in depth at some point. For now, I would note that it was compiled in 797 – so literally a century after the last entry in the Nihon Shoki. That said, it likely had much better records to go off of compared to the Nihon Shoki, though it was still likely compiled with a view that was still quite friendly towards the royal family and the position of the Tennou.
And so, when Uno no Sarara largely disappears from the narrative, I don’t know that we should assume that she had truly gone completely hands off. After all, with everything we’ve seen, do we think that this is a woman who would just hand the reins over to a fourteen or fifteen year old boy? And yet the first time she appears is in 701, when she is making a trip to her favorite vacation spot: the Palace at Yoshino.
That said, there were some pretty big events that happened during this period, after her abdication and assumption of the title of Dajou-Tennou. The biggest was the creation of the Taihou Code. Once again, this will need a fuller treatment, but the Taihou Code was an update to the Kiyomihara code. The Asuka-Kiyomihara code was 22 volumes, and focused on the laws, the “ryou”, but not necessarily the punishments, or “ritsu”. In contrast the Taihou code was 6 volumes of “ritsu” and 11 volumes of “ryou”, for 17 volumes in total. Unfortunately, we mostly have scraps of indications here and there, and the codes that came afterwards, which were each based on what came before. For instance, we do know that they completely overhauled the rank system yet again. Unlike the Kiyomihara code, which took years to develop, the compilation of the Taiho code is ordered in 700 and completed by 701—likely because it was really more of an update and a compilation of what was already on the books.
This was perhaps the most significant thing that happened while Uno no Sarara was still available to exert her influence. Karu was still only about 19 years old at this point. He would turn 20 the following year, 702. That same year, Uno no Sarara would travel all the way out to Mikawa no Kuni, which is the eastern half of the modern prefecture of Aichi. The royal procession, which started in the 10th month of 702, then made its way back through Owari a month later, and from there up to Mino, and then down to Ise and back through Iga. The royal procession is first recorded on the 10th day of the 10th month and returned on the 25th day of the 11th month—a round-trip time of roughly 45 days. Throughout we are told that various ranks and awards were given out to important individuals at each stop.
Unfortunately, that trip may have taken a toll. A few weeks later, on the 13th day of the 12th month, Uno no Sarara grew ill. There was a great amnesty pronounced throughout the realm, and one hundred men took Buddhist vows on her behalf. They even read the Sutra of Golden Light in the Home Provinces. Alas, it was all to no avail. Uno no Sarara passed away on the 22nd day of the 12th month—or January 13th in 703. It was roughly six years from her abdication. She would have died with at least some knowledge that the realm was largely in order. Her grandson was on the throne and had been ruling for the past six years. He had attained the age of majority, and things seemed relatively stable. There was even a new, grand, permanent capital city, just like on the continent.
But that closes out the life of Uno no Sarara. She lived in interesting times, experienced tremendous fortune and misfortune, and she put her indelible stamp on the state of Yamato and thus the future of Japan. There is still more to go over in this period—we have interactions with the Emishi, updates to society, and various impacts to Buddhism. We’ll also take a look at some more important people from this period, including Kakinomoto no Hitomaru, the famous poet, and the poems of the Man’yoshu, and Fujiwara no Fubito, the son of Nakatomi no Kamatari and the one largely responsible for making the Fujiwara house the most influential house in the entire court.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please 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 reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bender, Ross L. (2026). Emperors Monmu, Genmei, Genshō: Shoku Nihongi 697-724.
Bender, Ross L. (2025). SHOKU NIHONGI 697-791: A Translation of Maki 1-40.
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Duthie, T. (09 Jan. 2014). Man’yōshū and the Imperial Imagination in Early Japan. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004264540
Ooms, H. (2009). Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan: The Tenmu Dynasty, 650-800. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press. https://muse.jhu.edu/book/8316.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.
Websites
-, -. (last checked 7/30/2026). 熊野本宮大社. https://www.hongutaisha.jp/

Episode 153: Ise and the Sun Goddess

July 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Priests at the Gekū, the Outer Shrine, in Ise, still perform rituals at the shrine today, following in the the traditions laid down generations before them. Photo by author.

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This episode we are elaborating a bit on Ise Shrine, the worship of Amaterasu, and the creation of the Jingikan.

Ise Shrine

Today, Ise Shrine is primarily made up of two compounds. There is the Outer Shrine, or Gekū, and then, about 4 km south is the Naikū, or inner shrine. Technically the Naikū enshrines Amaterasu Ōkami while the Gekū enshrines Toyouke-bime, a kami of the harvest. Most people are probably more familiar with the Naikū as that is where the shrine is famously rebuilt every 20 years.

While we have mention of Ise Shrine’s purported founding back in the reign of Ikume Iribiko, aka Suinin Tennō. However, there is a lot of doubt about what was actually happening in those passages, and how much we can trust the stories that are told. However, if that account is to be believed—along with the dates—then the shrine was founded back around 4 BCE.

Others suggest a later founding for the shrine. First off, if you believe the narrative, but not the dates, you are probably looking at a 3rd or 4th century founding. Alternatively, it may have been founded around the 5th century, as Wakatakiru no Ōkimi is said to have had a dream about establishing a shrine for Toyouke-bime, a harvest goddess connected with the land of Tanba. Finally, there is the thought that Ise Shrine was founded during the reigns of Ōama and Uno no Sarara—Temmu and Jitō Tennō—in the late 7th century.

Archaeological evidence has not yet shown major habitation in or around Ise Shrine. The capital of Ise no Kuni, which actually makes up most of modern Mie Prefecture, was in Suzuka, towards the northern end of the territory. This is also the location of Tsubaki Shrine and Tsubaki Grand Shrine, which each claim to be the original Ichinomiya, or First Shrine, of the land of Ise. This is an area with clear habitation and numerous large kofun. Kofun in Mie prefecture are first introduced in the north and then gradually spread southwards, but stop just short of the area of the shrines and modern Ise city. For a large part of the 6th century we find nothing and then, suddenly, a large, round kofun appears around 600 on the grounds of what would become the Outer Shrine of Ise, but then nothing seems to follow. It is very odd to have a kofun built within the grounds of a current worship site, so it is likely that the location of the kofun was not, originally, part of the Outer Shrine, or the Outer Shrine was built some time after the kofun.

As for the Inner Shrine, there is evidence of worship in the form of beads found in the river near the site dating from between the 5th and 7th centuries. So there was some kind of worship. Teeuwen and Breen suggest that this was probably to do with some kind of water ritual, as this would have been the source of the water that was used in the plains below. And yet, there also isn’t a lot of habitation that has been found in the areas around the shrine—just the occasional dwelling or burial, but no large settlements. Certainly nothing affiliated with a large organization such as the shrine is, today. These sites may have been important, but there don’t appear to have been much of consequence prior to the late 7th century, with the exception of that one outlier of a large kofun.

Teeuwen and Breen suggest that this area was actually an outpost, rather than a major population center. It was out of the way, not on the main route. This may also explain why worship of a deity that appeared to be feared or out of favor—if the Sujin episode has any truth to it—would have been put out here, so far away from the center of Yamato.

One last note is the protest of Miwa no Takechimaro against Uno no Sarara’s trip to Ise Shrine during her reign. The Miwa family drew at least some of their traditional status and authority from their position as the family in charge of the worship at Mt. Miwa, so they probably had the most to lose by Ise becoming ascendant. As such, their protest over Ise seems to make perfect sense, especially if this was a relatively new shrine, or if Ise Shrine was being built up and repurposed for the new royal project, which would indubitably result in the decline of the power of the Miwa shrine and family.

Amaterasu Ōkami

Today, Amaterasu is the chief kami of the pantheon of Shintō deities. She is often given pride of place above other kami, and just about every shrine has some connection to her along with their own tutelary deities. Yet there is evidence this wasn’t always the case, and that much of what we know about Amaterasu may have been solidified sometime during or after the late 7th century.

Prior to the 7th century, the primary focus of worship of Yamato, at least within the Nara basin, appears to have been directed at Mt. Miwa. This is also where we find archaeological evidence for early settlements, large, keyhole style kofun, and even a palace. The Makimuku Palace, which may have been the palace for Queen Himiko herself or someone closely related, is situated quite close to Mt. Miwa and Hashihaka kofun, the oldest keyhole shaped kofun of that size to date. The deity of Mt. Miwa is said to be Ōmononushi, and this may have been the primary deity of the Yamato court up through the reign of Naka no Ōe, aka Tenji Tennō.

The first evidence that Amaterasu may not have been the high deity depicted in the stories comes from the Nihon Shoki, where alternate stories often provide different kami and different names. Specifically we have Takami Musubi, a deity whose name would appear to indicate that they are the High August deity. In some stories, Takami Musubi is said to have given birth to 1500 other kami, and he is the one who is preparing the way for his grandchild, Ninigi, to go down and settle the Central Land of the Reed Plains. In other entries, Ninigi is the grandchild of both Takami Musubi and Amaterasu Ōkami.

Given everything else, it is odd that Amaterasu is not one of the eight kami listed in court rituals in the Engi Shiki. Those kami were, instead:

Taka Mi Musubi
Tama Tsume Musubi
Iku Musubi
Taru Musubi
Ō Miya Nome
Koto Shiro Nushi

Note that the “Musubi” kami seem to be quite common in this context.

There is also the fact that there are numerous kami with similar names and portfolios. On the one hand, the Wa people seem to have been rather preoccupied with the idea of a sun deity, but who that deity was is in question. It is possible that sun worship generally spawned numerous different accounts and stories of similar deities, and so we see names like “Ōhirume”, “Wakahirume”, “Amateru”, “Hoakari”. That last one I assume means something like “Light of Fire”, but what is that other than the sun? “Ho” and “Hi” both show up in Japanese as being related to either fire or the sun, and I can understand them being closely related.

We also have deities like Saruta Hiko no Kami. Saruta Hiko, who is, incidentally, worshipped at Tsubaki shrine, appears to have characteristics of a kami of the sky. He intercepts the August Grandchild on his descent from Heaven—so presumably in the sky—and he is often described as “bright” and “shining”. Some of the terms used to describe him have made others wonder if he wasn’t originally seen as a deity of the sky and sun himself.

Indeed, prior to the unification of the archipelago under Yamato rule, different lands would have had different kami that they worshiped in their own ways. There were likely commonalities because of shared cultural experiences, but stories were likely to be more focused on local polities and elites. It is possible that every land had its own vision of what the “sun kami” was like.

This also speaks to another aspect of Amaterasu—it is unclear if Amaterasu was originally seen as a female spirit. Certainly under the influence of continental thought, the sun was considered to be heavily Yang, and thus masculine. The terms to talk about kami in Japanese often are not gendered, though there are sometimes clues in the names. For instance, Izanagi and Izanami are basically paired kami, with “-gi” being related to “-ko” (as in Hiko) and “-mi” being related to “-me” (as in Hime). Amaterasu’s name does not provide any such obvious gendered markers. There is the other name she is given, “Ō-hiru-me-no-muchi”, but that may be a later addition as different traditions were brought together. Indeed, the name “Hirume” appears to be specifically connected to the story of weaving, and weaving was often seen as being related to women’s lifeways based on continental cultural biases. On the other hand, we also see Amaterasu donning arms and armor and putting their hair in a distinctly male braid to defend their rights and territory against a potential rival: Susano’o.

There certainly seems to be a tradition of kami with particularly male aspects. The stories of Ōmono-nushi describe the kami depict them and similar kami as arrows, snakes, and string—which can all have certain phallic properties. These are usually used in conjunction with a maiden who is made their “wife”. Add to this the number of women who are sent to care for the kami. When Amaterasu is taken out of the palace, along with Ōyamato no Kunitama, the Soul of the Country of Yamato, they are both given over to the service of women of the royal house: Toyosuki-bime and Nunaki-iri-bime. And there is something about them being women that is apparently important, and we find that it isn’t enough to just be a woman, but you must also be in good health. Nunaki-iri-bime is said to be unsuitable because she was bald and lean. Later, when Nunaki-waka-hime, in the next generation, takes over the worship of Ōyamato no Ōkami, she is not suitable because she is “emaciated”. So they specifically wanted young women to lead the worship, which goes along with patriarchal concept of the kami being spiritually “married” to the woman, who then would oversee the rituals for him.

Is this where the idea of Shrine Princesses, the Saiō or Saigū, comes from?

If Amaterasu started out being conceptualized as a male deity, that is definitely not the image we get by early 8th century, so something must have changed. One thing may be the fact that, as the stories were being written down, they were doing so to further promote Uno no Sarara. Herman Ooms notes that Amaterasu is a transparent double of Jitō, which is to say Uno no Sarara. They are both women who inherited rule of the land, and both are looking after the interests of their grandchild, who is meant to rule the archipelago, the Central Land of the Reed Plains. It is possible that it is during this time—or just after—that Amaterasu was conceived of as a primarily female deity.

Jingikan (神祇官)

Finally, we have the stand up of the Jingikan (or Jingikwan). The name “Jingi” comes from the longer concept of Tenjin-Chigi (天神地祇), which refers to the kami of heaven and of earth. This is also read as “Ama-tsu-kami, Kuni-tsu-kami”, a not uncommon phrase in modern Shinto norito. The idea of “Heavenly” and “Earthly” kami appears to have had some importance in the 7th century, and appear to have been in a hierarchical relationship, with the Earthly kami submitting to the Heavenly kami. This likely had political implications among the elite families who claimed Heavenly or Earthly kami as their ancestral ujigami.

The Nihon Shoki uses the term “Jingi” several times prior to Uno no Sarara’s reign, but it is only in that reign that we see the term “Jingi-kan”, suggesting that a formal court structure had not previously existed in the new bureaucratic system. This likely was instantiated in the Kiyomihara codes, begun under Ōama and finalized under Uno no Sarara. We do have the term “Jingi-haku” and it may be the case that there previously were some officials that were given some amount of authority over kami matters, but the stand-up of the Jingi-kan appears to take it a step further.

The first named Jingi-haku, or Kanzukasa no Kami, is Nakatomi no Ōshima. The Nakatomi were the court ritualists, so this appointment makes perfect sense. Nakatomi no Kamatari is said to have been offered the position of Jingi-haku, but it is unclear if that was actually the same position or, as noted above, a predecessor position which was then co-opted. By bringing the kami worship under the State, it was one more way for the State to maintain its control over the various levers of authority. Obviously they had military and economic power through their ability to call up soldiers and demand taxes. They also had created positional authority through the court hierarchy of ranks and even wrangling the old kabane system. They further took control over Buddhist institutions, and created “National” temples. Now they were taking control of kami matters. This went along with their attempt to re-organize the physical landscape in the form of the Fujiwara capital, as well.

An important note about the Jingikan is that at this time it seems almost more important than the Dajokan, the Council of State. The Jingikan was actually considered a separate branch of the government, not beholden to the Dajokan, directly under the sovereign. So the Jingikan and the Dajokan were technically at the same hierarchical level and, arguably, the Jingikan was actually more powerful at this point in history. That wouldn’t always be the case, and though it may have been influential, it did have a limited sphere of influence.

Shintō

One of the more debate-filled concepts in discussing the history of Japanese religion is Shintō. Certainly the idea of “Kami no Michi” (神道) is present in the old Chronicles, likely taking its cue from similar continental concepts of the “Way” of Heaven. And yet, there are also questions of whether it is an actual “religion” or more of a “cultural practice”. Are “kami”, as spirits, truly the same as “gods”? Without a centralized belief system, is it an “organized” religion? And when was it conceptualized as a single thing?

In many ways, Shintō is not defined in a vacuum. Without the introduction of Buddhism and other concepts from the continent, the kami and their worship were, in many ways, just another method of dealing with the natural world, just as farming, hunting, or wood cutting. There was no need to define what Shintō was or was not, and this is likely one of the ways that it was able to absorb and accomodate various practices and beliefs from the continent, early on.

It is in opposition to Buddhism that Shintō really seems to define itself, and a large part of that is likely due to the establishment of Ise Shrine, as well as the Shrine’s own pushback against Buddhism in later centuries. Indeeed, in the 8th century there was an attempt to create a temple at Ise Shrine, at the same time that Buddhism was incorporating shrines and local kami into its own worldview. However, that attempt ultimately failed, and created a backlash, such that the shrine specifically pushed back against Buddhist terminology and concepts, categorizing them similarly to other forms of spiritual pollution, at least within the Shrine grounds. As such, it would later be a model for what was “Shintō” versus what was “Buddhism”, and help to define just what the Way of the Kami meant.

Along with that you have the Kojiki, which would become the go-to text for many shrines—and people generally—regarding the founding stories of the kami, and rectifying the cosmological framework in which people positioned themselves, the kami, and their beliefs. Taken together, this period had a tremendous influence on everything that would come after it.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 153: Ise and the Sun Goddess.

In the newly built hall of the Fujiwara Palace, the nobles of the court were gathered for a grand banquet. Snow-white walls were off-set by the bright crimson pillars and trim, highlighted by the bright green windows.   The nobles themselves were a rainbow of colors, arranged as they were by rank.   At the head of it all, on a dais, sat the Queen herself, Uno no Sarara. However, the attention was no longer on her. Instead, it was on another figure, standing . They stood in front of the assembled audience. A , and a quiet spread throughout the hall, . Tthe court listeninged as Hieda no Are began to tell the story of the Sun Goddess in the Plain of High Heaven. They listened to the story of her and Susano’o, and of the backward flayed horse. They heard the tale of the Heavenly Rock Cave, and of all that came after, including the sending of the August Grandchild, Ninigi. They listened to the story—the story of Yamato.

Last episode, we talked in more detail about Uno No Sarara—starting from her early years as the daughter of Naka no Ohoe, granddaughter of Soga no Kurayamada, and child-bride to her uncle, Ohoama. I’ll admit we didn’t look too hard at that last bit, and I don’t have enough information to confirm what exactly “marriage” entailed in that context, but it is still something that I find tremendously creepy and, unfortunately, anything but unique. So I’m not going to dive too much further into it right now but… ew.
We talked about how she gave birth to her son, Kusakabe, in Kyushu, during the war on the continent, and how she eventually left for Yoshino with her husband when he retired from court, presumably to outsmart his court rivals, who were positioning him to be taken out. She also is said to have played a part in the planning and execution of the resulting Jinshin no Ran, later helping her husband govern the realm. And now, she was on the throne, overseeing the completion of many of the projects started in the reign of her husband. This included the completion of the Kiyomihara code, the Fujiwara palace, and the support given to the institution of Ise Grand Shrine.
This episode, I want to dive into that last topic: the emphasis in Uno no Sarara’s reign on continue a bit with the support given to Ise Shrine and its focus, the Great God, Amaterasu no Ohokami. Although the Chronicles talk about Amaterasu as one of the founding deities of the Yamato royal line, there is plenty of evidence that this story was grafted into the tales at a later date, and that worship of Amaterasu, at least as anything more than a minor deity, likely also started relatively latestarted at some later date. Some have even , with some ssuggesteding that Ise Shrine itself wasn’t even built until the late 7th century. So, all of this focus on Ise and Amaterasu This all appears to be part of the larger effort to structure the physical, cultural, and spiritual landscape of the new Yamato state.
Last episode we mentioned talked about how, according to the Nihon Shoki, some of the things specifically mentioned in the Nihon Shoki—about how Ohoama turned to worship towards Ise. Well, specifically, he worshipped Amaterasu Ohokami. So let’s take a moment and talk about what we know of the history of this Great God of Heavenly Brightness.
Unfortunately, most of that history is based on what we know of the kami from works like the Nihon Shoki, the Kojiki, and the Sendai Kuji Hongi, all of which came out in the 8th century or so. As such, it can be hard to know what things were actually like, earlier on, as opposed to what was added or removed laterand what was added to or removed, later.
Much of what I’m going to be talking about, today, I’m going to be pulling from a book written in 2017 by Mark Teeuvwen [Tayvin?] and John Breen titled “A Social History of the Ise Shrines”, as well as Michael Como’s work “Weaving and Binding: Immigrant Gods and Female Immortals in Ancient Japan”, published in 2009, along with other sources. In their book, Breen and Teeuwen point out that for those who do not take the events of the Nihon Shoki and Kojiki at face value, there are two primary theories for the origin of the worship of Amaterasu: an early theory and , classified into an early theory of the development of Amaterasu worship and a late theory of development. The early theory places the development of the worship of Amaterasu in the 5th and 6th centuries, during the reigns of such figures as Wakatakeru no Ohokimi, aka Yuuryaku Tennou. The Late Theory places the development in the 7th century, largely at the feet of such figures as Ohoama and Uno no Sarara herself. We’ll take a look at the evidence and see what it says.
I would note that compared to the official history, per Ise Grand Shrine, today,, both of these would be very late theories. According to Ise Grand Shrine even today, is that Amaterasu arrived in Ise in the 26th year of Ikume Iribiko, aka Suinin Tennou, as stated in the Nihon Shoki, which and correspondsing to 4 BCE if you take the dating of the Nihon Shoki to be accurate. Of course, , but we’ve already spent plenty of time talking about the problems with the Nihon Shoki prior to the 6th century CE, and even then, as we shall see, there are still some questions we have about events givenas well as how the political nature of the text affected what it contained.
So to kick things off, let’s address the biggest question of all: why don’t we believe that Amaterasu no Ohokami was always the primary deity of the pantheon of Yamato, at the very least, if not all of the Wa people of the archipelago? After all, isn’t she a sun goddess, and isn’t sun worship fairly well documented among the ancient Japanese? Just take a look at words like “Hiko” and “Hime”, referring to rulers as sun man and sun woman. Also note that early on, worship seems to have centered around been focused on places such as mountaintops, which focused worship towards the sky and the highest point. In fact, as wet rice paddy agriculture became the dominant economic factor driving the engine of the archipelago in the Yayoi and early kofun period, early shrines were very likely about bringing the spirit of the mountain from the mountaintop and giving them a home amongst the rice fields. as wet rice paddy agriculture became the dominant economic factor driving the engine of the archipelago in the Yayoi and early kofun period.
And then we have the stories. Don’t the ancient stories all tell about Amaterasu as the ruler of Takama no Hara, the Heavenly Plain? And isn’t it her grandchild that then descends to the earth to pacify the Land of the Reed Plains—aka the Japanese archipelago?
Well let’s take a look at those same stories, which we’ve covered in earlier episodes of the podcast. The first deities mentioned in the Chronicles are deities like Ama no Minaka Nushi, Lord of the August Middle of Heaven; Takami Musubi, High August Growth; and Kami Musubi, Divine August Growth. There are other deities, like Kuni Toko Tachi, but they are barely mentioned again.
Later we get Izanagi and Izanami, the masculine and feminine, who create the world and give birth to numerous deities from that point on. Among the children of Izanagi are said to be Amaterasu, Tsukiyomi, and Susano’o. Amaterasu, Heaven’s Brightness, represents the sun while Tsukiyomi represents the dark of the moon. Susano’o is then the god of the storms and seas, and was sent to the Nether Land, the Ne no Kuni.
Right away we see that there are numerous different stories listed in the Nihon Shoki for just about everything. Only the Kojiki gives everything as a single, coherent narrative, but surely the readers in the 8th century would have known some of these other stories, and thus the Nihon Shoki gives the alternates stories as well.
Now the main narrative of the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki tells us that Ama-terasu no Oho-kami was born to rule over everything. In Tthe Nihon Shoki, has Izanagi and Izanami specifically mention that divine destiny in Amaterasu’s creation—although actually, in that part of the text, the deity they y are creating is named Oho-hiru-me no Muchi; the Great Sun Female Holder. And in the next entry they call Amaterasu: Ama-terasu Oho-hiru-me. Tsukiyomi, the deity of the moon, is made to be her consort, and they are supposedly sent to rule the plain of Heaven, Takama no Hara.
The problem is that there are other entries that suggest that Takama no Hara already had a ruler: Taka-mi-Musubi. Reading the sections on Taka-mi-Musubi, we see a deity who is said to have produced 1500 children, himself—no mention of Izanagi and Izanami. Some of his children are mentioned as Omohi-kane: the Thought-Combining deity, and Sukuna-bikona: the Little-Prince-Named deity.
Amatsu Hiko Hiko Ho Ninigi no Mikoto, the August Heavenly Prince, Prince Ho-ninigi, [EB1.1]is not just a grandson of Amaterasu no Ohokami, but also a grandchild of Taka-mi Musubi. In at least one story, he Takami Musubi is the one who wants Ninigi no Mikoto to become the ruler of the Central Land of the Reed Plains. Towards that end, Taka-mi Musubihe gathers the various kami and chooses someone to go down and prepare the way—Ama-ho-hi no Mikoto—who was to quote-unquote “expel and subdue” the evil gods of that land. We covered this story in episode 21 and 22X. When that doesn’t work, he gathers them again, sending others to try and do the same. Eventually he sends Takemikazuchi and Futsunushi down. All of this sounds like Taka-mi Musubi, whose name appears to refer to being the “high” deity, was the one in charge.
In addition, we have the court ritual from sources like the Engi Shiki, which illustrates the deities that were invoked for the protection of the palace and the royal family. These were: Kami-musubi, Takami-musubi, Iku-musubi, Taru-musubi, Tamatsume-musubi, Oomiya-no-me, Oomiketsu-no-kami and Kotoshironushi. One might notice a lot of the “musubi” names among the deities, and a distinct lack of appeal to Amaterasu. If Amaterasu were the central deity and ancestral deity of the royal family, why is she not invoked in the rituals of the court itself?
The thought, here, ais that these rituals are likely much older than the worship of Amaterasu, and while Amaterasu would come to prominence in the stories that the court would tell, it was much more difficult for them to rearrange the traditional rituals to put her front and center. Those rituals were maintained kept by the ritualist families, like the Nakatomi, and they weren’t likely to change the rituals willy-nilly, even for a sovereign. That was playing with supernatural fire, after all—if you changed the rituals, would they still even be effective? Granted, rituals do change, so it isn’t a perfect argument; perhaps it was just not considered to be important enough to make the change since it was not something that anyone except the court ritualists needed to worry themselves over. Either way, it appears that we do have a list of deities that may have been the deities of the ruling elite prior to the rise of Amaterasu and Ise shrine more generally.
We have a few other clues of what was going on in the narrative. For instance, we see the story from the reign of Mimaki Iribiko, aka Sujin Tennou, also called the First Sovereign of Yamato, despite the legendary figures inserted prior to his reign. It is in this chapter that we see a note that Ama-terasu no Oho-kami and Yamato no Oho-kuni-dama, which is to say the Spirit of the Country of Yamato, were both worshipped together in the hall—that is in the royal palace itself. And yet apparently Mimaki Iribiko feared these deities residing with him in the palace, and he had their worship moved to locations outside of the palace. Amaterasu’s worship was given to Toyosuki-iri-bime, one of Mimaki Iribiko’s daughters, and established in the district of Shiki, in Yamato. Yamato no Ohokunidama, on the other hand, was given over to Nunaki-iri-bime no Mikoto, another daughter through a different wife. but we are told that she was lean, and her hair was falling out, and so she couldn’t perform the rites.
Turning our attention back to Ama-terasu—in the reign of Ikume-Iribiko, aka Suinin Tennou, son and heir of Mimaki Iribiko, the worship of Ama-terasu would pass from Mimaki Iribiko’s daughter, Nunaki Iri Bime to Ikume Iribiko’s daughter, Yamato Hime. She would move the worship site from Shiki to Uda, in the shadow of Mt. Miwa, and then proceed over to the upper banks, or Kawakami, of Isuzu, in the district of Watarai. Here, in one of the alternate stories about this episode, we get the Great God of Yamato—Ohoyamato no Ohokami—speaking through a medium to warn the sovereign that he had better be careful. Mimaki Iribiko had not been quite thorough enough in his worship, so he had not had a long life, and if Ikume Iribiko didn’t do the same, he would suffer a similar fate.
And so, in a record eerily similar to what we see in the previous reign, the worship of the “Great God of Yamato”, the Oho-Yamato no Oho-kami, is given to Nunaki-waka-hime—as opposed to Nunaki-Iri-bime—who also fails in the task because of her emaciated body. This also introduces Fukayu nushi, an ancestor of the Nakatomi, who was the one who divined what should be done.
There is so much to unpack in these stories. For one, the kami bring power, but also danger. One can try to placate the kami, but it isn’t like a ritual will always work, and the story is of the sovereign being actively afraid of what they might do, so they were removed from the palace. Then there is the fact that we see two seemingly similar names—Ohoyamato no Ohokami and Yamato no Kunidama both seem like we are talking about the same spirit of Yamato, though some would point out that one is the spirit of the country and one is the great kami of the country, so, clearly different. Both are also being given to someone named “Nunaki—something-something—Hime”, and in both cases Nunaki seems to fail in her task because she is apparently not hot enough for the kami. She’s described as too thin and emaciated or balding. We aren’t given the lineage of Nunaki Waka Hime, but Nunaki Iri Bime is connected with the land of Owari. Nunaki Iri-bime is said to be the daughter of Mimaki Iribiko and Ohoama Hime, ancestor of the Owari no Muraji. Owari was the land that supported Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran.
Finally, in both cases, we see the worship of the spirit of Yamato being given over to someone name “Nagochi”, later identified as Nagochi no Sukune, ancestor of the Yamato no Atahe.
One more note—closely on the heels of moving out these two kami out of the palace, we see that the court they brings in the worship of Oho-mono-nushi, the god of Mt. Miwa, under Ohotataneko, the ancestor of the Miwa clan.
So the stories here account for Ama-terasu being moved to Watarai and why she isn’t worshipped in the palace. It also places Oho-mono-nushi at the center of worship in Yamato. Oho-mono-nushi and Miwa continue to dominate the narrative from here on out, with a few notable exceptions, such as with Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingu Tennou and her mythical conquest of the Korean peninsula. I’m sure that had no political implications at all given everything that had happened with Baekje, Silla, and the Tang dynasty in the latter half of the 7th century. Other than scenes like that, however, the Miwa clan and worship of the Miwa deity appears frequently in the narrative. It is clear that Mt. Miwa, and its deity, were important, and when Breen and Teeuwen hypothesize that when Naka no Ohoe, which is to say Tenji Tennou, took the drastic step of moving the capital up to Ohotsu, in the land of Afumi, he also brought the Miwa deity with him. Those Afumi court rituals were conducted under the auspices of the Nakatomi, and particularly the auspices of Nakatomi no Kane, who would become one of the chief opponents of Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran in 672.
After that conflict, Ohoama and his wife, Uno no Sarara, were building new traditions using Ise and constructing new legends. Legends that would be under their control and influence and which would further bolster their rule from the city that they had designed to fit inside of this newly constructed cosmological framework.
And yet this also brings up what seems like an obvious question. If Ise Shrine and the worship of Amaterasu were so central to Ohoama and Uno’s plans, then why would they put it so far away? Proponents of the “early” theory of the development of Amaterasu and Ise Shrine suggest that the answer lies in the text of the Chronicles. That there is some truth to the idea that there was worship in Yamato and that, for various reasons, it moved out to Watarai district early on and developed into Ise Shrine. Those who hold to the “late” theory of development see all of those stories as later inserts meant to explain away why Ise Shrine was so far away—and perhaps why Amaterasu was not included in the cool-kami club of court ritual.   Teeuwen and Breen mention a few of the theories, from Naoki Koujiro stressing Ise as a strategic gateway between Yamato and Eastern Japan to Tanaka Takashi proposing that the movement of Amaterasu to Ise is actually a stand-in for one or more military campaigns to that area to bring it under Yamato control[EB2.1].
And before we move too much further in the narrative, let’s talk about how Ise is physically and geographically situated. Ise is part of modern Mie prefecture, on the eastern edge of the Ki peninsula. It is at the southern end of a series of adjoining alluvial plains that follow the coastline north to the modern prefectures of Aichi and Gifu—the ancient provinces of Owari and Mino. The capital of Ise Province used to be in Suzuka, near the the two Tsubaki shrines which both lay claim to the title of Ise no Ichinomiya, the First shrine of the land of Ise, and the pass that served as one of three major routes from eastern Japan into the Home Provinces and beyond. This puts Ise about as far away as you can get from the capital of the province without going over the mountains, themselves. It also puts it a good deal south of most major travel routes. If you are going to Ise shrine then it is pretty clear you were going to Ise shrine, as there isn’t a lot of evidence for anything else in the area.
The Shrine itself is actually made up of two primary shrine complexes. There is the Naiku, the inner shrine, and the Geku, or outer shrine. The Naiku, or inner shrine, is probably the area most people think about. It is at the foot of the mountains where the Shimamichi River joins the Isuzu River and both flow out of the mountains. The Naiku contains the shrine to Amaterasu no Ohokami, and is famous for its layout, where there are actually two shrine enclosures, one next to the other. The main shrine is then rebuilt in the empty enclosure every 20 years, at which point the worship is moved to the new shrine, the old shrine is torn down, and the cycle is started once again.
The Outer Shrine, or Geku, is further north, and probably not as well known to foreigners. The Geku is said to enshrine the spirit of Toyouke-bime, a kami dedicated to food. According to the traditions of the Geku itself, Toyouke-bime was enshrined in the Geku at the command of Wakatakiru no Ohokimi, aka Yuuryaku Tennou, based on a dream.
Regarding the history of why the Shrines—both Inner and Outer—are located here, aArchaeological evidence doesn’t give us a lot to suggest that these might be the case. Despite the presence of the Miya River near Ise Shrine, we haven’t found evidence of a large harbor or port, like we might expect if it was the jumping off point[EB3.1] for crossing Ise Bay—or even the center of another large polity. Instead, the areas to the north—around Fujikata and Matokata inlets, for instance—show much more evidence of occupation and, presumably, use. [EB4.1] Heck, the modern district of Fujikata is in the town of “Tsu”, which literally means “port”. And the capital area of Suzuaka and The the Ichinomiya of Tsubaki Grand Shrine is even farther north, still. So who, if anybody, was living down in the area of Ise Shrine?.
If we look at the progression of tomb mounds in the area in previous centuries, we see that they start in the Matokata region in the 5th century and work their way down towards the south, with late 5th century tombs found in the district of Taki[EB5.1], the district bordering on Watarai and modern Ise City to the northwest. It is also where you can find the Saikuu, the site of the old purification palace for the Shrine Princesses. Grave goods seem to show close ties with Yamato, in the Nara basin. While the tombs expanded to the south through the 5th century, they appear to have stopped altogether in the 6th century—or at least we haven’t found any. This may indicate that the political situation had changed and there was no group in the area that could organize the labor for such an undertaking. Whether that was because Yamato was taking it as corvee labor or just that population had dwindled due to war, famine, or something else, I don’t know that we could say.
Around the year 600, at the opening of the 7th century, we do see a large grave mound erected in the core area of what would later become Ise Shrine, on the east side of the Miya River, overlooking what would become the Geku, the Outer Shrine of the Ise complex. For those who aren’t aware, Ise Grand Shrine is a large complex of shrines, and it is divided into two main areas. The “inner shrine”, or Naiku, is where most people go, and it is the site of the famous shrine building that is supposed to be rebuilt every 20 years. The Geku is the “outer shrine” complex, technically dedicated to Toyouke hime, a kami of agriculture. The kofun overlooking the outer shrine is known as the Takakurayama kofun. This is a round kofun, about 35 to 40 meters in diameter, with a horizontal stone chamber. It is the largest in the Ise region. It has been mentioned in records going back to at least the Kamakura era, and even though most of the grave goods are gone, there is evidence that it was richly appointed. Given its shape and location, there were even those in later centuries who connected it with the Heavenly Rock Cave in which Amaterasu hid according to the ancient stories.
The fact that there was nothing around this area and suddenly we see a giant tomb mound is pretty puzzling. Why was it built here? Is it connected to the founding of the Outer Shrine in some way, or is that just coincidental?. Teeuwen and Breen point out that it is pretty rare for a large tomb mound to be build in the precincts of an active shrine, which suggests that whatever was happening there, that area was not part of the shrine grounds. That said, I have to wonder if the ritual worship at the kofun might not have later been transformed or coopted into something else.
There also is no other indication that the Outer Shrine area was used for ritual purposes any earlier than the kofun would have been built. In contrast, around the Inner Shrine area, several kilometers away, there are cachces of beads dated to the 5th, 6th, and 7th centuries in a small valley where a brook runs down from Mt. Asama, not too far from the current shrine complex. Teeuwen and Breen suggest that this may relate to the “upper reaches of the Isuzu River”, mentioned in the Chronicles, and that it may have had to do with rituals related to water supply—hence being found at the point where the water was coming down from the mountains. And yet, despite these finds, there really aren’t any large scale archaeological remains that have been discovered east of the Miya river, though there are modest signs of dwelling and habitation, and some minor burials mounds.
Compare this to Tsubaki shrine, the home of Saruta Hiko no Kami, and the main shrine of Ise, situated in the ancient capital of Ise no Kuni. Downstream from there are numerous tomb mounds and indications of habitation. So this was probably the center for early sun worship in the region.[EB6.1]
Teeuwen and Breen conclude that all of this indicates that the region of Taki and areas east of the Miya river were probably more of an outpost—no major powerful chieftains or large polity had set up in the region. In the late 6th century, some power had to move in to build Takakurayama kofun, but that was an outlier. Maybe this area just largely fell under Yamato hegemony. And perhaps that was the key. Perhaps initially this wasn’t a place to center power and authority, but rather it was more like a prison. It was a place far away from the court, where a deity that was more of a threat could be kept away from the palace and the sovereign. Perhaps Amaterasu, or whoever the kami was at the time, was placed out here because of the threat they posed, much as the Chronicle seems to suggest—just not necessarily at the time that is suggested.
One of the aspects of the mythmaking that we see in the Chronicles appears to be the stress on the Amatsu kami and Kunitsu Kami—the Heavenly deities and the Earthly deities. The Heavenly deities are those in Takama no Hara, and they are the progenitors of the royal line. On the other hand are the earthly kami, the Kunitsu Kami, those dwelling on the earthly plane. In the stories that were recorded in the Nihon Shoki, before the August Grandchild of Takami Musubi and Ama Terasu descended to take control of the Central Land of the Reed Plain, they sent down heavenly kami as warriors to subdue the earthly kami. On the one hand, this may have been driven by some kind of deep memory of early conquests of the archipelago by various forces. However, these legends it also served another purpose, in that itthey set up the royal family’s right to rule, and it appears to establish a de facto hierarchy between those families descended from the Heavenly Kami and those descended from the earthly Kami.
Another thing that Teeuwen and Breen point out and that is that Amaterasu is not necessarily a female deity, to start with. In fact, Amaterasu was probably easily overlain atop the worship of Oho-mono-nushi of Mt. Miwa, at least early on. To that point, they note the stories where , particularly about Oho-mono-nushi and other deities , where they were commonly depicted as arrows, snakes, or similarly phallic imagery finding or even penetrating women who were thought to have a connection with them.   This suggests a context of these priestesses being married to the kami, and even fits in with early descriptions of individuals like the famous Queen Himiko being a spiritual leader as well as a political one. If the original Amaterasu was conceived of as a male deity, then this could also explain the tradition of the Saigu, the consecrated shrine princess. We only see a few royal princesses designated to the position[EB7.1] up to this point in the narrative, and, beyond Tokosuki Iri bime and Yamato hime, we don’t necessarily learn much more. One wonders if there weren’t other royal princesses likewise sent elsewhere to serve other deities. We know about Nunaki Iri Hime, and presumably Nunaki Waka Hime. There was also Yamato Totohi Momoso Hime, who was married to Oho-mono-nushi. Presumably there were others who just never ended up in the stories that were passed down.
The idea of the a kami taking a “wife” and connecting that to the idea of women holding these priestly positions seems to fall in line with much of what we see, though, as I said, we only hear occasionally about the appointment of royal princesses to the position until the reign of Ohoama. That’s when we see specifics about appointments, the purification palace in Hase, and other arrangements. It makes you wonder more than a little bit if Royal Princess Ohoku was, perhaps, the first royal princess to actually be appointed. It would have been easy enough to add in previous “shrine princesses” into the lineage, especially far enough back that nobody could really fact check it. We also see Royal Princess Taki journey to Ise with her companions, Princess Yamashiro no Hime and Lady Ishikawa.
It is intriguing that this practice iwas temporarily interrupted during the reign of Uno no Sarara, as I mentioned last episode. Could this have something to do with a female ruler on the throne and a corresponding lack of urgency about having a female representative at Ise?
And in the stories about Amaterasu, she is frequently shown with certain masculine qualities. When she confronts her younger brother, Susano’wo, she is concerned that he might try to take her authority from her, so . Sshe meets him decked out in armor, her hair tied up in a typical male fashion, with a bow, ready for a fight. It would be just as easy to imagine that Amaterasu and Susano’wo were brothers, contending over rulership. Add to all of that the idea that kami were often personifications of various natural phenomena or ideas, and Japanese is not a naturally gendered language, and there are those that believe that the stories of Amaterasu were not necessarily about a female deity in the beginning, but a male deity, similar to Ohomono Nushi and others, who then took on a feminine persona.
On the other hand there are passages in the old stories recounted in the Chronicles that clearly make Amaterasu out to be a woman.
To start with is the activities she is associated with, such as weaving, which isare often associated with women as something they do in the home. This is a tradition carried over from the continent, along with silk and the techniques to weave it. In the lands where silk production started, there are silkworm goddesses and the gendered nature of silk production and weaving appears to have come over to Japan as well. There is also the fact that Amaterasu is said to have another name: Oho-hiru-me no muchi. In this case, it would seem to mean something like Great Noontime Female Possessor. And in the weaving hall it is sometimes Amaterasu that is weaving and sometimes Waka Hirume. “Hirume” certainly feels like a feminine name.
There is the distinct possibility that the stories of Amaterasu as recorded were actually about two or more different kami, so Amaterasu and Ohohirume could have been separate deities having to do with the sun that were rolled into a single kami. As mentioned before, it is also possible that Amaterasu ended up with some stolen valor taken from the other Ise deity worshiped at Tsubaki, Saruta-hiko no Kami[EB8.1].   Teeuwen and Breen also note that the name “Amaterasu” is hardly unique, noting at least ten other shrines with a kami called “Amateru” or “Amaterasu”, mostly in Yamato, but some as far away as Kyushu and Tsushima. Nine of those shrines were dedicated to Ame no Hoakari, an ancestor deity of the Owari lineage who was also closely tied in to metalworking. It is worth remembering that it was Owari who helped support Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran, and who may have even fostered Ohoama for a while when he was just a young prince. All that to say there may have been several different traditions that were all contributing different elements to the story.
And then there is the connection between Amaterasu and Uno no Sarara.
Herman Ooms, in his book: “Imperial Politics and Sybmolics in Ancient Japan”, notes the similarities between Amaterasu and Uno no Sarara, talking about the differences between the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, both of which had events that mirrored Uno no Sarara’s own life. According to Ooms, “The Kojiki’s Amaterasu is a transparent double of the female tennou Jitou”. He points out that Uno no Sarara, besides her posthumous title of Jitou Tennou, also had a title making reference to Takamanohara: Takama no Hara Hirono no Hime—the Princess High-Heaven-Plain. But beyond that, we also see other linkages between the stories. For instance, it isn’t Amaterasu’s son, Ame no Oshihomimi who is given the realm, but rather her grandchild, Ninigi. This parallels the way that Uno no Sarara’s son, Kusakabe, didn’t ascend to the throne, but instead Uno no Sarara was holding the seat for his son, her grandson. So one sees how Uno no Sarara could be seen as Amaterasu, and her grandson, Prince Karu, could be seen as Ninigi, the August grandchild.
Teeuwen and Breen also note that during this same time, we see the rise of a new institution: the Jingikan. Again, we touched on this last episode, so just a quick recape: The Jingikan was a government organization set up specifically to oversee the shrines, rituals, ceremonies, and other such things pertaining to the kami matters. It does not appear in the initial stand-up of the new, bureaucratic government, wherein is created the bureaus, ministries, or departments, depending on your chosen vernacular, which make up the Dajokan, the Great Council of State. Instead, the Jingikan is a separate organization, specifically organized around kami matters.
The term “Jingi” is also a shorthand for “Ama-tsu-kami, Kuni-tsu-kami”, or the kami of Heaven and the Kami of the earth. “Ama-tsu-kami”, meaning Kami of Heaven, was written with two characters meaning “Heaven” and “Kami”, pronounced “Tenjin”. “Kuni-tsu-kami”, or the Kami of the Earth, was written as “Earth” and “Earth Spirit”, which was then pronounced “Chigi”. By taking the last character of each compound Tenjin-Chigi becomes just Jingi, for short. Throughout the Chronicles, this term, “Jingi” is thrown around when they want to quickly note all the kami, together, though sometimes it is fully written out as “Tenjin Chigi”, as well. Interestingly, “Tenjin” or “Ama tsu Kami”, sometimes appears alone, especially in the chapters on the Age of the Gods. However, “Chigi” seems to only be used in the whole phrase. There are a few instances, however, of “Chijin” being used, but they are few.
That said, the term “Jingikan”, also read as “Kami Tsukasa” or even “Kan Zukasa”, doesn’t appear until 690, in the reign of Uno no Sarara. This probably means that it was part of the reforms encompassed by the Kiyomihara codes. The head of the Jingikan is known as the Jingihaku or “Kan-zukasa no Kami”. This term actually shows up well in advance of the Jingikan itself, initially referring to an unnamed official or officials in charge of kami worship at the court. Nakatomi no Kamatari is said to have been offered the position in the first reign of Takara, aka Kougyoku Tennou, though the first confirmed individual appears to be Nakatomi no Ohoshima, during the reign of Uno no Sarara.
This appears to be a distinctly Yamato invention in the bureaucratic system. It leverages the language and structure of the Tang dynasty, but in its own way. There was a Tang department of shrines, but it was described differently, as befits a different spiritual environment focused on ancestor worship and Confucian and Taoist ideas. The Jingikan system is seems to have been a deliberate re-organization of the indigenous kami worship, incorporating what was probably traditional roles into the new bureaucratic system. In so doing, however, it also gave the court greater control, and given that this was happening at the same time as the establishment of various stories and myths around Ise and the foundation more generally, it appears to be part of a concerted and deliberate effort to construct a new narrative..[EB9.1]
All of this points to them architecting much of what was going on, . Ffrom the stories to the landscape. Ohoama likely built the inner shrine as we know it. If it really was an obscure, out-of-the-way shrine, perhaps that also meant that there weren’t any other powerful court factions that were enhanced by it. And then, over time, the Ise shrine and the deity there could be better incorporated into the overall myths and stories that surrounded the formation of Yamato. A new Yamato, one that would soon enough be referring to itself as the origin of the Sun: Nippon, a name often attributed to Ohoama and Uno no Sarara, though not found in the record of their reigns in the Chronicles.
Another aspect to all of this, however, is what happened immediately after Uno no Sarara’s reign, and into the 8th and early 9th centuries. In the 8th century—the Nara period—Buddhism started to merge with a lot of the local practices. This was not uncommon. Buddhism had been born in a land with myriad deities and styles of worship, and it had the means to incorporate local deities into its cosmological worldview. Kami were just other beings, stuck in the cycle of rebirth, who, as sentient beings, could equally benefit from the Buddha’s teachings. They became guardians of Buddhist institutions, and the lines between shrines and temples were often blurred. At the same time, kami worship was also taking on various concepts from continental worship, such that even today we find a lot of what we might consider Taoist practices influencing Shinto worship.
Had this continued, worship of the kami may have been completely subsumed into the Buddhist ritual practices, but there were areas where kami worship remained distinct. One of these was at Ise.
Early on, there was an attempt to y would try and build a temple at Ise, but it didn’t last long. The temple was eventually moved out of the shrine complex, and then eventually it was removed altogether. Later writings from the Shrine would include certain Buddhist terms among the things that were taboo within the shrine grounds, considering Buddhism as something of a corrupting or polluting influence. Shrine Princeses, during their tenure, had to devote themselves to the kami, and though they might retire as nuns, later in life, during their appointment they were to be free of any Buddhist influences.
In many ways this would make Ise a prime example of what would eventually be termed “Shinto”, which gave it, and the worship of Amaterasu, a certain pride of place. Of course, it didn’t hurt that it was also intertwined with the State and the founding myths of the nation. As such, Ise Shrine and its worship would become a template for many others to follow, helping to shape what we know as “Shinto” today.
There are still a lot of questions. We don’t exactly know what Uno no Sarara did on her trip to Ise Shrine, and we don’t know how things surrounding the worship at Ise and of Amaterasu herself changed in the intervening years between when these events happened and when, about two to three decades later, the Chronicles were finalized and published. Certainly some of itthis seems tied to the Fujiwara capital, which was no longer populated at that point, the move to Heijo-kyo, in Nara, occurring between 708 and 710, two years before the Kojiki and a decade before the Nihon Shoki would come out. And yet, the three sacred mountains that were incorporated into the plan of the Fujiwara Capital, Mt. Kagu, Mt. Miminashi, and Mt. Unebi, seem to continue to be important. This is especially true of Mt. Kagu, whose heavenly counterpart, Ame no Kaguyama—literally Heavenly Mt. Kagu— continues to play a major role in the stories surrounding Amaterasu and the Heavenly Rock Cave. In addition,, andMt. Unebi is closely tied to the story of Iware-biko, aka Jimmu, conquering and settling the land—perhaps to draw attention away from the stories about Mimaki and Ikume iribiko, aka Sujin and Suinin, who were both associated more with Mt. Mimoro, aka Mt. Miwa. [EB10.1]So even though the physical presence was moved, by that point we know that foundation of many of these stories were likely laid down around the time that the Fujiwara capital was in operation. What does seem clear is that, just as there were clear efforts to set up the new State government, including the new capital, the courty were also taking control of other levers of power and influence. We previously talked about how they court had created National Temples and included government positions to oversee Buddhist affairs more generally. With Ise and the creation of the Jingikan, it appears as though that trend continued with the traditional kami worship.
Many of the elite families still had connections to their own shrines, with their own kami. Through the stories collected and written down—with a few editorial additions to help place them in an approved context—they were able to construct a narrative from separate or divergent traditions. These traditions had already accreted to themselves various stories and culture-ways, some of them with clear links to the continent and others with overlapping portfolios. The kami, and the ability to intercede with them for their blessings or to avert their wrath, were a form of power that was being structured for the purpose of supporting the new State. A state now under the control of one Uno no Sarara.
And we don’t exactly have to wonder about this… the preface of the Kojiki all but says it. They put the words in the mouth of Ohoama, or, as they call him, the SoverignSovereign of the Kiyomihara Palace. But the words are pretty clear:
"I hear that the Imperial Records and Ancient Writing handed down by the various houses have come to differ from the truth and that many false hoods have been added to them. If these errors are not remedied at this time, their meaning will be lost before many years have passed. This is the framework of the state, the great foundation of the imperial influence. Therefore, recording the Imperial Records and examining the Old Writings, discarding the mistaken and establishing the true, I desire to hand them on to later generations.”
With that, 28 year old Hieda no Are was given the command to learn all the stories and presumably to recite them for the court. And several decades later, Oho no Yasumaro was given the task to take Are’s stories and write them down. I imagine that Hieda no Are, or perhaps someone else who had learned the stories well enough, would be called into court or banquets to present some of the stories, or would be asked questions if there was any need for precedence. Thus creating a single source for truth, according to the administration.
At the same time, the courty had a problem. They couldn’t control all of the sources of written material, with all of the various contradictions, so we also would eventually get the more comprehensive—but also less narratively direct—Nihon Shoki as well. After all, the game of propaganda was being played at many levels, and while the royal household had their motivations—primarily to support the legitimacy of their claim to power and the system within which that claim was validated—the other families wanted to ensure that they were properly recorded as having connections to traditional nexuses of power—be that the ancient kami of Heaven or Earth, or the their relationship to the royal family. This is because precedence was important, even as new traditions were being created. Like the way that the Mononobe and the Nakatomi played important roles in Uno no Sarara’s ascension ceremony despite the actual individuals using new or different names, like Isonokami or Fujiwara. See Episode 151 for the explanation, there. And new traditions were much easier to justify if you could connect them with older traditions—whether those older traditions were truly ancient or newly made inventions.
And all of this suggests that this was not an accident and it wasn’t simply being imposed from the top down. One could be charitable and suggest that those involved felt that this got them closest to what the truth actually was, given that they had now been inculcated in a new worldview and they were trying to view the ancient stories through the interpretive lens of that worldview. On the other hand, they were ultimately doing it to structure power and authority that favored them and the government they had created. A government that they hoped would outlast them, and be passed on to their descendants.
Next episode, we will continue our discussion of Uno no Sarara’s life and reign and the incredible steps she took to ensure that her line would continue to rule Yamato for decades.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please 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 reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Teeuwen, Mark and Breen, John. (2017). A social history of the Ise shrines: divine capital. Bloomsbury Academic.
Duthie, T. (09 Jan. 2014). Man’yōshū and the Imperial Imagination in Early Japan. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004264540
Como, M. (2009). Weaving and binding : immigrant gods and female immortals in ancient Japan. University of Hawaiʻi Press.
Ooms, H. (2009). Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan: The Tenmu Dynasty, 650-800. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press. https://muse.jhu.edu/book/8316.
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 152: Queen Uno no Sarara, Part 1

July 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Round, crimson half-pillars on a white stone base mark the location of the original pillars of a large building. Beyond t he modern buildings, in the background, is a green, domed mountain. Another mountain range can be seen in the far distance. — Markers indicating the site of the pillars of the daigokuden, or great audience hall, of the Fujiwara Palace. In the background is Mt. Unebi, one of three sacred mountains incorporated into the landscape of the capital and the landscape of the ancient tales recorded in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki. Photo by author.

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This episode we look at the person of Queen Uno no Sarara, aka Jitō Tennō, looking at her history from her birth, to her marriage to royal prince Ōama, and up through the events of her reign. We cover what we can put together of her life prior to the Jinshin no Ran, and then take it from there, including the creation of the Kiyomihara Code, the Fujiwara Capital, and her support of the shrine at Ise.

Early Life

Uno no Sarara is thought to have been born around 645. Her father was Royal Prince Naka no Ōe, later known as Tenji Tennō. Her mother was Ochi no Iratsume, the daughter of Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro. Naka no Ōe was betrothed to Ochi no Iratsume as part of a political marriage to tie the Kurayamada’s side of the family to the Royal Prince as he challenged the head of the Soga family: Soga no Emishi and Soga no Iruka. Uno no Sarara was born the same year that Iruka and then Emishi were both killed by Naka no Ōe and his supporters. It seems unlikely she would have been born much earlier, if the dating of the Nihon Shoki is correct, since the marriage alliance is noted in an entry for the first month of 644. Even if they consummated the marriage immediately, the earliest date we would have for the birth of Uno no Sarara is one year earlier—everything else just makes her even younger.

That means that Uno was still quite young when her grandfather, Ishikawa no Maro, was accused of plotting treason and killed himself rather than letting himself be taken captive by Naka no Ōe’s forces. We are told that Ishikawa no Maro’s daughter, Miyatsuko no Iratsume, died of grief when she heard about her father’s death. That “Miyatsuko no Iratsume” appears to be similar to another name we have for Ochi no Iratsume, suggesting that they are one and the same. So at a young age, Uno no Sarara had lost her mother and maternal grandfather.

Next, in 657, she is said to have been given in marriage to her uncle, Naka no Ōe’s brother, Royal Prince Ōama, along with at least one of her sisters. She was only 13 years old. In 661, Queen Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennō, died, leaving Uno’s father, Naka no Ōe the de facto head of government while her husband, Ōama, was the next in line—the Crown Prince. Then, in 662 she gave birth to a son, Royal Prince Kusakabe.

When Ōama retired from the position of Crown Prince, giving it to Naka no Ōe’s son, Ōtomo, and took Buddhist vows, retiring to Yoshino, Uno no Sarara went with him.

The Jinshin no Ran and Ōama’s reign

Uno no Sarara stayed close to her husband and supported him throughout the fighting with the Afumi court. She was 28 years old. She fled to the east with him, and it is said she mingled with the troops and that she helped with the planning of the war. When they were finally victorious, she continued to support her husband on the throne.

She is described as sitting on the dais with her husband during matters of state, and she was one of those who went to Yoshino to pledge to support each other—members of the royal family. When Ōama grew too ill to properly run things, he handed over the reins of government to Uno no Sarara and her son, Crown Prince Kusakabe. When he died in 686, Uno no Sarara would have been 42 years old.

Uno no Sarara quickly consolidated power. She eliminated Royal Prince Ōtsu, a rival to Crown Prince Kusakabe, and for several years they mourned Ōama. But then Prince Kusakabe died in 689, leaving behind a ten year old daughter and a seven year old son. So Uno no Sarara took the throne herself, and ruled for another eight years.

Kiyomihara Codes

The Kiyomihara Codes, named for the palace of Asuka-Kiyomihara. It was delivered in twenty-two volumes, and though it is not extant we can surmise certain aspects. For example, the definition of court bureaus and the definition of the Jingikan—a bureau of Kami Matters that is rather distinct to Yamato and which was separate from the Dajokan, or Grand Council of State. It was just the laws—not the punishments—but it was still a significant advancement of the Ritsuryō system.

Fujiwara-kyō

Also at this time we see the completion of the Fujiwara capital. This was designed as the first continental style capital—and the first continental style city—in the archipelago. It was built in a Confucian style, but with local imagery in the form of the sacred mountains of Mt. Unebi, Mt. Kagu, and Mt. Miminashi, all of which feature in stories from the “Age of the Gods”. In the center of the Fujiwara capital was the Fujiwara Palace—a new, grand palace built to be the seat of an imperial-style government.

Amaterasu and Ise Shrine

Another thing we see at this time is the rise in prominence of Amaterasu as the chief kami of the Heavenly Plain, Takama-no-hara. The story of Ise is told throughout the Chronicles, at various points, but there are plenty of indications that it was not preeminent, and may not have been the primary shrine of Yamato until this point. Even as recently as the reign of Naka no Ōe do we see that it is the god of Mt. Miwa, Ōmononushi, who is brought to the environs of Ōtsu to be worshipped. In the reigns of Ōama and Uno no Sarara, the ancient shrine of Miwa is rarely talked about, despite all of the attention lavished on shrines and kami worship more generally. There is even some thought that the establishment of the Jingikan itself may have had something to do with Ise. More of that in Part II….

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 152: Queen Uno no Sarara, Part 1
It was rare that something would pull people from the fields at the height of the season, but it wasn’t every day that people of Iga had the opportunity to watch a true royal procession. They gathered on either side of the street as the parade passed through town. There were horses and carts, but also just numerous men carrying various bags and provisions. There were also military guards, decked out in their finest—just in case anyone got any ideas. There were also various nobles and government officials, riding with her. The outfits and color would have been striking, particular to those who had little business with the court. And at the height of it all was a covered palanquin. Nobody could see the royal presence inside through the screens, though later they would talk about getting a peek of her hair or her robes. It didn’t matter, the procession itself was enough of a spectacle for all to see.
Not everyone was pleased. A few of the more dour elders complained about how much of a disruption and a distraction it was. They would at least be somewhat mollified by the news that, for enduring the disruption, they would at least get a break on their taxes that year.
The procession was headed east, to the land of Ise. Apparently they were going to pay their respects at the shrine there. Did you know that it was dedicated to the ancestor of the royal family itself? The actual sun goddess herself, Amaterasu. Some of the elders shook their heads. They remembered when everyone had been focused on Mt. Miwa, to the west. And what about this Buddha that had shown up from overseas? There were temples to him popping up all over the place. They weren’t so sure about all of this, but they knew their local kami and their local priests, who helped with the local harvests, and that was enough for them. The court and their fancy learning could figure out what the country needed, but they were going to stay focused on the day to day, instead.
Here we are, in the reign of Uno no Sarara, widow of Ohoama and mother to the late Prince Kusakabe, known to history as Jitou Tennou. We’ve actually been in Uno’s reign for several episodes now, but while we’ve talked about how that reign began and the roles a lot of other people played in that beginning, this episode I would finally like to start focusing on her—who she was, where she came from, and what she did. Since that covers a lot of ground, we are going to cover some of her history up to this reign, and we’ll be mostly focusing on two major updates—the creation of the new capital of Fujiwara, aka Fujiwara-kyou, and the increased royal patronage of Ise, which is thought to have been responsible for the ascendancy of Amaterasu as the paramount kami of the pantheon of Shinto kami.
So let’s start at the very beginning. It is traditionally held that Uno no Sarara was born around 645 to Naka no Oe and Soga no Ochi no Iratsume. Ochi was the daughter of Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, cousin to the powerful Soga no Iruka. Naka no Oe’s marriage to Ochi no Iratsume and her sister, Mehi no Iratsume, had been part of a strategic alliance with Ishikawa no Maro, who helped him overthrow his cousins and institute the Taika Reforms. We talked about all of that back in Episode 106, as well as subsequent podcasts after that covering the next several reigns.
So 645 is about the earliest Uno no Sarara may have been born, the very start of the Taika era, when her father began instituting a lot of changes based on continental practices. She would have grown up in the inner buildings of the Asuka court during this time of immense change. She was probably a bit young when the Toyosaki palace was first built, though she may have remembered when the court abandoned it and moved back to Asuka.
Unfortunately, when she was only five years old, tragedy struck. Ishikawa no Maro, who had been made the Udaijin, or Minister of the Right, was slandered by his own brother, Soga no Himuka, and in return, Naka no Oe sent a force to have him punished. When he saw he could not get away, Uno no Sarara’s grandfather, Ishikawa no Maro, took his own life. The Nihon Shoki—written, I should note, at least partly under the direction of Maro’s granddaughter—claims that evidence came to light demonstrating his innocence, and he was posthumously exonerated.
Maro’s daughter, Miyatsuko no Iratsume, was so saddened by all of this that we are told she died of a broken heart. Miyatsuko no Iratsume appears to be another name for Ochi no Iratsume, and if so, it would mean that Uno no Sarara lost both her mother and grandfather when she was only five years old due to the actions of her own father. This sounds to me like it should be some kind of villain origin story.
From there, she was likely taken care of by her aunts and other women in the palace, at least until 657. It was about that time, at the age of 13, that she was married off to her uncle, Prince Ohoama. We don’t have a precise age for Ohoama, but he was likely no more than 5 years younger than Uno’s father, Naka no Oe, and some estimates suggest he was in his late 20s or early 30s, taking to wife his 13 year old niece. I can’t help but think, here, of the Heian period novel, the Tale of Genji, where the titular character, Genji, finds Lady Murasaki and marries her at the age of 10.
Uno no Sarara would have grown up in her uncle-husband’s home, and she was still young when the entire realm was placed on a war footing.When the court moved to Kyushu in 661 for the prosecution of the war on the continent, Uno no Sarara went with her husband, and a year later gave birth to their son, Prince Kusakabe. She was probably about 18 years old at the time.   I suspect that means She probably knew about her grandmother, Takara Hime, passing away, something that the inner circle of the royal family had attempted to keep relatively quiet for fear of disrupting the war effort.
Soon after her own son was born, news came back that the forces on the continent had lost. Baekje had fallen, and Yamato could be next. She would have traveled with her husband and the rest of the court back to Asuka and, eventually, up to Ohotsu, where her father now ruled with his brother as his right-hand man and heir to the throne.
At this time, Uno no Sarara was no stranger to politics. While her husband was in line for the throne, she knew that her brothers were also potential claimants, once they came of age. The Nihon Shoki disqualifies them through their parentage, but we see that didn’t stop the Afumi court from rallying behind Prince Ohotomo. There was also the royal princes Kawashima and Shiki. Prince Takeru would have technically been a potential threat as well, had he not died, tragically, at only eight years of age.
Now, technically, some may have been more in line than others, but Uno no Sarara knew how her own father had jumped the line, displacing her late uncle, Furubito no Oe, and it was clear something similar might happen this time around. There were also likely a few indications that not everything was great between her father and her husband, although you would hardly know it from the number of her siblings that were also residing in the north chambers of his residence.
Things came to a head in 671. At this point, Uno no Sarara was in her late 20s with a 10 year old son, and it was looking, for a moment, like her father, despite his illness, might have Ohoama killed to pave the way for Naka no Oe’s own son, Uno’s brother, Ohotomo. When Ohoama surprised everyone and stepped down, taking the tonsure, she was the only one to follow him. We don’t know if this is because she was that loyal to her husband, or because she had no other options. If her mother had taken her own life after her grandfather’s death, she may have had nobody but her father, Naka no Oe, to turn to, and he was clearly doing poorly. If she stayed, then she would be relying on the goodwill of Prince Ohotomo and others while looking after the nine year old son and heir of Ohoama, who was clearly persona non grata at court.
In contrast, one of Ohoama’s other consorts, Munakata no Amago no Iratsume would have had the Munakata family to fall back on, should she need it, and her son, Prince Takechi, was a bit older. In addition, Uno’s sister, Ohota no Himemiko had passed away earlier, in 667, and it is unclear who cared for her son, Prince Ohotsu, who was only a year younger than Uno’s son, Kusakabe. However, he, too, appears to have remained at the Afumi court with his caretakers.
So Uno no Sarara went to Yoshino with her husband. From this point on, Yoshino would become an important place for her, and during her own reign she would frequently make visits to the palace there, sometimes just for a couple of days at a time.
After Naka no Oe’s death, and the entire conflict of the Jinshin no Ran that kicked off in 672, Uno stayed by her husband’s side. She and Kusakabe made the incredible overnight journey from Yoshino to the other side of the Kii Peninsula, eventually setting up in Mie. Ohoama would continue on towards Fuwa pass, where his son Takechi was already stationed with loyal soldiers. Before that, however, he is mentioned as turning towards Ise—towards Amaterasu. The implication seems to be that he was praying for victory. It is also notable that a large part of his support was coming from the East and from areas around Ise.
Little is mentioned of Uno’s role in the record of the Jinshin no Ran, but in the opening to her reign there is a mention that she addressed the troops and mingled with the throng, until at last they formed a plan. This seems to indicate that she was involved in the planning, at least, for the prosecution of the war. On the one hand she was placed well behind the front lines. On the other hand, she was well positioned to assist with logistics. Troops and supplies from the north could come down and be redirected to the south depending on what was needed, and communications would likely be more secure through that area fully controlled by Ohoama’s troops. It is easy enough to imagine Uno no Sarara taking a role, even if it isn’t explicitly mentioned. The fact that she is mentioned as much as she is suggests to me that she had plenty to contribute to the war effort.
As the war of 672 came to a close, Ohoama had to move from a war footing to one of peacetime governance. As he ascended to the throne in 673, Uno no Sarara was made his queen. And in light of the recent issues, Ohoama appears to have leaned heavily on her and other members of the royal family for support.
And so Uno no Sarara was not just a delicate flower sitting in the hinter palace, waiting on her husband. She was an active participant in the government. When Ohoama called the various princes down to Yoshino and had them swear to uphold and support each other, she was included in their number. And the Chronicles explicitly mention that when the princes swore to uphold each other, Ohoama swore he would also support them, and then Uno no Sarara made her oath like his. That is interesting in that she isn’t included in the five princes, but rather with the sovereign, her husband. It appears she approached this from the point of view of a ruler already. Or perhaps she was not considered to be in the line of succession, and the focus was on upholding the various princes. Either way, we see how that eventually turned out.
Later, when starting the project for what is believed to be the Kiyomihara codes, she was seated on the dais with her husband, indicating that she certainly was involved in various matters of state. She also gave and received presents from the various nobles, including suits of clothing, gold, and more. When Ohoama grew ill, and could not carry out the functions of the government alone, he deferred matters to her and to the Crown Prince, presumably meaning her son, Prince Kusakabe.
Now Kusakabe is recorded as being made Crown Prince, and thus heir to the throne, however, it has also been suggested that this might not have been the case. Some have suggested that Prince Ohotsu may have been the actual Crown Prince, and that he wasn’t plotting against Kusakabe and his mother, but rather it was the other way around, with Uno no Sarara clearing him off the field to make room for her son.
Ohotsu, remember, was the son of Ohoama by way of Ohota-hime, who was a full sister to Uno no Sarara. That meant that, from a strict bloodline perspective, Ohotsu had just as much of a claim to the throne as did Kusakabe, but Kusakabe was a year older—or so the Nihon Shoki, compiled under the reign of Uno and her successors, would have us believe. We are also told that Uno was formally designated as Ohoama’s queen—but again we have that from the Nihon Shoki, which is more than a little bit biased.
Personally, I feel this theory that Uno no Sarara plotted to have Ohotsu removed without anything else stretches some of what we know, but it does illustrate that Uno no Sarara had a vested interest in ensuring that the crown went to her own progeny. I’d be more inclined to believe that there was some movement a foot, even if it was perhaps not quite as treasonous as the response to it would warrant.
And this catches us up with much of what we know. Ohotsu was executed, but then Kusakabe passed away, and so Queen Uno no Sarara became Tennou in her own right.
Things hadn’t gone exactly to plan, but she still had her grandson, Prince Karu, the late Kusakabe’s son, whose mother, Princess Abe, was a younger-half sister to Uno no Sarara. Abe was the daughter of Naka no Oe and Mehi no Iratsume, making Abe another grand-daughter of Soga no Kuramayada no Ishikawa no Maro. She was also 17 years Sarara’s junior and only a year older than the late Kusakabe. By all accounts, it seems that Abe and Sarara got on well together, though she is not as prominent in the narrative that we have in the Nihon Shoki. Still, she had an important role, not in terms of governance, but in terms of ensuring that the line continued. She was in charge or protecting and raising young Prince Karu until he was ready to take the throne. In so doing, she would no doubt have had a front row seat to Queen Uno’s own efforts.
Since Uno no Sarara had already been so involved with the government, it should come as no surprise that she continued many of the efforts attributed to her husband. In fact, you’ll often find references to Temmu and Jitou side-by-side to describe what happened because very few things can be attributed to just one of the two, especially given how long some of these projects seem to have taken. That said, there were some differences. While Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, had relied primarily on members of the royal family following the Jinshin no Ran, Uno was much more likely to rely on trusted nobles, whose position at court was largely held thanks to the patronage of the royal family. Having nobles running things again, rather than handing over power to those of the Princely class, may have provided opportunities for those noble houses to once again flex and grow their political muscle, but it was either that or hand that same power over to other princes with claims to royal descent—princes who might encourage the court that it would better if they, themselves, were to succeed the Queen, rather than the young prince, her own actual bloodline. Even the loyal Prince Takechi, who seems to have supported her and Prince Karu as best he could, could easily have become a threat. This could be one of the reasons she held on to power as long she did. It was, after all, a deliberate choice on her part. She could have had someone else step in as regent, but she chose not to.
We’ve talked about Uno’s dealings with Silla and the continent at this time. That was back in Episode 148, when we talked about how Ohoama was mourned and how Yamato dealt with the early missions. We discussed, thenhow she berated the Silla envoys for not adhering to protocol and turning them away. She also met with Emishi and Hayato embassies, which only helped to cement Yamato’s place as the central hegemony over the archipelago and all those living on the islands.
At first, this was just an extension of what she and Kusakabe had been doing since Ohoama had first grown ill and handed over the reins of government. But then Kusakabe died—and life went on. Later, Kusakabe would be remembered as Okanomiya Tennou and the Nagaoka Tennou. While not counted in the formal lineage, he was still granted the title “Tennou” posthumously, likely to help legitimize his son and that lineage. And yet, despite this, there is no report of a eulogy or anything similar upon his death. Even Royal Prince Ohotsu, when he was killed for threatening Kusakabe’s own ascendance, is given a fairly wordy entry full of praise for his virtues and how he was remember. For Kusakabe we get silence. Things just move on.
Indeed, just two weeks after the Crown Prince’s death, we get orders talking about given people four holidays each month. It seems a rather banal announcement coming the same week that the Crown Prince passed away.
And banal it may be, but I do want to pick at it a bit. I think it helps us understand even more the life at that time. In most of the world, today, we have become accustomed to the western concept of a week with seven days, including two holidays every week—though we just refer to it as the weekend. Saturday and Sunday began as holy days—the Sabbath in Jewish and then Christian tradition. Even Judaism only had a single day of rest every seven days. Many cultures did not have the concept of a weekend. After all, there wasn’t anything particularly special about one day or the other. A lunar month is just under 30 days—alternating between 29 and 30 days depending on various factors. Five would fit into that much better than four seven day weeks and two more days. Or divide it into two 15 day periods, more or less. Or three weeks of ten days each. In fact, that is what was popular in the Tang dynasty at the time—though a seven day week had crept in through Buddhism, which had been picked up on the Indian subcontinent thanks to Hellenic influences. This seven day week, which is now used in modern times, was originally used more by astronomers. The days corresponded to the Sun, the Moon, and the visible planets.
The point is, there’s no such thing as a natural weekend. At some point, the Tang court introduced a rest period every five days for court officials. In Yamato, it seems that they introduced four holidays. Specifically, the local governors were to give laborers—those conscripted as corvee labor—four days every month. It doesn’t mention if they are spaced out, or at what intervals, and it was specifically for laborers. I should probably also mention that, at this time, there wasn’t a concept of a “9-to-5” job. Sure, the court operated on a schedule that may have fit fairly well in our modern life, other than its extremely early start due to the lack of cheap, safe artificial light sources. Most people, however, especially in the agricultural sectors, were likely working from sunrise to sunset, when necessary. There was no concept of overtime or a forty hour work week. You worked when you needed to work, and that was it. No time cards, just life, punctuated by holidays, festivals, market days, and whatever else needed to happen. Oddly, in our modern, more regular work schedule we work both more and less, in some ways, than our ancestors did.   Our labor often goes into things beyond our job—everything from taking care of our home to various hobbies that we enjoy. Giving laborers time off from their endeavors was no doubt something they appreciated, but I don’t know how much of an impact it had on things long term.
A more interesting endeavor comes a few months later. That is when Uno had a royal commission come together as commissioners of “good words”. We mentioned this before, especially when talking about Kose no Tayasu, who had been part of this commission, though he was the lowest ranked of the bunch. At the top it was headed by Prince Shiki, a half-brother to Uno, and one of those who had pledged his loyalty with other members of the royal family down in Yoshino, though at the time Shiki was only about 11 years old. He was the son of Koshi no Michi no Kimi no Iratsume, and a brother to Prince Osakabe. In 689, when he took charge of this commission from his half-sister, he would have been in his 22nd year, so this was probably one of his first major assignments.
We don’t have a finished product that we can point to from this project, so there isn’t a clear idea of exactly what the commission did. Aston believed that they were attempting to determine auspicious words to be used by the court. By this one could infer that they were looking into the way to draw up formal language for edicts, or how to formally address the sovereign and members of the court. However, others have suggested that this was more about finding stories and other such things and writing them down. If that is the case, this may have been a continuation of—or perhaps an addendum to—the history project started during the reign of Ohoama. The words, or stories, that the commission wrote down were likely used by later Chroniclers, though there is no specific work that is clearly attributed to their efforts. So in the end we can’t exactly know for sure.
What we can see is that Uno no Sarara was continuing to make tweaks and changes to things—and in particular in how things were stated, remembered, and passed down to posterity, one way or another. This is also part of what we see later that same month, when the 22 books of what we now call the Kiyomihara Law Codes were also published. Like the history project, this was also begun during the reign of Ohoama, and Uno had continued to see it through. It appears to have been just the law itself, not necessarily the punishments which made up the other half of the Ritsuryou, but it is still significant. Unfortunately, we don’t know exactly what was in it—the earliest law code that we have good evidence for is the Taihou code, which would come over a decade later—but we have seen some of the edicts and orders and we can make some assumptions based on later law codes as well as the language used to even define the court and how things ran. Much of what was written had likely been promulgated, previously, and a lot of this may have been more documenting the changes they had already put in place.
There is also the Afumi law code, but there are even more questions about that one. This is possibly the first one written down to this level of detail. Though it would be superseded, later, it was still an impressive work.
As in past reigns, we see things both monumental and mundane. A month after the law codes were finished, we see about orders to the Mayors of the Left and Right to set up places for Archery—literally glossed as “Ikusa”, or “war”, but likely because the two had a common root and archery and war were closely intertwined. As for the Mayors of the Left and Right, this is the first time we are seeing those terms, and I suspect they are also part of the reforms that Uno no Sarara and her late husband had been implementing. The Mayors of the Left and Right of the Capital are known as Kyoushiki or, alternatively, as Misato-zukasa. They were like kokushi, or governors, except they oversaw the capital city. Now remember, the quote-unquote “capital city” in use at this point is Asuka—it is the Kiyomihara palace and environs. There were other streets, buildings, and such around, but nothing terribly organized. Most family estates were off in their own lands or strongholds. At the same time, the court was building out a new, permanent capital. It was taking time—and likely had been put on hold during the three year mourning period for the late Ohoama Ohokimi. It required that they survey and transform an immense and populated area into a new and impressive capital in the area known today as Kashihara. This work took years—they likely had to divert labor to build the late sovereign’s mausoleum, or misasagi, and there were droughts and other reasons why they may have had to pause work. And yet, it continued, nonetheless.
The main ideal for a capital city was based off of continental models. While Luoyang may have been the more active capital, the western capital of the Tang dynasty, at Chang’an—modern Xi’an—appears to have been a more quintessential capital city layout, and may have been what the Yamato capital was attempting to mimic—though they may have also been relying on the theoretical Confucian model, as well. In fact, I tend to think that the Confucian model was closer to this first attempt at a permanent capital. Early on, excavations assumed that the palace structures were towards the northern end of the city, but further investigations have suggested that the scale of Fujiwara-kyo was much more ambitious, and some maps of the area place the palace towards the center of the city. Either way, there were several key things about the capital and how it mimicked the continental models. One of the primary things that Yamato had appropriated from across the strait was the north-south orientation of the palace, with the main audience hall facing south, so as to get the sun. This meant that, from the point of view of the sovereign in that hall, the left side would be the east and the right side would be to the west. And so the capital city was divided into a left and right, east and west, and each half had its own administrator responsible for taxation, public safety, and general law and order. They were, as I said, similar to the governors of the various provinces in the scope of their powers, except that they oversaw the capital city.
The building of the Fujiwara capital is perhaps one of the most obvious changes that Uno no Sarara was overseeing. As I’ve mentioned before, it was a physical manifestation of court. The three sacred mountains which were included within the boundaries of the capital were woven into the myths and legends that would find their way into the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki. The size and scale of the earthworks and the stones laid as foundation demonstrate that this was clearly meant to be a permanent capital, overturning the idea that there would be a huge change every time a sovereign passed away. Instead, there would be consistency. The order of the state would go on.
Later we’ll talk about reasons why the Fujiwara capital was abandoned. For now, though, let’s look at what we see about its construction.
In 690, the same year that Uno ascended to the throne, Royal Prince Takechi, Ohoama’s oldest son, inspected the site where the new Fujiwara palace was to be placed. Two months later, Uno no Sarara came out to see it for herself. I imagine this as being the point where the land had been cleared, and they could see the mountains and the placement and get an idea of the overall size of what they were looking for. With royal approval, the project continued.
A year later, in 691, officials were sent to perform the Chin-sai, the pacification ceremony, for the new capital. Today, this is a common ceremony, known as a Jichin-sai, or Earth Pacification Ceremony, done before undertaking a construction project. Theoretically it is before breaking ground on the project, though there is often some amount of preparation that has to be done in preparation. The idea for the Jichin-sai is to effectively negotiate with the spirits of the land before disturbing the area, a recognition that the process of construction is going to alter the natural landscape. As such, one wants to propitiate the spirits and the kami that are on the land to ensure that the construction is successful. This was likely a much older ritual, but this is the first mention we have of it in the record. This ceremony was also apparently directed at the new capital as a whole, while a year later another ceremony was held specifically for the new palace complex. In the intervening time we see the court laying out the roads and giving land for the various mansions of court nobles, like Tajihi no Shima’s four chou of land—roughly ten acres. Those of Jikikwoni rank and above were given two chou, and those from Jikidaisan down were given one chou. Those of Gon rank on down would get land dependant on the number of inhabitants in their fiefs. First class fiefs would get one chou, while second class would warrant a half chou and at the bottom they would get one quarter chou. This was apparently the land that they were being given in the capital to build their personal residences. Other land was given out for markets, temples, and other necessary facilities, but this whole city really was being built from scratch.
Shortly after the pacification ceremony for the palace, officials were sent out to the major shrines of the time. This included the great gods, the Ohokami, of Ise, Yamato, Sumiyoshi, and Kii. So not just the local kami, but also the larger kami who were seen as the kami of the archipelago more generally.
It would still take another year to build the palace. Uno visited the site a few times during the construction, with her last visit just a quick outing on the 8th month of 693. At that point it was likely ready, though she wouldn’t formally move into the new palace until the first month of 694. Before that, though, there was one other thing that had to happen. In the 2nd month of 693 they had to rebury the bodies.
That’s right. The Fujiwara capital occupied a huge swath of the plain of what is now known as Kashihara. And that plain had been settled for centuries—all through the kofun period. And those kofun, and possibly even older funkyubo, the older mixed-use burial mounds—would have been destroyed in the making of the new capital. There also may have been plain pit burials that were dug up while laying out roads and foundations. I don’t know that there was anything approaching the size of the larger, keyhole shaped mounds, but we have no way to know for certain how many were there that had to be destroyed or moved. I also have not seen any indications of any mass reburial site—whether they opened an existing tomb or simply dug a pit in the ground somewhere. I imagine that such a find would be incredible, but unless archaeologists stumble upon it, I guess we’ll never know. Still, it is interesting, and almost poetic as we move further and further from the kofun period, this feels like the final nail in the proverbial coffin, if you’ll forgive the pun. Indeed, when Uno no Sarara finally passes away, she will become one of the first sovereigns to be cremated, with her ashes and burnt remains then deposited in the existing tomb with her husband, Ohoama, rather than having a new mounded tomb built. Buddhist style cremation would eventually become commonplace throughout the archipelago, though sovereigns would still have special mausoleums built for their memory, it really was a change from the ancient practices.
From 694 onward, the court would meet at the new Fujiwara Palace. Compared to previous palaces, I can only imagine how impressive this one must have seemed. Based on what we can tell, it was likely built much more in the continental style. Previous palaces had largely been in the style of the archipelago, with what we believe was plain wood and a thatched roof. The Fujiwara palace was likely a mix, but with more of the continental style than the previous Kiyomihara place. It also dwarfed its predecessor, at over twice the size. It was actually much closer in size and shape to the Toyosaki palace, in Naniwa. At the southern end of the palace was the Suzaku mon, the Suzaku gate, followed by the choshu-den’in, a courtyard with two buildings, one in the east and one in the west, where officials could wait and prepare for the day. From there they would be let into the Chodoin, a large court yard with four buildings on the east and west, and four more at the southernmost point. These would be where the various departments, or bureaus, would operate. There were also gates in the east and west of the Chodoin for easier access. To the north was another gate, leading to the Daigokuden, the main audience hall. This would have been quite the impressive and imposing structure—the main focus of the palace. It was in its own walled enclosure, and would have been the seat of the sumera Mikoto, or Tennou. It was both inside and apart from the Dairi, the inner palace. This was the actual residence of the sovereign and the royal family. The dairi itself occupied more land than the entire Kiyomihara palace. None of the buildings exist, but we can see their footprint from the large foundation stones and there are numerous rooftiles and other architectural features that fell off or were removed and then buried, purposefully or not, allowing us to get some idea of the size and scale of the project.
And yet, it appears that this palace may not have been completed when they moved in. The entire city was likely still under construction, in fact. The main pieces were in place, but to build an entire city from scratch took a lot of work. Most of the buildings would have been built with more traditional—and less labor intensive—practices. You didn’t need a false second story gallery some thirty feet off the ground, even if you were the Minister of the Right. It was enough to have a relatively simple mansion with gardens, servants quarters, and everything else needed to keep you comfortable. That in and of itself was going to put a strain on labor and other resources.
And so it looks like some parts of the galleries and other features may not have been finished even while Uno no Sarara was there. In fact, it may not have been fully finished by the time they moved again. The Fujiwara capital, the first permanent capital city, was only occupied from 694 until about 710—less than two decades. This massive project, taking multiple years and how many people to create, would be abandoned several years later. The buildings would be torn down and moved to the new site—Heijou-kyou, in modern Nara city. And yet, the impact of Fujiwara kyou would remain.
Besides making changes to the physical landscape, Uno no Sarara was also focused on the spiritual landscape as well. Both Ohoama and Uno not only supported the Buddhist temples, building new temples and leveraging the ceremonies, but they also supported the traditional kami. During the Jinshin no Ran, Ohoama turned and addressed the kami of Ise before heading to the Fuwa barrier. Later we see a greater focus on Ise Shrine, with Saigu, the royal princesses sent to Ise Shrine as the Shrine priestess, being heavily reported. In fact, the position seems to have not been commented on much until this reign, and there is some thought that Ohoama and Uno actually instituted the practice—or at least made it a formal part of the court and the royal household. This is combined with their support of the Jingikan, the state governmental body responsible for dealing with kami matters. At this time it appears to have been even more powerful, in many ways, than the other bureaus or departments of the Great Council of State, the Dajokan.
There are plenty who argue that the preeminence of Ise was born in this period. Early Yamato worship focused more on the deity of Mt. Miwa: Ohomononushi. Sun worship seems to have also been baked into the rituals of the ethnic Wa people, but that wasn’t necessarily focused on Amaterasu—and Amaterasu was not necessarily seen as a feminine goddess. Early worship appears to focus on the deities such as Takabi Musubi, and similarly named deities. These are deities that show up in court ritual, and presumably date back to well before this period. Thanks to the fact that we get alternate stories in the Nihon Shoki, we occasionally see them take a more central role in events, such as the descent of the Heavenly Grandson, but at the same time we also see that the main throughline of the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki has placed Amaterasu more front and center in the narrative.
Ama Terasu effectively translates to something like “The Shining of Heaven”. In neither the Japanese nor Sinitic language is she particularly gendered most of the time, and this may have been a more generic name for the concept of a sun deity.   I believe it is also somewhat telling that the Ichi-no-miya, the First Shrine, or primary shrine, of Ise is not Ise Shrine, but rather Tsubaki Grand Shrine, which is the home of Sarutahiko Ohokami. Even in the Nihon Shoki, there is a narrative regarding the yata no kagami, the great mirror, that it was moved from its original location in the Nara Basin over to Ise and the shrine was then established there, marking the shrine as a relative late-comer to the region rather than marking a particularly ancient spot. The Great Kami of Ise then appears to have taken on some of the shine, pun intended, of Sarutahiko, who is no longer seen as a sun-deity, and is even placed in the way of the Heavenly Grandchild’s descent—perhaps a subtle nod to some of the tensions between the worship of one over the other.
Besides sending the Shrine Princess, the Saigu, to Ise, the sovereigns themselves made plans to go, in person. Ohoama made preparations, including purifying himself, but his trip was cancelled due to a sudden death in the palace. He is never recorded as making the trip, after that. Uno no Sarara, however, did make the trip, in 692.
This was clearly quite the production, and requires several entries in the Nihon Shoki. The first entry is in the 2nd month of the year, when she makes her intentions clear. The Court officials were set to task to prepare all the necessary clothing for the trip, which was about 3 weeks out. This likely also meant preparing the road, ensuring that there would be food, and a place for Uno no Sarara and her entourage to stay when they reached Ise. The preparations clearly had an impact, as Miwa no Ason no Takechimaro, a Chunagon, or Middle Counselor, presented a memorial to remonstrate with her majesty on the trip. He noted that they were in the middle of the agricultural season—roughly April or May by modern standards—and a royal trip would have an outsized impact on the areas where she would be traveling through. His remonstration was heard, and overruled. Uno no Sarara was determined to go. As she delegated the Prince Hirose, Tahema no Mabito no Chitoko, and Ki no Ason no Yumibari to all look after the palace while she was away, Miwa no Takechimaro reiterated his remonstration and then took a drastic step: He offered to her his cap—basically he offered to resign his rank. This was quite the step, and not from nobody.
Miwa no Takechimaro was from a prominent family. As their name suggests, they were connected to Mt. Miwa, and the worship, there. Based on what evidence we have, he was probably born around 657 CE, and when he was about 16 years old he was fighting on the side of Ohoama in the Jinshin no Ran. In particular, he was involved in the fighting near Hashihaka kofun, and then moved over to attack the Afumi forces on the Middle Road. There is evidence after that of him making his way up through the ranks, and was even one of those who offered a eulogy for Ohoama. As Chunagon, he was in a fairly powerful position in court, and giving up his court rank would mean not just a loss in status, but also giving up the income associated with that rank.
And this remonstration may be why we are told that the court commuted taxes, including forced labor, for the lands that she passed through, and she recognized the local Kuni no Miyatsuko with cap-rank. She also remitted taxes for those who had been conscripted to help from elsewhere, such as her baggage handlers, the people who built the temporary palace for her to stay in, in Ise, etc. So even if the procession to Ise had an impact, she seems to have done her best to lessen the blow.
As for Takechimaro, we don’t see him again in the Nihon Shoki, but he does show up later. He would become the governor of Nagato, and then later he is given positions such as the Mayor of the Sakyou, or Left Capital. So it would seem that either his resignation wasn’t accepted, or that he was re-hired at some later point. He would pass away in 706 CE.
By the way, there is one other notable feature about him, and you may have caught it as I went over all of this. That was the name of his uji, or clan: Miwa, or Ohomiwa.    This means he had a connection to—and possibly a vested interest in—promoting the worship at Mt. Miwa, the traditional Yamato cultic center. Nothing is outright stated, but it makes sense that someone from Miwa might be a little bit concerned with the extra attention being given to the shrine at Ise around this time—so there is that, as well.
Regardless of his intentions, it certainly seems that from that point on Ise Shrine and the deity worshipped there, Amaterasu Ohokami, would be tied to the imperial line from the late 7th century onward. Clearly the royal patronage of the shrine stepped up, and for the most part we do see a fairly regular stream of Saigu, with one slight exception: There doesn’t appear to have been one during Uno no Sarara’s reign. Ohoku no Himemiko had been sent down during the reign of Ohoama, but she was the sister to Prince Ohotsu, and appears to have returned after his death. The position appears to have remained vacant until after Uno no Sarara’s reign. It makes me wonder if she wasn’t “filling in” for the Saigu, in a way. That could, in part, explain her travels there. There also may not have been a good candidate at the time, but I find that less believable—perhaps there was no candidate that Uno trusted given the precarious position her own bloodline was in at the moment. Still, after her reign, the position of Saigu would be regularly filled by a member of the royal family through the end of the Heian period. It was interrupted by the Genpei wars, and then the practice fell into decline during the period of the Kamakura bakufu. Late Edo period pro-imperialists tried to restore the practice, but it didn’t catch back on.
Despite the apparent importance of the shrine to the royal family, it would also remain somewhat aloof. The priests of the shrine would provide the sacred mirror for ascension ceremonies, but it would be very rare for any sitting sovereign to actually pay a visit to the shrine, and, as I mentioned before, Amaterasu was not one of the deities reflected in the inner court rituals. Still, she would come to be seen as the dominant kami of the Shinto pantheon, and even today, many shrines will hold space for her as well as the primary deity; home shrines, or kamidana, will often include ofuda for Amaterasu as a central point of worship, with kami associated with one’s local shrines as well.
So there you have just a little taste of what Uno no Sarara was up to. Whether she had intended to be in this position or had it thrust onto her, she was no shrinking violet. She took control of the ship of state and set a course that would continue to influence the archipelago down to the modern day. The reforms that started with her father and husband she continued and made manifest in the physical and spiritual world. And this is only the beginning. There is more to talk about regarding Uno no Sarara’s reign, and her eventual abdication, but for that, we will have to wait until Part 2.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please 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 reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Teeuwen, Mark and Breen, John. (2017). A social history of the Ise shrines: divine capital. Bloomsbury Academic.
Duthie, T. (09 Jan. 2014). Man’yōshū and the Imperial Imagination in Early Japan. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004264540
Como, M. (2009). Weaving and binding : immigrant gods and female immortals in ancient Japan. University of Hawaiʻi Press.
Ooms, H. (2009). Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan: The Tenmu Dynasty, 650-800. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press. https://muse.jhu.edu/book/8316.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 151: The Dazai no Sochi of the Late 7th Century

June 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

The gate to the Dazaifu Tenmangu, the shrine at the Dazaifu, today. Though built centuries later, the architecture clearly shows the influence of the continent, which was a major focus of the Dazaifu throughout its history. Photo by author.

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This episode we look at some of the nobles who served in the Dazaifu, the formal government outpost on the island of Tsuksuhi, aka modern Kyūshū.

Tajihi no Mabito no Shima(八口朝臣音橿)

Born in 624 to Tajihi no Maro, a powerful noble who is mentioned providing eulogies for Ōama, and the daughter of Ōtomo no Hirafu. He is said to be the great-grandson of Senka Tennō. He was the Dazai from at least 682, during the time of Ōama. He was made Udaijin 690/7/5. This was the first Udaijin since Nakatomi no Kane. His fief was increased to 500 houses on 691/1/13. In 696/10/17 he was given permission to use a carriage and a staff as he retired from the office of Udaijin. He was given 120 retainers only 5 days later. He went on to become Sadaijin under Monmu, serving almost a year until his death in 701/7/21.

After him, Ōtomo no Miyuki was named Udaijin posthumously, after which Fuse no Miushi was raised to the post, but he only lasted a couple of years before his own death. The post was empty almost a year until Isonokami no Maro was raised in 704, serving until 708, when he followed Tajihi no Shima as Sadaijin, a post that had been empty, apparently, for about 7 years. He would serve until his death in 717. In the meantime, in 708, Fujiwara no Fubito would follow in the position of Udaijin, which would begin the Fujiwara domination of both the positions of Udaijin and, eventually, Sadaijin.

He is said to have been one of the models for a suitor for Kaguya Hime in Taketori Monogatari. He may also have been patron of the famous poet Kakinomoto no Hitomaru, one of the famous 36 immortal poets, and one of the most famous with works in the Man'yoshu.

Awada no Mahito no Ason (粟田眞人朝臣)

In 653 he traveled to the Tang dynasty, accompanying the 2nd envoy as a scholar monk, but he returned to secular life. His father is said to have been Kasuga no Awada no Omi no Kudara (“Kudara”, spelled “百済”, is also known as “Baekje”). In 685 he tried to get his father promoted to his rank, but it was denied. In 689 he was made Dazai and seems to have held that position until he was replaced by Prince Kawachi. There is a theory, it appears, that he was, instead, the Dazai Daini--an assistant to the Dazai--when Prince Kawachi was made Dazai that same year.

Prince Kawachi (河内王)

Thought to be the descendant of the sovereign Bidatsu Tennō, he, or someone with the name, pops up in the reign of Ōama, traveling with Ōtomo no Yasumaro and Fujiwara no Ōshima, and others, to entertain Gim Jisyang of Silla. Later he was one of those pronouncing eulogies for Ōama. We next see him being appointed to the post of Dazai in 689. He continued in that position until 694, when he passed away.

Tsukushi no Fubito no Masaru (筑紫史益)

Secretary to the Viceroys of Tsukushi for 29 years, his incredibly long service was recognized in 691. The name “Tsukushi” is a locative, and may just refer to him being local rather than anything else.

Prince Mino (三野王)

Appointed Dazai in 694. There are actually several people named as “Prince Mino” in the Nihon Shoki, with slight differences in spelling. In this case there are at least three.

One is Prince Mino, named “Beautiful Field” (美野). He supported Ōama in the Jinshin no Ran and is later helping with offerings to the Wind-gods of Tatsuta.

Another version of the name only pops up once, and I'm ignoring that for now.

Last is Prince Mino spelled as “Three fields” (see above). This name shows up as one of the sons of Prince Kurikuma, a former Dazai, who denied the Afumi court reinforcements against Ōama, and who was clearly close to Ōama. Mino is described as being a key member in Ōama's court. He became a Daibu of the Household Ministry, and was sent to Shinano to investigate a possible second capital site. He became Dazai in 694, but we don't know when he retired, other than the fact that Isonokami no Maro was appointed to the post in 700. He is said to have passed away in 708.

Isonokami no Maro (石上朝臣麻呂)

Born in 640, as Mononobe no Maro, his career would see some wild swings. For one, he supported Prince Ōtomo in the Jinshin no Ran. He was pardoned with other nobles who sided with the Afumi court, but that doesn’t explain how he then did so well in the court, later. It may have been at least in part due to the loyalty that he showed. When the tide had turned and the Afumi court had lost, most of the high ranking men fled, but Maro and two toneri stayed with Ōtomo to the bitter end. It is thought that this show of loyalty was considered praiseworthy, even if it was on the “wrong” side of the conflict.

His first experience with Tsukushi may have been when he came out to inspect the fortifications. By that point he was using the name “Isonokami”, which was one of the names used previously by members of the Mononobe clan. However, when he played a part in Queen Uno’s ascension ceremony, he is once again mentioned as “Mononobe”, probably because he was fulfilling his clan’s traditional role.

He wouldn’t become Dazai no Sochi until after the end of the reign, but he would go on from there to become Udaijin, then Sadaijin. When he passed away in 717 he was the highest ranking noble in the Yamato court.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 151: The Dazai no Sochi of the late 7th century

Tsukushi no Masaru was busy. A new boss was coming in, and he wanted to make sure everything was prepared. The Dazai may have been about as far as one could get from the capital and still be in Yamato, but it was also the first—and sometimes only—encounter some would have with the archipelago, so there was no excuse to be slacking off. Of course, this was hardly his first new boss, though for as long as he’d been on the job, each one could well be his last. He was getting a bit long in the tooth, after all. Twenty-nine years was a long time to be working in the same position. As Masaru paused, he thought back on some of the people he’d served.
There was Soga no Akae—he was ambitious. Apparently he’d been in some rather compromising positions before coming out, but he’d done well enough when he went back. Shame that he backed the wrong horse.
That did bring a chuckle to old Masaru’s throat, though. He remembered when Prince Kurikuma had come out there, to the the Dazai, , and there were still people around who told stories of him. When those Afumi court stooges had showed up to try and conscript the barrier guards, Prince Kurikuma and his sons just stared them down. Everyone had been afraid that it would end in bloodshed, or at least that there would be consequences for defying the court, but Kurikuma was adamant, and the messenger had left with his tail firmly between his legs.
Then there was Shima. By the time he came, Masaru already knew how everything was supposed to work. He may not have been in charge, but that wasn’t his ambition. It was enough for him to be good at what he did. He didn’t need to go all the way to the Palace and deal with the politics there—there were enough politics out here already. Shima, though, he was clearly suited for that Palace life. He was a capable administrator, but Masaru could tell he was ambitious. When he left, everyone knew that he would be going on to bigger and better things.
And now there was another Prince coming out. So they would get the government offices prepared and greet him with proper fanfare. They’d bring him in and hold the ceremonies, and then they would get down to work. A stream of officers would present him with what they were working on and what had to happen. Masaru would be there to help make sure that everything was running smoothly and nothing got too out of hand. And that was the way things worked out on the edge of the realm.

Welcome back to Sengoku Daimyo. We are still covering the reign of Uno no Sarara, and, similar to last episode, we are going to continue to talk about the people who made up Yamato at this time. This episode, more specifically, we are going to be turning away from the capital, in Asuka, and looking all the way over to Tsukushi—modern Kyushu—and at the people who served as Dazai no Sochi, or head of the local government out there, as well as the bureaucrats and staff that worked for them—at least as far we know. Many of them went on to have considerable careers that took them well beyond Kyushu. At the same time, we’ll take a look at some of the things that happened under their rule as what Aston translates as the “Viceroy of Tsukushi”.
After that, I have a special announcement about the podcast at the end of the episode, so if you are interested in learning more about what we plan on doing, please listen all the way to the end to hear about some plans for the future.
And with that out of the way, let’s begin.
So we are talking about the position of Dazai no Sochi or the Viceroy of Tsukushi. Often these people are referred to only as being of the “Tsukushi no Dazai” or the “Tsukushi no Ohomochi”. The term “Sochi” appears later, and we first see this term applied to Prince Kawachi, in 689. It seems to show up with two different characters, which might be a term from the later Taihou code that was retroactively applied or may refer to an evolution of the position over time. I’m honestly not sure. There is still plenty of confusion over what was meant in some of the references.
We’ve discussed this position before on the podcast: This was the sovereign’s representative to the world outside of the archipelago. Not only did the Dazai no Sochi oversee all of Tsukushi—all of Kyushu— and extensive defensive forces stationed there and in the outlying islands, but they oversaw all diplomatic and trade missions to and from the archipelago. Envoy missions would come to Tsushima, where they would get a local pilot and send word ahead. They would then be received at the government center, the Dazai, near modern Fukuoka and Hakata bay. For most envoys, this was as close as they would ever get to Yamato proper. They would offload their goods there and be put up at the government supplied quarters in Wogohori. They would be wined and dined there, entertained as appropriate to their status, while word was sent on to the capital. In rare cases, envoys would be sent on another journey through the inland sea to Naniwa, and then on to Asuka, but otherwise their journey would end at the Dazaifu. Any return gifts would come back with the correspondence from the capital, and thus be handed out to the envoys and their escorts before the mission was sent back home to Silla, Tamna, or wherever they had come from.
Being the middle man in this operation offered a lot of power and authority, but it also would have been quite lucrative. While diplomatic missions brought gifts for the court, they also brought trade goods, of which the Dazai no Sochi could have first pick. This is on top of the fact that this position often came with a stipend equaling the labor of hundreds of individuals.
Many of the Dazai no Sochi would serve limited terms, eventually returning to Asuka, where we see them take on powerful positions. Take, for example, our first Dazai no Sochi, Tajihi no Mabito no Shima.
Tajihi no Shima was born, we are told, in or around 624 to Tajihi no Maro and a daughter of Ohotomo no Hirafu. Tajihi no Maro, Shima’s father was a powerful noble in the court of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, and he had enough standing that he was one of the named individuals who provided eulogies for Ohoama on the occasion of his passing.   The Tajihi family were quite well placed: they were descendants of Hinokuma no Takata no Miko, aka Senka Tennou, Shima’s great-grandfather. This earned them the kabane of “Mabito”, or “True Person” because of their royal lineage.   Tajihi no Shima was placed in charge of the Dazai from at least 682. His predecessor that we know about is Prince Yagaki, who was dismissed around 676, and we don’t know who filled the gap between him and Shima.
Shima had quite the run. We don’t know exactly when he returned to the court in Asuka, but it cannot have been later than 689, when we see Awada no Mahito in the position. A year later, in 690, Shima was made Udaijin, or minister of the right. That’s a huge deal and we will talk about that in a bit, but what did Shima actually oversee during his tenure as Dazai no Sochi? We have quite a few events attributed to him, this reign. In 686, we see the Tsukushi no Dazai sending tribute in the form of human beings: Common men and women of Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla, along with 62 priests and nuns. We aren’t told where these men and women came from, but I suspect that they were refugees or captives from all the fighting on the peninsula. That they were given as tribute suggests to me that they were enslaved—or at the very least they were not free. If they were uneducated, they were likely put to work as labor, perhaps building out the new capital or opening new farmlands.
Later we see the various missions from Silla around the death of Ohoama, and the back and forth that went on, there, and in 688 the Tsukushi no Dazai entertained Kara, a Minister of Tamna, aka modern Jeju island, who had been sent by the king of that small country. You may recall that Tamna, while late to the game, may have been one of the last holdouts of an early Japonic speaking people outside of the archipelago.
Being the Tsukushi no Dazai, Shima would not have only been concerned with foreign envoys, but also with two other groups of Hayato—specifically the Ohosumi no Hayato and the Ata no Hayato. Little is known about them, other than that Yamato considered them to be distinct ethnic and cultural groups living in the far south of Kyushu. We’ve talked before about how southern Kyushu maintained a significantly different material culture through Kofun period until more recent times. We also have indication that they had a distinctive shield and even art style—the famous “Hayato shields” appear to have been appropriated by the court, along with a contingent of Hayato men that were expected to act as an exotic guard for the sovereign and the court. The earliest reliable evidence we have for them is a record from 682. There are some questions as to whether or not they were related to the groups previously called Kumaso or even the Tsuchigumo, but there is no clear historical or archaeological evidence linking them other than the common cultural finds in Kyushu more generally.
The Ata and Ohosumi Hayato may have been distinct clans or lineage groups living in Ohosumi and the area of modern Satsuma.
We have a record in 687 of the Ata no Hayato attending Ohoama’s funeral and presenting a eulogy. The chiefs who came brought 337 others—a sizeable contingent—and they were all given presents by the court. Later, we would see presents given out to 174 Hayato by Shima’s successor in the Dazai, Awada no Mahito, and then in 692 we know that the court sent priests to preach Buddhism to Ata and Ohosumi.    In 695, Hayato of Ohosumi were entertained in the capital, and they even held a wrestling match for the Queen and her attendants in the area west of Asukadera, by the site of the famous Tsuki tree.
So the Hayato would have been another group that Shima no doubt dealt with on a somewhat regular basis in his capacity as Dazi no Sochi—and then later on when he returned to Asuka and took up his new role as Udaijin.

And as I mentioned, that appointment was a Big Deal. The position of Udaijin had been vacant since Nakatomi no Kane, one of the infamous leaders of the Afumi court, was non-consensually removed from the position—and this plane of existence—when he was executed in 672, at the closure of the Jinshin no Ran. After that, Ohoama appears to have been gun-shy about sharing power with anyone outside the royal family. The position had been left vacant for about 18 years. So what made Uno no Sarara take up Shima as Minister of the Right? And what about the Minister of the Left, or the Sadaijin?
Well, we don’t have a Sadaijin, but we do have a Dajodaijin in the form of Prince Takechi, Ohoama’s first-born son. The Dajodaijin was the Prime Minister in charge of the entire Dajokan, the Council of State, made up of the ministers of the left and right and the 8 bureaus of the government. The Sadaijin and Udaijin served under the Dajodaijin, in that hierarchical order, with the Sadaijin generally being considered higher in precedence. So it looks like, in this case, they had the Dajodaijin, Prince Takechi to run the Council and Shima, as Udaijin would have been responsible for ensuring the administration of the eight bureaus was properly carried out.
That Shima was appointed just under Prince Takechi again shows the power and influence he likely had and the trust he must have had from Uno no Sarara. Remember, the Crown Prince, Kusakabe, had died before he could take the throne. Uno was enthroned as Queen, while the Crown Prince, Karu, was still a minor. Whereas Ohoama had his wife and many sons to help him run things, Uno no Sarara was running thin. As had been seen with Prince Ohotsu, there was always the threat that one of Ohoama’s other sons could be propped up on the throne. Uno had to look after Karu’s birthright, but there was no guarantee that he would make it to adulthood in times before modern medicine. It appears that Prince Takechi was actually considered the next in line, just in case something happened to Karu before he could ascend the throne, which makes sense that Prince Takechi was also trusted as Dajo Daijin. Shima’s place as Udaijin must have been indicative of similar trust that he would look after the royal family’s interests. This was no doubt helped by the role he played as Dazai no Sochi.
As Udajin, Tajihi no Shima went on to have a rather incredible career. He was given 4 cho of land for his residence. This appears to be around 10 acres or so—a not inconsiderable amount of land, and it probably refers to the amount of land he was granted in the new Fujiwara capital city. Later, in the Nara capital of Heijo-kyo, Prince Nagaya’s residence was about that size and Fujiwara no Nakamaro’s residence is thought to have been about twice that. This would have given Shima space for multiple buildings, sprawling gardens, servants quarters, quarters for his wives and children, and much more.
Tajihi no Shima would continue in his role as Udaijin, and would eventually, be promoted to the position of Sadaijin, a post he held only briefly, as he passed away almost a year later. He was not forgotten, however. It is thought that he was the model for one of the suitors of Kaguya Hime in the famous story of Taketori Monogatari—the tale of the Bamboo Cutter. Taketori Monogatari, also known as Kaguya Hime Monogatari, is considered the oldest known story in the Monogatari form. It was probably written in the late 9th or early 10th century, with references to it appearing in works as early as 909 CE. This suggests that Tajihi no Shima and others were still remembered, at least in part, over a century later.
Shima is also thought to have been the patron of the famous poet, Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, one of the famous 36 immortal poets. We’ll have to include Hitomaro in a later episode, though we might come back to him after this reign, as he isn’t mentioned in the Chronicles, but we do have some fragmentary biographical information thanks to his inclusion in the Man’yoshu. In fact, he’s probably one of the most famous poets in the Man’yoshu who is not otherwise mentioned. We are told that he was the court poet during the reign of Uno no Sarara, so it makes sense that Shima may have very well been his patron and helped him get his start.
Now while Shima was back in Asuka, making it big in the court, the position of Tsukushi no Dazai had to be filled, and we are told that the mantle was taken up by Awada no Mahito no Ason. This name is a bit tricky, as it seems to have two kabane: Mahito and Ason. Since his father is said to have been Kasuga no Awada no Omi no Kudara, the assumption seems to be that “Mahito” was his name, rather than his kabane. Although it was likely pronounced “Mabito” at the time, I’m going to go with the modern pronunciation of “Mahito” in part to distinguish it from the kabane. A quick side note: When reading names from this period, we usually see the kabane coming right after the family name, as the kabane is basically a rank for the family and not the individual. But we do occasionally see the kabane tacked on at the end of a name, as in Awada no Mahito’s case.
I would also like to quickly draw your attention to his father’s name: Kudara. That can also be read as Baekje. Was this an indication that his father or an ancestor came from the continent, perhaps from Baekje? Or just that he had close ties to that kingdom? I couldn’t find anything specific, but it seems interesting that he was put in place at the Dazai, where dealing with the continent would have been an important part of his duties.
Awada no Mahito was not just a noble of the court, and even if his father was of Baekje descent, that may not have been the main thing that gained him the position. It may have also had to do with an earlier incident. We are told that in 653 Mahito was one of those who traveled with the 2nd envoy to the Tang court as a scholar monk. He would later return to secular life, but that experience must have been a big feather in his cap, helping him land a good position at court. In fact, in 685, we are told that he was Jikikwoushi rank—a fairly respectable position for anyone at the time—and he apparently tried to get his father raised to the same rank as he was. Aston translates the record as saying he was willing to give his rank to his father, but it is unclear to me if this means he was offering to give up his rank altogether. At the very least it seems that he felt awkward outranking his father—a good, filial attitude, it would seem. However, Ohoama didn’t care. In the past, rank may have been given to entire families, but now the court was giving rank to individuals, and the rank Mahito had earned was his, not his father’s. And so his request was denied.
Four years later, Ohoama was gone and Awada no Mahito was sent to the Tsukushi no Dazai. We are told that he was in that position as of 689. If that was the position of Dazai no Sochi, however, he didn’t hold it for long, as Prince Kawachi was raised up to that position that same year, and here we have a bit of a conundrum.
Mahito is only mentioned as “Tsukushi no Dazai” while Prince Kawachi is specifically mentioned, at least twice, as Tsukushi no Dazai no Sochi. There are some who suggest that Mahito may have been the Dazai Daini, an assistant to the Dazai no Sochi—effectively the second-in-command it would appear. This makes some sense, when you consider it, and he may even have been acting Dazai no Sochi until Prince Kawachi was appointed.
Of course, because our records are quite lackluster, and we are never actually told when Tajihi no Shima left the position, it is possible that Awada no Mahito was actually the Dazai Sochi for many years leading up to 689, and that Shima had returned to Asuka some time ago. This is the problem with the way things are written—sometimes they mention a name and sometimes just a position, and rarely do they mention when someone stepped down.
Still, Mahito oversaw a few things that we can be somewhat sure about as they happened after he is first mentioned in the position, though it was all in the same year. For one thing, he is the one who presented gifts to the 174 Hayato in the first month of 689. This included cloth, ox hides, and deerskins. He was also there when the Queen sent relief to the Barrier Wardens whose terms were up. These were the Sakimori, a position set up to defend the archipelago and repel any potential invasions. I would assume they were regularly rotated out, especially if they were expected to man the fortifications out on some of the islands. It is interesting that we don’t often see them referenced, so it isn’t clear to me why the reference was made here—it may have just been a note in one of the sources the Chroniclers were using.
Later that same year, we also see garments being given out—likely meaning official court clothing—to the Tsukushi Dazai and others. This was probably to bring them all in line with the latest formal wear being used in the court in Asuka. We also know that in the 6th month of that year they entertained the Silla envoys, who were given various presents.
And then, two months later, Mahito is out and Prince Kawachi comes in. At the same time that Prince Kawachi is being made the Dazai no Sochi, our previous Dazai no Sochi, Tajihi no Shima, had his rank and fief increased.   I doubt this was a coincidence, and it is one of the things that, for me, lends credence to the idea that Shima had just then returned to Asuka and Prince Kawachi was his replacement, suggesting that Mahito had really just been in an acting capacity while the change over was taking place.
Unfortunately, if we were looking for more information about Prince Kawachi’s background, we would be disappointed. Although he is a prince, probably descended from Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou, we don’t have a lot about him. He—or someone with the same name, since we do see these Princely titles get reused, it seems—is found in the reign of Ohoama traveling with Ohotomo no Yasumaro and Fujiwara no Ohoshima to go entertain Gim Jisyang of Silla. Later we see a Prince Kawachi delivering eulogies during Ohoama’s funeral. That suggests he held an important position, and that he was somewhat familiar with the continent, but we don’t get a whole lot more. Our next evidence is when he was appointed to the post of Dazai no Sochi in 689, a position he would hold until his death in 694—which may also explain why we just don’t see too much of him in the record. A promising career may have been cut short, as happened all too often back in that day and age.
Still, as Dazai no Sochi, he had plenty to keep him busy. Not a month after he arrived, Isonokami no Maro and Ishikawa no Mishina arrived at the head of a delegation. They were there to deliver patents of rank to members of the Tsukushi government and to inspect the fortifications at the edge of the archipelago. These were the same fortifications being manned by the newly arrived Sakimori.
Speaking of the members of the Tsukushi government, it took a lot of people to make the Dazaifu work, not just the Sochi giving people orders about what they should do. There were numerous assistants helping to keep everything running. Some of them would have just been dealing with the Sochi’s own residence, while others were clerks, guards, and more. It really was a miniature version of the court in Asuka, and would have required a lot of people to tend to it.
And we know of at least one of them: Tsukushi no Fubito no Masaru, whose imagined thoughts we heard at the top of the episode. In 691, Masaru was recognized for 29 years of service as a secretary to the Tsuksuhi no Dazai. Twenty-nine years in place suggests to me that he would have likely been one of the longest serving members of the Tsukushi government center. He would have known where all the bodies were buried—perhaps quite literally. While the Dazai no Sochi was often a temporary appointment, sometimes just for a few years, they would have likely leaned on Masaru for his expertise. This is just like how modern government appointees like ambassadors may come and go, including for political reasons, but they rely on permanent staff, including a lot of locals, to provide the institutional knowledge they need to do their jobs. One can assume that if Masaru had been successful for 29 years he knew how things were supposed to work. And so I hope that his superiors made sure to remember that when Secretary’s day rolled around.
Prince Kawachi didn’t make it 29 years, but he made it five. He might have gone even longer, but he died in office in 694 and was posthumously raised in rank for his service. History is full of stories, but in real life, the stories don’t always follow the expected narratives. As much as we’d like to think otherwise, good, moral people do not always triumph and sometimes those who do awful things are never punished. And some times stories come to abrupt ends. Of course, looking back, it just is what it is. Prince Kawachi’s life becomes little more than a footnote. And yet, what if he had gone on? Would he have followed Tajihi no Shima to help become one of the grand ministers of the court? Unfortunately, we will never know. He could have been a rising star, but we just know about his passing.
Five months after Prince Kawachi’s untimely death, he was followed in the post by Prince Mino. Prince Mino would continue in the position, it seems, through the end of the reign in 697—or at least nobody else was appointed until 700, when Isonokami no Maro—apparently the same one who had previously come out to inspect the fortifications during Prince Kawachi’s tenure—was appointed. Although he came into the position in the next reign, we’ll still touch on him, as he was another notable figure at this time.
Looking back at Prince Mino, however, we seem to run into a problem—there are too many Princes Mino in the record. If you just use the English translations, you’ll find several references to Prince Mino, but if you look at the original text, you’ll see that there are at least three different spellings. For one it means “Beautiful Field” and another is just “Three Fields”. A third “Mino” is spelled with characters that don’t necessarily create obvious meaning, and may just be a phonetic spelling.
It is possible that all of these Princes Mino are the same. Spelling wasn’t standard, and different characters could be used for the same name. On the other hand, we have one set of characters being used to describe a Prince Mino who supported Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran, while another, the “Three Fields” Prince Mino, describes one of the sons of Prince Kurikuma, who was with his father in Tsukushi when the Afumi court came calling. Since travel wasn’t necessarily an overnight endeavor—unless you were Ohoama, rushing through the mountains to the east—it would seem that the Prince Mino in Tsukushi is unlikely to be the same one as the Prince Mino who joined Ohoama’s forces back in the Home Provinces.
So let’s make the assumption that Prince Mino—Prince “Three Fields” Mino—is one person and the others are separate. What do we know about him?
Well, he appears to have had experience with Tsukushi and the government out there, since he would be the son of Prince Kurikuma, a former Tsukushi Dazai no Sochi. We talked about Prince Kurikuma before, back in numerous episodes, but particularly in episodes 128 and Episode 144, as well as references in betweend. Prince Kurikuma was not only a significant factor in the outcome of the Jinshin no Ran, denying the Afumi court the resources of all of the defenders at the Tsukushi fortifications, he shows up in local legends in Tsukushi still today. So he definitely seems to have had an impact on the region. It also suggests that Prince Mino had connections in the area through his father.
After his father’s posting as Dazai no Sochi ended, Prince Mino appears to have returned with him to Asuka. He is described as a key member in Ohoama’s court. He was one of the Princes mentioned in the audience at the Daigokuden in 681, when Ohoama instituted the commission to bring together the various court sources that we presume would eventually lead to the creation of the Chronicles—the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki. Later, he become a daibu, a high official, of the Household Bureau, responsible for the household of the sovereign, the sumera no mikoto. This meant the upkeep of the palace, the kitchens, and the various servants waiting on the sovereign and his family. This also means that he was likely close to the movers and shakers of the court.
One of the projects under his purview appears to have been the laying out of a new palace and a new capital city. In 682 he headed up the investigations at the place called Nihiki, determining that it would be a good location for what would eventually become Fujiwara-kyo—a project still underway in Queen Uno’s reign. He was also sent out to Shinano two years later to look for a site for a second capital. It ended up not happening, but he spent a couple months and eventually came back with a map of the region.
It may be that the Fujiwara-kyo project took up a lot of Mino’s time and effort, because we then don’t hear from him for another decade, during which Ohama passed away and so much more happened. Assuming he was still involved with the Fujiwara capital project, however, we see that in 691 there was a ceremony held for the tranquility of the new capital—a Chin-sai or, what we would today call a “Ji-chin-sai”. This is a “land pacification ceremony” done when breaking ground on a new building or other project. So it looks like planning and land clearing had taken some 10 years, but it was finally ready to get started. Later that same year we hear of them laying out the residences of high ranking nobles, like the Udaijin, Tajihi no Shima, and we also see the Queen inspecting the roads. Then, a year later in 692, they were holding the land pacification ceremony for the new palace. The queen would move into the new palace in the very last months of 694.
But by that time, Prince Mino was on to his next assignment. He had been appointed Tsukushi Dazai no Sochi earlier that year following the death of Prince Kawachi. Not much more is said of Tsukushi for the next three years of the reign, but we do see the Hayato visiting Asuka, presumably with Prince Mino’s assistance.
We don’t have a clear idea of when Prince Mino retired—it’s certainly not in the Nihon Shoki—but we know that he did because he was succeeded in the role by none other than Isonokami no Maro, who would take up the position in 700. Prince Mino, on the other hand, returned to the court, where he would eventually pass away in the year 708.
And that was the last Dazai no Sochi who held the position during this reign, but I do want to talk about the one who came after Prince Mino just a bit—though more because this was an up-and-coming court noble whom we should be watching.
Isonokami no Maro was born, by all accounts, in the year 640. Despite his name he was actually born to a family that we know somewhat well from much earlier on: The Mononobe. In fact, his father is apparently Mononobe no Muraji no Umaro, and he appears to be descended from the main line of the Mononobe family, which had declined ever since Mononobe no Moriya had been defeated and killed by Soga no Umako and others.
And it seems that the Mononobe curse of being on the losing side in a contest for power hit Maro during the Jinshin no Ran, because we see him, at that time referenced as Mononobe no Muraji no Maro, along with two servants, or Toneri, serving Prince Ohotomo—aka Koubun Tennou—up to the very end. In fact, when Ohotomo fled and the Afumi court deserted him, only Mononobe no Maro and the servants stayed with him when he eventually strangled himself.
And one would think that would be it.   You were with the rival for the throne in the most contentious fight in recent memory. You couldn’t protect him and you were on the wrong side. Sure, Ohoama was going to pardon you because he couldn’t just rid himself of half of the court and hope things would still run smoothly—that would be a surefire recipe for disaster, and nobody wanted the government crippled like that. However, you can’t imagine that those on the losing side would be given any position of trust or authority.
And yet, in 676, we see that Mononobe no Maro was sent to Silla. And he wasn’t just helping out: he was sent as the chief envoy of Ohoama’s court. That is quite the turnaround in four years, and we don’t really know why, but it has been speculated that Ohoama was actually impressed. While other members of the Afumi court fled and abandoned Ohotomo to his enemies, Maro and the two toneri with him did not, staying with Ohotomo until the bitter end, and likely conveying what had happened to the other side once it was all over.   That kind of loyalty was impressive, especially back then.
It is also thought that Maro may have benefited from the fact that Enoi no Okimi, who was also descended from the Mononobe family, fought on the side of Ohoama. This is a common scenario we see throughout Japanese history, where different members of the same family fight on different sides of a conflict, often meaning that no matter who wins the family can still claim to have been on the winning side. When Okimi passed away in 676 he was posthumously recognized as the ujigami, or clan head, of the Mononobe, leading some to suspect that a bit of his shine may have rubbed off on Maro as well.
In 684, when the various kabane were being rectified by Ohoama’s court, the Mononobe no Muraji were included as Ason, or Asaomi. There is some thought that around this time is when Maro changed his name to Isonokami, which is a name that was previously used by members of the Mononobe, including one of the brothers to Mononobe no Moriya. We see him mentioned as Isonokami no Maro in 686, as one of those giving a eulogy for Ohoama: specifically he gives the eulogy on behalf of the Houkan, or Nori no Tsukasa, the Judicial officers. He is mentioned right after Fuse no Miushi, whom we talked about last episode, who would go on to become a Dainagon and, later, Udaijin, or Minister of the Right.
The first connection between Isonokami no Maro and Tsukushi was in 689, and we noted it earlier—he came out to inspect the fortifications as well as to hand out patents of rank to the court officials working out there on the edge of the realm.    He would return to Asuka in time to be a part of Uno no Sarara’s official enthronement ceremonies. There he is named Mononobe no Maro, and is in charge of the shields. Given what we know of the role of the Mononobe as the early soldiers of the court, it makes sense that he would play this role, and that they would use the name Mononobe rather than Isonokami. In the same way, the ritual was conducted by Fujiwara no Ohoshima, but he is recorded as Nakatomi no Ohoshima, probably because these were roles specifically for the Mononobe and Nakatomi, rather than for the Isonokami and the Fujiwara.
This is another thing that can be quite frustrating when researching Japanese history—names can change at the drop of a hat, and people often had various ancestral names and titles that could be pulled out for various political or ceremonial reasons. If you don’t have the history or understand the nuance it can be easy to just think that it is a different person altogether. And when you don’t have much information, sometimes you have to ask yourself which is it?
Maro would stay close to Queen Uno, even accompanying her to Ise shrine, and then, in the following reign, he would succeed Prince Mino as Dazai no Sochi in the year 700. It isn’t clear, however, if he left for the Dazaifu immediately, since in 701 he is noted as having been promoted from the office of Chunagon to Dainagon, and in that same year he went with Royal Prince Osakabe to pay respects at the house of the late Udaijin, Tajihi no Shima, who had just passed away. He then left for Tsukushi in 702—or possibly headed back. But in 703, he was once again back in Asuka, paying condolences on the death of the next Udaijin, Abe no Miushi—aka Fuse no Miushi, the same one whom Maro had pronounced a Eulogy with during the funeral ceremonies for Ohoama. Isonokami no Maro would go on to take the mantle of Udaijin, and then eventually Sadaijin as well. He would be raised up to the second rank, along with the famous Fujiwara no Fubito, who took the vacated position of Udaijin. This meant that technically Maro was the senior of the two, though many people think that Fujiwara no Fubito held most of the actual power.
Regardless of that, Isonokami no Maro nonetheless would go on to become the highest ranking court noble before his eventual death in 717. At that point he was 78 years old, by the reckoning of the day, and he had seen multiple sovereigns, several bloody conflicts, and the creation of two permanent capitals—Fujiwara kyo and Heijo kyo, in modern Nara. He went from being a supporter in the Afumi court, on the wrong side of the Jinshin no Ran to become the highest ranking court noble in the land. He would be granted the head of the Mononobe family and would continue to prosper as Isonokami. It was truly a remarkable career over an incredible span of time.
And there you have it. A look at some of those that were sent out to the Dazaifu in Tsukushi. In later years, the post of Dazai no Sochi would be seen more as a burden than a blessing, but at this point it was still a lucrative and powerful position. Several of those involved in the Dazaifu or who held the position as Dazai no Sochi would go on to even more powerful positions back in Asuka. Whilst this posting did move you further away from the politics—perhaps not always a bad thing—it also put you atop a structure where one had considerable power, authority, and autonomy, at least at this point.
Next episode we’ll get back to the court in Asuka and take a look at a little more of what is going on.
Before I end this, however, a quick administrative note about the podcast. This creation is a labor of love. It was started largely as a way to get myself to regularly dive into the Chronicles and really see what was going on. In particular, I was excited about the Asuka period, because I don’t think we really have enough of a sense of what life was like and what was going on back then. It was clearly a very dynamic time, and yet we tend to see it through the lens of later Nara and Heian court culture, which was still very much evolving. The stories that I didn’t know about were what drew me to this project, and I hope that we’ve all learned a bit more as the project has continued.
And we are reaching the end of the area that is covered by the main Chronicles, the Kojiki, the Nihon Shoki, and the Sendai Kuji Hongi, which have been our main guides through this period. But that doesn’t mean we are bringing things to a close.
Next we have the Shoku Nihongi and many other grecords, and I am going to keep up with the project and the schedule as best I can. In fact, it looks like I may be able to devote even more time to it in the near future as some drastic life changes are coming for me, such that I will no longer be working a 9-to-5 job while also trying to get this podcast out like clockwork twice a month—not to mention my other passion, teaching traditional Japanese martial arts here in the DC region at a local not-for-profit dojo. This is happening as we are also in the process of building a house, traveling, and more.
But it does mean that we are going to be looking into alternative sources of funding beyond just donations. We are eternally grateful to everyone who has donated, but I may end up doing something that I’ve been putting off for a while: allowing advertisements. I want to do this so that we can continue to offer this for podcast for free, but hosting, staying up to date on sources, etc. does cost money. I’m not looking to make a huge profit, but if we can at least get the podcast paying for itself, that would be a good start.
Before I do that I’ll look to find a way that we can get subscribers on Patreon and elsewhere ad-free copy. I just need to figure that out, but once I do, I’ll let you all know.
So there you have it. We aren’t going to stop the podcast, but we may be adding a bit more to it in the future. I hope, though, that we can do more beyond the historical chronicles. For instance, did you know that we have an English translation of a 17th century cookbook up on our website, SengokuDaimyo.com? I would love to redact those recipes and maybe provide some cooking videos for anyone who would want to try them. A shoutout to Max Miller of Tasting History, who reached out to us about using a couple of our translations for his episodes on historical Japanese cooking – Max is a great guy and his series and cookbook are well worth following. But there’s a lot more to explore: one of my favorites so far that we’ve tried is “keiran”, or “eggs”: doughy balls filled with brown sugar and cooked in a miso based soup. I don’t know if there is anything like that still being served in Japan, but it’s a strange and pleasant recipe and I would love to do that again and record it for everyone to try.
All of this is in the works, and nothing will change immediately, but I wanted to keep you all in the loop. Thank you so much for listening, I can’t tell you how much it means.
And of course, as always, if you like what we are doing, please 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 reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Rough Transcript

References

Where we are:

Website: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast

Libsyn: https://feeds.libsyn.com/209813/rss

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@the.sengoku.daimyo Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wwwsengokudaimyo BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/tatsushu.bsky.social

Rough Transcript

References

New Video Option

Board Games

Liubo 六博

Weiqi 囲碁

Sugoroku 双六・雙六

Shōgi 将棋

Ohajiki 御弾き

Poetry

Kaifūsō 懐風藻

Man’yōshū 万葉集

Rough Transcript

References

Websites

The Dōkyō Incident aka The Usa Hachimangū Oracle Incident 宇佐八幡宮神託事件

Abe (阿倍) aka Kōken/Shōtoku Tennō 孝謙・称徳天皇

Dōkyō 道鏡

Tachibana no Naramaro 橘奈良麻呂

Fujiwara no Nakamaro 藤原仲麻呂

Wake no Kiyomaro 和気清麻呂

Hachiman 八幡

Hachiman Shrines

Usa Hachimangū 宇佐八幡宮

Iwashimizu Hachimangū (石清水八幡宮)

- Yumi Yawata 弓八幡

Tsurugaoka Hachimangū 鶴岡八幡宮

Konda Hachimangū 誉田八幡宮

The Six National Histories 六国史

Nihon Shoki 日本書紀 (aka Nihongi 日本紀)

Shoku Nihongi 続日本紀

Nihon Kōki 日本後紀

Shoku Nihon Kōki 続日本後紀

Nihon Montoku Tennō Jitsuroku 日本文徳天皇実録

Nihon Sandai Jitsuroku 日本三代実録

Honorable Mention

Kojiki 古事記

Sendai Kuji HoNGI 先代旧事本紀 aka KUjiki 旧事紀 or KUJI HONGI 旧事本紀

Historical Works

Man’yōshu 万葉集

Nihon Ryōiki 日本霊異記 aka Nihonkoku Genpō Zen'aku Ryōiki 日本国現報善悪霊異記

Heike Monogatari 平家物語

Hōjōki 方丈記

Shin Kokinshū 新古今集 aka Shin Kokin Wakashū 新古今和歌集

Oku no Hosomichi 奥の細道

New Item

Kana and Japanese writing systems

"Classical" Chinese

Kanbun 漢文 ("Chinese" writing)

Man’yōgana 万葉仮名

Senmyō 宣命

Old Japonic

Scholars

Pre-modern

Motoori Norinaga 本居宣長 (1730-1801)

Modern

Aoki, Kazuo (青木和夫)

Bently, John R.

FARRIS, William Wayne

FELT, MATTHIEU

FRIDAY, Karl

HURST, G. Cameron “Cappy”

KANAGAWA, NADIA

KEENE, Donald

LAFLEUR, William “Bill”

LOWE, Bryan

MAIR, Victor

McBain, Abigail

MORRIS, Ivan

Sakaehara, Towao (栄原永遠男)

Sansom, George

SIMPSON, EMILY

Snellen, J. B.

VARLEY, H. Paul

The Dōkyō Incident aka The Usa Hachimangū Oracle Incident　宇佐八幡宮神託事件

Aoki, Kazuo　(青木和夫)

Sakaehara, Towao　(栄原永遠男)

Asuka Pond Garden Site　飛鳥京跡苑池遺跡

Mounded Tomb of Emperor Temmu and Empress Jito　天武・持統天皇檜隈大内陵

Nakaoyama Mounded Tomb　中尾山古墳

Takamatsuzuka Mounded Tomb　高松塚古墳