Episode 145: Law and Order in the Reign of Temmu

March 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

A 1921 drawing of the famous Tang official, Di Renjie, aka “Judge Dee”. The Tang dynasty was clearly a model for the government and, it appears, for the ideas of justice—though how well Yamato lived up to that can be debated. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

This episode we explore the setup of the government, talk about the Asuka Kiyomihara Codes started in this reign, and some examples of law and order.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 145: Law and Order in the Reign of Temmu

The sound of struggle could be heard, as a man, hands bound behind him, was roughly brought into the courtyard by several sturdy men. They thrust him roughly to the bare ground in front of the pavilion. The man’s clothes were disheveled, his hair was unkempt, and his right eye was swollen shut. He was a stark contrast from the four officials standing over him, and even more from those who stood in the pavilion, above, prepared to dole out judgment. A clerk was handling the paperwork at a nearby desk, but the court official already knew this case. He had read the reports, heard the testimony of the witnesses and, to top it all off, he had read the confession. It seems it had taken some coercion, but in the end, the criminal before him had admitted to his wrongdoing.
And thus the official was able to pronounce the sentence with some sense of moral clarity. After all, if this man was innocent, why would he confess? On the other hand, if he were truly innocent, how would he even have come to their attention? Even if he was not guilty of this crime, if he had been such an upstanding citizen, why would his neighbors have accused him in the first place?
One way or another, justice was being done.

We remain—for at least the next couple of episodes—firmly in the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou. There is a lot more in this reign, and we are reaching a period where we won’t be able to cover nearly as much as previously, so we’ll have to summarize some things, but there is still a lot here to discuss. Last episode we looked at what was happening outside of the court. This episode we turn our attention back to the center, and specifically, what law and order meant in Ohoama’s time.
This period is called the Ritsuryo period, and as the name indicates, it is characterized by the set of laws and accompanying penal codes, the ritsu and the ryo. Most of these codes are no longer extant, only known to us by other sources which contain only fragments of the originals. But it was this adoption of a continental style of law that seems to most characterize this period. So this episode, we are going to look at the project Ohoama kicked off to establish one such law code —possibly even the first actual—for Yamato, as well as some of the examples of how law and order were enforced.
In Episode 143 we talked about Ohoama’s historiographical project, which kicked off in the third month of 681 and culminated in the very chronicles we have been poring over. However, a month before that, we see the start of a different and likely more immediate project, as the sovereign ordered work to begin on a new legal code. This task was decreed from the Daigokuden to all of the Princes and Ministers -- who were then cautioned to divide it up and take it in shifts, since after all, they still needed to administer the government. And so this division of labor began.
The code would take years to compile, so, like so many of the ambitious projects of this reign, it was not quite ready by the time of Ohoama’s death in 686. In fact, it wouldn’t be promulgated until 689, and even then that was only the “Ryou” part of the “Ritsuryou”—that is to say it contained the laws, the “ryou”, but no the penal code, or “ritsu”. Still, we are told that the total body of laws was some 22 volumes and is known today as the Asuka Kiyomihara Code. It is unfortunately no longer extant—we only have evidence of the laws based on those edicts and references we see in the Nihon Shoki, but it is thought by some to be the first such deliberate attempt to create a law code for Yamato. We do have an earlier reference to Naka no Ohoye putting together a collection of laws during his reign, known as the Afumi Code, but there is some question as to whether that was actually a deliberate code or just a compilation of edicts that had been made up to that point. These various codes are where the “Ritsuryo” period gets its name, and the Asuka Kiyomihara Code would eventually be supplanted in 701 by the Taihou code—which is one of the reasons why copies of previous codes haven’t been kept around. After all, why would you need the old law code when you now have the new and improved version?
This also means that often, when we don’t have other evidence, we look to later codes and histories to understand what might be happening when we get hints or fragments of legal matters. The Chronicles often make note of various laws or customs, but they can be sparse on details. After all, the main audience, in the 8th century, would be living the current law codes and likely understood the references in ways we may have to work out through other sources.
As for the Kiyomihara Code, there are further notes in the Chronicles that seem to be referencing this project. Besides the obvious—the new laws that were promulgated through various edicts—we see a few entries sprinkled throughout that appear to be related to this project. First, I would note that in the 10th month of the same year that they started the project, 681, there was issued an edict that all those of the rank of Daisen on down should offer up their admonitions to the government.   Bentley notes that Article 65 of the Statutes on Official Documents provides a kind of feedback mechanism via this admonitions, where anyone who saw a problem with the government could submit it to the Council of the State. If they had a fear of reprisals they could submit anonymously.
This entry for the 10th month of 681 could just refer to a similar request that all those who had a problem should report it so it could be fixed, but in light of several other things, I would also suggest that it was at least in line with the ongoing efforts to figure out what needed to be figured out vis a vis the laws of the land. Later, in the 8th month of 682 we see a similar type of request, where everyone from the Princes to the Ministers were instructed to bring forward matters suitable for framing new regulations.   So it looks like that first year or so there were, in a sense, a lot of “listening sessions” and other efforts going on to give deliberate thought to how the government should operate.
A few days later in 682 the Chronicles tell us that the court were working on drawing up the new laws, and as they did so they noticed a great rainbow. Bentley suggests that this was an auspicious sign—even Heaven was smiling on the operation.
So we know that there was lawmaking going on. But what did these laws actually look like? This episode we are going to look at both criminal law – crimes and punishments, and gow they could be mitigated as well as those laws that were less about criminal activities and more about how the state itself was to be run.
As I just stated, a lot of the laws and edicts are not necessarily about criminal activities. Many of them are about the government and how it works—or at least how it is supposed to work. Some of this helps to reveal a bit about the theoretical and philosophical underpinnings of this project. That said, I’m not always sure that Ohoama and his officials were necessarily adherents to those philosophies or if they saw them more as justifications fro their actions. And, in the end, does it matter? Even if they weren’t strict Confucianists, it is hard to argue that Confucian theory didn’t loom large in their project, given its impact on the systems they were cribbing from. Furthermore, if we need to extrapolate things that go unsaid, we could do worse than using Confucianism and similar continental philosophies as our guide, given what we see in the record.
A particularly intriguing record for understanding how that government was supposed to work is a declaration that civil and military officials of the central and provincial governments should, every year, consider their subordinates and determine what promotions, if any, they should receive. They were to send in their recommendations within the first ten days to the judges, or “houkan”. The judges would compare the reports and make their recommendations up to the Daibenkan—the executive department of the Dajokan, the Council of State. In addition, officers who refused orders to go on various missions for the court were ineligible for promotion, unless their refusal was specifically for genuine illness or bereavement following the loss of a parent.
This feels like an important note on how the whole bureaucratic appointment and promotion system worked. It actually follows early ideas of the meritocratic bureaucracy that was at the heart of how the government was supposed to work. It isn’t quite the same as magistrates roaming the land and seeking out talented individuals, but it still demonstrates a promotion system that is at least nominally about the merit of the individual and not solely based on personal patronage—though I’m sure the sovereign, the sumera no mikoto, or tennou, could still issue promotions whenever he so wished.
And as cool as I find all that to be, I think the piece that I find particularly fun is the fact that they had to specify that only a “genuine” illness was a valid excuse. That suggests to me that there were people who would feign illness to get out of work. In other words, faking a sick day is nothing new and you could totally have a ritsuryo version of “Ferris Buehler’s Day Off”.
This meritocratic idea seems to be tempered a bit a few years later, in 682. We see an edict that not only describes the language and character of the court ritual, but also talking about verifying the lineage and character of anyone who applies for office. Anyone whose lineage was found to be less than sufficient would be declared ineligible, regardless of whatever else they had done.
And this is the tension of trying to overlay a theoretical system, based on the idea of merit, on a hereditary aristocracy. In a meritocracy, one wouldn’t blink twice at a person from a “lesser” ranked family making their way up and above those of “superior” families. Then again, you probably wouldn’t have families ranked in a hierarchy, anyway. I feel like we’ve touched on this in a past episode, somewhere, but it isn’t the last time we’ll be talking about this. After initially adopting the system as it theoretically should be, the cultural pressures of the elite nobles would start to shape the government into something that was not quite so threatening to the power of those elite families. After all, those families held a lot of power—economic, political, and otherwise—and, as elites throughout history have done, they would do whatever they could to hold onto that power.
This is actually something we see on the continent. Whatever sense of justice or equality may have lay at the heart of the theory behind good governance, it was always going to be impacted by those with resources and the familial connections that bind people together. For instance, it was the wealthy who would have the money and leisure time to be able to hire tutors, acquire books, and spend time studying and learning—something that is hard to do if you have to help your family work in the fields. And the court would always be a place of politics, which was fueled by wealth and connections. No doubt, if you asked someone of the time, they would say that the “correct” thing to do would be to work your way up from the bottom, starting from a low ranked position and climbing up based on their good deeds. That’s all well and good, but then we see preference given to the highest nobles, with their own progeny getting a jump on things by being automatically placed higher in rank. With only a finite number of positions in the government, this meant that climbing through the ranks would be almost impossible at some point, as there just weren’t enough positions for those qualified to take them.
This is an all-too-common problem, regardless of the actual system of government. The powerful and wealthy have always had a leg up—though sometimes more than others.
That isn’t to say that those less fortunate were always ignored. For instance, early in his reign, Ohoama made a decree to divide the common people—those who were not members of the royal family, so not princes or princesses—into three different classes, Upper, Middle, and Lower, all based on their wealth or financial status. Only the two lower groups were eligible for loans of seed rice, should they need it. That isn’t so different than a lot of modern, means-tested government assistance programs, when you think about it. The idea of breaking up groups into an “Upper”, “Middle”, and “Lower” category is found elsewhere—Bentley notes Article 16 of the Statutes of Arable Land dividing up families who planted mulberry. “Ryou no Shuuge”, a 9th century commentary on the Yoro law-code, notes that, at least by that time, the three categories were based on the number of people in a given household, not just the total wealth, it would seem.

Other decrees help us understand the make-up of the court, such as decree in the 8th month of 679, with the sovereign requesting that various houses send women to work in the court. Bentley notes that this is very similar wording to Article 18 of the statutes of the Rear Palace, where the sovereign’s consorts lived. He also mentions a note in Ryou no Shuuge stating it was specifically women from noble families in the capital city and nearby who were employed for low-level tasks in the palace.

Continuing with the ordering of the government, in the third month of 681, Ohoama went to the well of the New Palace—the Nihi no Miya—and he ordered the military drums and other instruments to be played. In the continental style, music was an important part of the military, with certain instruments and tunes that would be played for a variety of purposes. It is unclear that the archipelago had such a detailed history of military music, and so it seems that this is in emulation of the continental practice.
Then, in the 5th month, Ohoama had to crack down on another practice that was apparently taking off with the various public functionaries. As we noted, earlier, public functionaries were reliant on their superiors, the judges, and then the Council of State for their promotion. However, some appear to have found another way to garner favor, and that was through female palace officials—those working in the private quarters. Those palace officials would have access to the sovereign and his families—his queen and various consorts. And of course, if Ohoama heard good things about a person, then perhaps he would put them forward for promotion. At the very least, if that person’s name came forward, it might be well thought of. And so public functionaries had taken to paying their respects to the women working in the palace. Sometimes they would go to their doors and make their case directly. Other times they would offer presents to them and their families. This was clearly not how the system was intended to work. As such, Ohoama told everyone to knock it off—should he hear about anyone trying this in the future, then the offenders would be punished according to their circumstances.
Of course, I would note that this only would be a problem if the individuals were caught. If the rest of Japanese history—heck, world history—is anything to go on, then humans are going to human and the court was no doubt deeply steeped in political maneuvering of all kinds. I imagine that this practice never fully stopped, but it probably stopped being quite as blatant—for now.
Continuing with the development of how the government operated, we get the entry for the 28th day of the 3rd lunar month of 682. It starts with various sumptuary laws, with Princes down to public functionaries no longer wearing specialized caps of office—effectively getting rid of the idea of “cap-rank”. They also would no longer wear the aprons, sashes, or leggings that were part of the previous outfit. Likewise the Uneme and female palace officials would no longer wear the elbow-straps or shoulder-scarves. This appears to have moved the court closer to what the continent was wearing at the time, with belted garments based on clothing not too dissimilar from what was found across the Silk Road, to be honest.
They also discontinued all sustenance-fiefs for Princes and Ministers. Those had to be returned to the State. Presumably their salaries would then come from any stipends associated with their rank, instead. This doesn’t seem all that connected with the other edict, focused on clothing and rank, except that is part of the further centralization of power and authority—all taxes were to go to the central government and then get parceled out, and everyone—or at least those in the court—were to conform to a standard uniform. That said, for all that it may have been the intent, as we shall see, the court would never fully get rid of the idea of privately held tax land—it would just take different forms over time.
Later, we get more sumptuary laws, some about what the people of the court would wear, but others that were more general. Sumptuary laws are laws specifically focused on controlling things such as expenditures or personal behavior—including what one wore and how they expressed themselves--and they are generally made to help order society in some way. There were a lot of cultures where purple, for instance, was reserved for royalty—often because of how expensive it was and difficult to make. Wearing an expensive purple fabric could be seen as an expression of wealth—and thus power—and that could feel like a challenge to those in power themselves. It probably also meant that there was enough dye for the royal robes and it was not nearly so scarce.
In other instances, we see sumptuary laws to call out people of certain groups. Some laws are to distinguish an in-group, and others to call out a group to be set apart from society. Other such laws were made to distinguish between social constructs such as caste or gender. Even today we have a concept of “cross-dressing” as we have determined that certain clothing or styles are seen as either more masculine or feminine, and there are those who call out such things as somehow perverting society. And yet, the clothing is simply pieces of fabric, and what may have been considered masculine or feminine in one time or place may not bee seen as such in another.
In this case, the sumptuary laws in question focused on hairstyles. Ohoama decreed that all persons, male or female, must tie up their hair—they couldn’t leave it hanging down. This was to be done no later than the last day of the year—the 30th day of the 12th lunar month, though it could be required even before that. We are also told that women were expected to ride horses in the saddle similar to the way men did. This appears to mean they would sit astride a saddle, with their legs on either side, and not in something akin to side saddle. This also likely meant that women riding horses would want trousers, similar to what men wore, at least for that part of it. Trying to wear a long skirt with your legs on either side of a horse does not strike me as the most comfortable position to put yourself in, not that people haven’t figured it out over the centuries in various ways. Indeed, in some Tang statuary, women are often depicted riding horseback with trousers.

In the 9th month of 682 we get a fun entry. Well, I find it amusing. We are told that the practice of ceremonial crawling and kneeling was to be abolished and that they would adopt the ceremonial custom of standing, as had been practiced in the Naniwa court. And a part of me thinks of some old courtier who was having trouble with all of the kneeling who was suddenly very happy with this new ordinance. On the other hand, it is fascinating to think of the other implications.
First, we are being told that there was a custom of standing at the Naniwa court, while in Asuka there was a tradition of ceremonial crawling and kneeling. Bentley’s translation makes it apparent that this was specifically as you entered through the gates: that you would bow and then crawl through the entranceway.
I’m assuming that the standing custom was based on continental tradition, since that seemed to be what the Naniwa palace was built to emulate, and that in returning to Asuka they were partaking in a more local ritual—though I’m not entirely certain as I just don’t have enough information to know at this point. Aston does claim that it was custom in the Tang court, though I’m not sure of his source for that.
In 683 we get more information on how the court functioned. We are told that there was a decree that all persons of rank in the Home Provinces were expected to present themselves at Court at some point in the first month of each quarter. You were only excused if you were sick, at which point an official would need to send a report up to the judicial authorities.
So every noble in the Home Provinces had to travel to the court once every four months. And if they couldn’t, they need to be able to produce the equivalent of a doctor’s note, saysing so.
We aren’t told why this was implemented. I suspect that there had to be some compromise between nobles being at and working at the court and going back to their hometown to also keep an eye on things there. It is possible that there were plenty of people who just weren’t coming to the court unless they had to—living off their stipend, but not necessarily doing the work. So this may have been a “return to office” type order to make sure that people were there, in the “office” of the court at least once every four months.
This brings to mind the Edo period practice of alternate attendance, or Sankin-koutai, where daimyo would have to attend on the Shogun for a time and then could return home. Of course, that was also done as a means to drain their coffers, and I don’t believe this was meant in quite so punishing a manner.
Having a permanent city, where the nobles had houses in the city, would likely fix these issues, allowing the court to be more regularly staffed. Sure enough, that same decree included the decree that there would be a Capital City at Naniwa as well as other places, while the work at Nihiki, on what would become the Fujiwara capital, was already underway.
Speaking of the capital, that work would require labor and people to oversee it. In 10th month of 684, we see a note that gives us a glimpse into the management of corvee labor, as Prince Hatsuse and Kose no Asomi no Umakahi, as well as officials down to facilities managers, 20 people in all, were set up as corvee labor managers for the royal region.

Next, let’s talk criminal matters. What kinds of things were people being accused of or what laws were being set up to constraing the activities of individuals.

We’ll start by looking at how justices was handled, generally speaking. Some of it seems almost obvious, like in 675, when we are told that the sovereign ordered that nobody—whether a minister, a functionary, or a citizen—should commit an offense lest they be punished accordingly. ‘But what was happening previously to make such a proclamation necessary?
On the one hand, I suspect that this was a warning to the elites of the archipelago more than anything else, especially those who might not have been in direct fealty to the Yamato sovereign previously. Those elites farther out in the provinces were probably used to a looser hand, and fewer consequences for their actions. Back in Taika years, in the late 640s, just as everything was kicking off, the court had had to bring the hammer down on the governors and various kuni no miyatsuko, local elites who had been doing things their own way. I suspect this was just a similar attempt to bring people into line and a reminder of who actually wore the hakama in this administration.
It also seems to be a straightforward statement that the law applied to every person—or at least every person outside of the sovereign, himself. That was likely a novel idea for many people, where those in positions of power were likely able to get away with murder, quite literally, because who was going to stop them? We’ve seen how many of the more powerful families controlled what were essentially private armies.
At the same time, 675 is before these new formal law codes and punishments were in place. Presumably there was tradition in place and some understanding that the sovereign could declare laws and punishment, but I also wonder if this isn’t part of the reason that they felt that centralized, authoritative, written law codes were required in the first place. After all, communicating laws and punishments verbally across the archipelago, even with the potential for written edicts, likely relied a lot on local administrators to interpret the edicts and figure out what was going on.
This seems to align with an edict from the 10th month of 679, which decried that there were many people guilty of crimes and violence hanging around the capital. This was blamed on the Princes and Ministers, since the edict claimed that these high officials heard about it but didn’t do anything, instead treating it like a nuisance that was too much trouble—or perhaps too personally expensive—to do anything about. Alternatively, those same princes and ministers would see people that they knew were guilty, but they didn’t want to go through the trouble of actually reporting them, and so the offenders could get away with it. The proposed solution was to exhort those in higher stations to punish the offenses of those beneath them, while those of lower stations were expected to remonstrate with their superiors when those superiors were rude or violent. In other words, if everyone just held everyone else accountable, then things would work out.
This seems like a great sentiment, but I have to imagine that there was something more beyond the high-minded ideals. Again, I suspect that it was probably as much Ohoama putting people on notice. Still, this seems aspirational rather than definitive.

A clear example of the kind of thing that was being prohibited is likelye the decree about fishermen and hunters, who were forbidden from making pitfalls or using spear traps or similar devices. Also, from the beginning of the 4th month until the 13th day of the 9th month, no one was to set fish-weirs, or himasakiri—an unknown device, but probably another type of fish trap. Ohoama also prohibited the eating of cattle, horses, dogs, monkeys, or chickens. Other animals, including boar, deer, fish, etc., were all fair game, as it were.
The prohibition on traps is likely because they were a hazard to anyone walking through the area. In the Tang dynasty they did something similar, but they did make exceptions for hunters in the deep mountains, who were supposed to put up signs warning any travelers. As for the weirs and himasakiri, whatever that might be, I have less context, but likely it did have some reasoning—possibly similar to our modern concepts of having certain seasons for various types of fishing. Fish weirs do create obstructions, and between the 4th and 9th lunar months Japan does see the summer monsoon rains—could that be the reason? Tsuyu, or rainy season, is often around July to mid-June, today. Or perhaps there is another motivation for that particular prohibition.
As for the eating of various animals—of the animals listed, all but the monkeys are domesticated animals who generally weren’t considered as food animals. Cattle were used for working the fields, horses were ridden, and dogs were used for hunting. I wonder if monkeys were just too close to people. The chicken prohibition may seem odd to us, today. The word for chicken, “niwatori”, literally means garden bird, though the Nihon Shoki uses something more like “barn door bird”. We know that cock-fighting was a thing in later periods, and that chickens were associated with Amaterasu, possibly for their legendary habit of crowing as the sun comes up. We can also note the lack of some animals, like cats, from the list. Perhaps cats were never in danger of being seen as a food source, or perhaps cats just weren’t as prevalent at the time—we know cats were around from at least the Nara period, but there isn’t much evidence before that. There are examples of bones thought to be from a cat from the Yayoi period found on Iki island, but it is hard to say from that if they were fully established across the archipelago. Still, I do find it curious they are not on the list.Continuing on, we later see where see the court issued an edict that prohibited the cutting of grass or firewood on Mt. Minabuchi and Mt. Hosokawa. Furthermore they prevented any indiscriminate burning or cutting on all of the mountains in the Home Provinces. This feels somewhat religious—after all, the mountains were often considered the domain of the kami. Perhaps there were some religious restrictions. On the other hand, some of it sounds like they were trying to just ensure that with a growing population they didn’t denude the mountains around the capital.
This whole incident brings to mind problems that occurred in and around Chang’an, the western Tang capital. The palace itself—not to mention all of the houses and temples—took so much wood that it was a drain on the nearby forests. And that is without taking into account the simple harvesting of wood for cooking fires, tools, etc. In fact, the logging industry of that time devastated the local environment, meaning that they had to travel farther and farther to find suitable wood for the monumental buildings they wished to create. It is also thought to have contributed to various natural disasters in and around the capital. Perhaps Yamato was worried that unrestricted logging in the Home Provinces could likewise cause problems? Or was that simply an added benefit gained from the idea that mountains were sacred spaces?

Later in the 10th month of 679, there was an edict determining sumptuary rules for monks clothing, as well as what kind of retinue could accompany them when they went out. We talked about this back in Episode 142. That same month, there was an edict that, while monks and nuns might normally be expected to stay at a temple—such as in the quarters identified in the ruins of Kawaradera—that it became a problem when older monks became bed-ridden. After all, if they couldn’t leave their bed, then one can only imagine how it must have been. Not to get overly graphic, but they couldn’t exactly make it out to the latrine at that point, either. So it was determined that if an elderly monk were to reach the stage that they were bed-ridden, and unlikely to recover, then the temple would seek out relatives or laypersons to help build a hut or two in vacant spaces on the temple grounds. There, the sick and bed-ridden monks could be cared for in a more sanitary manner.
Now the way this is written, on the one hand it seems they were worried about ritual purification as much as anything, but I imagine that this was also practical. After all, as you get all of those monks living together, one can only imagine that disease and illness could easily spread in those close quarters. So separating those who were quite sick only makes sense, like an early form of quarantine.
A lot of these prohibitions seem to be fairly practical. Don’t put traps where people could accidentally fall into them. Don’t chop down the nearby forest—we may need that later. And even: don’t leave a sick or elderly monk in a crowded dormitory situation.But what about the penal codes?
If you lived in the latter part of Temmu’s reign and you did violate one of the rules mentioned above, or one of the many others at play, what would happen to you, and how did that vary based on your place in society?
Unfortunately, most of what we get on this is kind of bare bones. We often see the punishment, but not t he crime. We are just told that someone was found guilty, or condemned. Take, for example, the Buddhist Priest, Fukuyou, of Asukadera, who was condemned and thrown into prison. We aren’t told what he did to deserve confinement, but it wouldn’t last long. Apparently Fukuyou cut his own throat, ending his life, rather than face other consequences or live with the shame of whatever crime he had committed.
By the way, the term “prison” here is interesting. We certainly see people being imprisoned in some way, shape, or form—locked up and unable to freely travel. That isn’t exactly the same, however, as a prison complex or system. There may have been buildings used a jail—a temporary holding facility while the actual punishment was determined. And we also see the equivalent of house arrest. Later, there would be formal “prisons” set up for the detention of individuals, who were often then forced to labor as part of their punishment. However, they had many other forms of punishment, many of which required much fewer staff. After all, a prison requires that you have guards constantly watching the prisoners to make sure nothing gets out of hand. Instead, you could just exile them to an island or even just another province, with a lot less manpower.
A less drastic punishment was handed out back in the 4th month of 675, when we are told that Tahema no Kimi no Hiromaro and Kunu no Omi no Maro were both forbidden from attending the court—for what purpose we aren’t immediately told. However, six days later, Kunu no Maro was held accountable for offering resistance to a royal messenger—maybe the one who communicated that he was banished from the court. As a punishment, he was stripped of all of his offices and dignities. Both Tahema no Hiromaro and Kunu no Maro appear to have been pardoned at a later date, though we aren’t sure when. It could have been one of the various general amnesties—and we’ll talk about that in a moment. Hiromaro passed away in 685, but he was provided a posthumous promotion in rank and is noted for his efforts supporting Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran. Meanwhile, Kunu no Maro—also known as Abe no Kunu no Maro is seen delivering a eulogy in 686. Perhaps somewhat ironically, he did so on behalf of the Office of Punishments—later the Keimu-shou, or Ministry of Punishment. These actions certainly seem to be at odds with them being punished, let alone banished from the court.
We also see an example where Prince Womi, who was of the 3rd princely ranks—even higher than Prince Kurikuma, whom we discussed last episode—was guilty of some kind of offense and banished to Inaba. One of his children was also banished to Izushima and the other to Chikashima. Aston suggests that this means Ohoshima and Chikashima may be in Hizen. Again, very little to go on as to what was happening, though it seems that all three were punished together and sent away from each other, perhaps so that they could not plot or scheme together. Later amnesties would probably have resulted in pardons for them.

Speaking of pardons—the punishments that we are speaking about all appear to be permanent, other than imprisonment, which may have been more of a temporary situation. It wasn’t like being sent away for so many years. However, on the other side of the coin was the option for a pardon or amnesty. While I imagine that the sovereign could always provide a pardon directly, we more regularly see general amnesties declared, sometimes with very specific guidelines.
One of the most illuminating such instances, and possibly where Kunu no Maro and Tahema no Hiromaro were pardoned, came in the 7th month of 676. That month the court issued a general amnesty, likely to increase the merit accrued to the State through an act of mercy and forgiveness, given the drought and famine that had been reported earlier that summer. Perhaps paradoxically, this act of leniency gives us an interesting view into the types of punishments that were made, as well as how severe each was considered.    The amnesty mitigated all sentences of death, enforced servitude, or the three classes of banishment, and they would all be mitigated by one degree. So anyone sentenced to death would instead just become enslaved. Those who were sentenced to enslavement would be banished to a distant province. Those banished to a distant province would only be banished to a province at a medium distance. Banishment to a medium province would be downgraded to a nearer province. And Banishment to a nearer province would be downgraded to banishment—or removal—to a place in the same province. For anyone who committed a crime for which they would be removed to a place in the same province—or for any lesser crime—would be completely pardoned, whether or not the crime was actually known. So you couldn’t be held responsible, retroactively.
This gives us a kind of hierarchy to use as far as the kinds of punishment that might be handed out. Of course, there are also a few others, which I generally assume were considered lesser. For instance: banishment from the court, or being stripped of government rank, that sort of thing.
There was a caveat that this amnesty would not apply to those who had already left for their place of banishment—nor, obviously, to those who had already been executed. So if you had already settled in to your new life, this amnesty didn’t exactly matter. This could be where Tahema no Hiromaro and Kunu no Maro were pardoned and thus allowed to find their way back into the court’s good graces. On the other hand, others probably wish that this amnesty happened a bit later—one month later, to be exact. We are told that Prince Yagaki, the current viceroy of the Dazaifu, was accused of some offense and banished to Tosa, in Shikoku. As usual, the record does not feel the need to tell us what the offense was or try to justify it anyway.

This is all well and good, but what exactly did the justice system look like? How were criminals accused, and how would they investigate and prove your guilt? In the 11th month of 682, we see a rather detailed description of how trials and punishment were to be carried out. For any offense against the law, whether it was in the palace or the court, it would be immediately examined, and nobody was allowed to conceal information about it. If the offense was grave enough, then the next step would depend on the rank of the individual. For individuals of high birth, their guilt would be reported to the court, presumably for whatever punishment they deemed appropriate from there. For others, they would be arrested. If they resisted arrest, then the palace guards would be sent after them. A typical punishment was flogging, which was not to go beyond 100 blows. Finally, if the individual were clearly guilty, but yet continued to profess their innocence, then that would be considered perjury and added to their sentence.
It should be noted that in East Asia at this time, there was no concept of innocent until proven guilty. If you were accused of a crime, then it was up to you to prove that you were innocent. It was not uncommon for an arrest to occur, and then for the authorities to then torture a confession out of the individual. Since they already had assumed the individual’s guilt, this was just meant to get them to admit it. Even into modern times, Japan has had a high conviction rate, but there are accusations that this is simply because of the presence of coerced confessions. A coerced confession helps to demonstrate that the system is correct, and working as designed, whilst protestations of innocence call into question the validity of the system.
There is another type of guilt and punishment—and leniency, for that matter—mentioned in the 6th month of 677: We are told that the Yamato no Aya no Atahe were considered guilty of the “seven misdemeanors”, which seems like it is more an indictment of their moral failings rather than any kind of direct criminal behavior. Furthermore, they were accused of pushing back against the rightful sovereigns from the time of Kashikiya Hime down to the time of the Afumi court. This would seem to indicate that they had been supporting the Soga and the Afumi court, but if so, I wouldn’t say that the Chronicles help to clarify it in any way. Perhaps they just were willful and not showing the right amount of loyalty to the throne. Whatever they did, Ohoama was none too pleased, but he also didn’t want to completely destroy the uji. Instead, as a compromise, he offered them clemency for any past actions, pardoning them, but also claiming that if they stepped out of line again, then their offense would be unpardonable. This whole entry is a vibe. It is less of a punishment and more of a sword of Damocles being set up above them.
Several years later, in 682, we see the Yamato no Aya being granted the title of Muraji. In consequence of the appointment, the entire household—all the men and women alike, presented themselves to the court. They rejoiced and praised Ohoama, thanking him for raising them in status. This doesn’t feel like a normal entry—it isn’t like every family was coming into court and giving thanks every time that a promotion was handed out. This feels like classic “kissing the ring” to get back into good graces with someone who was, effectively, an autocratic ruler. While there was a bureaucracy, based on everything we’ve seen Ohoama had bent it largely to his will by appointing family members and other members of the elite princely class—those with at least nominal familial connections—to positions of power and authority.

And with that, I think we will bring this episode to a close. Next episode we’ll finish out this reign with a few projects and various other miscellaneous events.
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
Gui, Wanrong, jin shi 1196 & 桂萬榮, jin shi 1196 & Gulik, Robert Hans van, 1910-1967. (2007). Crime and punishment in ancient China : T'ang-yin-pi-shih = Tang yin bi shi / [translated with an introduction and notes by] R.H. van Gulik. Bangkok, Thailand : Orchid Press. ISBN 9789745240919
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 144: On the Edge

March 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

The waters at Kofunakoshi all the way out in Tsushima. This is where boats from the continent would anchor while they transhipped goods across to the other side of the island to then make its way to the Dazai and then on to Yamato, proper. Photo by author.

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Various records from the reign of Ōama, aka Temmu Tennō. These are some of the records focused on what was going on outside of the Home Provinces, for the most part.

Tsukushi Dazai (筑紫太宰)

The Yamato government’s outpost on Tsukushi, aka Kyūshū. Also known as the Ōmikotomochi. The head of the Dazai was perhaps the most powerful individual outside of the Yamato court. They were largely autonomous, and had authority over a large area, as well as all of the trade and diplomatic missions to and from the archipelago. They also had a tremendous military presence, especially since the fall of Baekje. They were responsible for ensuring that all of the castles built in the end of the 7th century were likewise manned.

Kibi Dazai (吉備太宰)

The Kibi Dazai is only mentioned once in the Nihon Shoki, but from what we can tell it was set up as part of the Taika reforms and oversaw Kibi and Harima. It may have had some prestige at the time, but it never had the diplomatic or military responsibilities that the Tsukushi Dazai had, and eventually it would be dismantled, as Kibi was divided into the provinces of Bizen, Bitchū, and Bingo.

Settsu-shiki no Daibu (攝津職大夫)

The Settsu-shiki was the office in Settsu that operated in lieu of the kokushi, or government office. The Daibu position had more expansive powers than your typical governor, and also oversaw Naniwa. This was technically one of the Home Provinces, but still demonstrates the complexity of administration beyond the court itself.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 144: On the Edge
The ships sat low in the water, bobbing gently against the docks at Naniwa. The captain eyed them warily as the officials went over the manifest. The Seto Inland Sea was generally calm and smooth sailing—at least compared to the open ocean, anywhere else -- and yet, as he looked, he could only think of how sluggish these ships would be. They were laden down with cargo—silk, cloth, thread, and of course provisions for the men accompanying them. But more than that, they were laden down with iron. Tons of iron ingots, destined for the far reaches of the archipelago. First to Suwa, but then on to the Dazai on Tsukushi, no doubt to be forged into weapons for the defense of Yamato.
But that wasn’t the captain’s concern. He just needed to make sure that the ships weren’t weighed down too much: as long as they remained buoyant, they would make the journey, even if they had to travel at a snail’s pace to do it. But if the ships sat too low in the water, then all it would take was some uncooperative waves and the ships, crew, and cargo, would be sent straight down to the palace of the dragon king, beneath the waves.
Fortunately, with enough ships, it looked like that wouldn’t be too much of a problem, as long as the goods were properly spaced out. Now to just hope that the weather cooperated. Even in the relatively safe waters of the Seto Inland Sea, you never know what could happen…

So last episode we talked about two large projects that Ohoama is said to have started. First was the history project, which likely led to the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki. Second was the start of a brand new capital. This episode, we are going from the macro, down to the micro—smaller events that just weren’t covered in previous episodes. For the most part the next few episodes are going to be a grab bag of various items, but I’m going to try and put some semblance of cohesion to this. Next episode we’ll be looking at some of the laws that they made, including the law code and examples of the kinds of punishment—and forgiveness—that the court could bestow. This week, however, we are going to cover a bunch of stories focused on the areas outside of the Home Provinces. We’ll look at the Dazai in Tsukushi—and elsewhere. We’ll talk about how the provinces were governed, and what concerned them. Granted, a lot of what concerned them, at least from the Chroniclers point of view, were taxes and economic production. So we see recorded concern with taxes and with what was there—the land and the people that worked it. Also with natural events, like droughts and tsunami, which would affect that same economic production.

We’re starting off with the Dazai, and the person in charge there. The Viceroy, as it is often called in English.
The Dazai appears to have started off with something of a military purpose. It was a gathering place before ships would sail off to the Korean peninsula, raiding up the rivers, or trading with their allies. As the archipelago began to be more embroiled in the wars of the peninsula, it was that much more important. And when Yamato’s ally, Baekje, fell, and it looked like Silla and the Great Tang might turn their attention to the islands that had been a thorn in their side for so long, it became a bulwark against potential invasion.
However, it also had another function. It was the jumping off place for warships, but also for embassies and trading missions. It was also the primary destination for most ships approaching Yamato. They would take a route through Tsushima island, and then Iki island, and continue to the main coast of Tsukushi—Kyushu, and up and around to the sheltered waters of Hakata bay. At some point they would even move that initial contact farther out, to Tsushima island itself. Ships would dock on one side of the island, and transport their goods to a Yamato ship on the other side, with a pilot who knew the waters. The local island officials could then send word ahead to the Dazai that they were coming. No surprises, and nobody jumping the gun thinking that a fleet of warships was on their way.
The Dazai played a key role in defense, trade, and diplomacy. When the embassies arrived, they were entertained at the Dazai while word was sent to the court. If the court deemed it appropriate, then they might have the ambassadors take the journey the rest of the way. Otherwise, the court at the Dazai would stand in for the sovereign, and receive the messages, and various diplomatic gifts that were sent along.
This was a powerful and also highly lucrative position, and it is reflected in the people who were granted the title. This was the Dazai no Sochi, or Oho-mikoto-mochi no kami.
We see the post held by Soga no Himuka in 649, during the Taika era. Then we see Abe no Hirafu in the reign of Takara Hime, 655-661. Hirafu would go on to become the Minister of the Left. Then we see Prince Kurikuma.
We talked about Prince Kurikuma before—he was Ohoama’s ally in Tsukushi who refused the Afumi court’s request for troops during the Jinshin no Ran. He is one of the few figures that we have more than just a bit of information on. For one thing, we have two different appointments to his position as viceroy in Tsukushi—there is one in 668, and another in 671, with Soga no Akae being given the post in between. There are some questions about whether or not those were different people—the first one might have been someone named “Kurisaki” or “Kurimae”, but it is generally assumed that was just misspelled, and it may be that there were just some questions as to when he was appointed. We also know that he was a friend to Ohoama. The Afumi court said as much, and in the Jinshin no Ran, when he and his sons stood up to the Afumi court’s request for troops, he came down heavily on Ohoama’s side. It is no wonder that he would have still been in such a powerful position.
His sons, by the way, are named as Prince Mino and Prince Takebe; we’ve seen what appears to be different Princes named Mino, but it is possible that this is the Prince Mino mentioned elsewhere in this part of the record.
Sources suggest that Kurikuma was a descendant of the sovereign Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou, and that he was an ancestor of the Tachibana clan. There were stories about him in Tsukushi, beyond those in the Nihon Shoki, and while he isn’t always named explicitly, one can infer that he hosted a number of embassies and ambassadors in his time. In fact, in his position as head of the Dazaifu in Tsukushi, he was in what was perhaps the most lucrative post outside of Yamato. In addition to being in charge of trade, diplomacy, and military readiness, the Dazaifu oversaw all of Tsukushi—the island of Kyushu, and was like a miniature representation of the central government.
I suspect it is the military responsibilities that saw Kurikuma being appointed to the post of Director of Military Affairs—Tsuwamo-no-Tsukasa-no-Kami, or Heiseikan-cho. That was in the 3rd lunar month of 675, just a few years into Ohoama’s reign.
This would later be known as the Hyoubu-shou, or Ministry of War. The appointment would not last long, however. A year later, Kurikuma would pass away from disease.
Prince Kurikuma is one of those enigmatic and yet somewhat exciting individuals that exists beyond just the Nihon Shoki.   The Shoku Nihongi and later sources give us additional details, which may or may not be accurate. Even moreso, there are stories in modern Nagasaki prefecture about Prince Kurikuma helping to regulate the animals that lived in the waters surrounding Kyushu. According to the Shoku Nihongi record, he was reportedly granted the 2nd princely rank upon his death—which, if true, would seem to say a lot about how he was viewed at the time.
Moving into the year 676, we see an edict that restricted governorships to individuals of the rank of Daisen and below. The exceptions to this were the Home Provinces, Michinoku, and Nagato, and let’s explore why these areas were excepted.
Home Provinces make sense, as that is where the capital is and this more prestigious area was therefore deserving of a higher ranked noble. Michinoku was the opposite geographically: it was the general wilderness of Tohoku, and the land of the Emishi. It was also the farthest east of the capital, so I suspect they wanted someone of rank to handle that.
The governor of Nagato, however, is interesting. Nagato is part of Honshu, the main island, just north of Kyushu, across the Shimonoseki strait. Similar to Michinoku, Nagato was one of the most remote provinces on Honshu. It was also an important province for potential defense and trade, and often coordinated with the Dazaifu in Tsukushi, to the south. As such, it was also considered a more prominent posting than other governorships.
It is somewhat interesting that the Dazaifu is not mentioned, but I suspect this is because the head of the Dazaifu was not, in fact, a governor, but more akin to a viceroy. After all, they had to be entrusted with a certain amount of authority to be able to conduct military, trade, and diplomatic business without constantly sending back to the Yamato court for instruction. We’ve already seen that there were Princes and other men of wealth and status who had been given that posting.
Interestingly, in this reign we see at least one other viceroy—one other Dazai, or Ohomikotomochi—and that is in Kibi, of all places. From what we can tell Kibi was one of the main rivals for power and authority in the prior centuries. It has come up again and again in the stories. Unfortunately, most of the stories only hint at what we think actually happened. Today, when we talk about the Dazaifu we are almost exclusively talking about the one in Kyushu. Besides being far flung from the center of power, it had huge responsibilities.
Comparatively, though perhaps not as directly involved with trade, the rulers of Kibi were important figures, as demonstrated by the amount of manpower they were able to leverage for building their large, kingly tombs. We talked somewhat about that back in Episode 48, looking at Tsukuriyama Kofun, one of the largest in the archipelago. Furthermore, Kibi was well-placed on the Seto inland sea to be able to control the passage of ships. The Kibi Dazai appears to have been established around the time of the Taika reforms, though it is only mentioned once in the Nihon Shoki, and I don’t see any other examples of it. There is also evidence that it was given authority over not just Kibi, but also the neighboring province of Harima. Eventually, however, Kibi would be broken up into the three provinces of Bizen, Bitchu, and Bingo, and it would no longer need to be aggregated under a single administration. Rather, each province would get its own governor, overseeing a much smaller part of the whole. From this I can only assume that there may have been other, similar situations, prior to the various provinces being broken up like that.
A couple months later, in the 5th month of 676, we are once again discussing governors. First was a decree about governors who weren’t paying their commuted taxes on time. Aston goes on to note that non-rice taxes were due in the middle of the 8th month—at least for the home provinces. Near provinces—a little farther away—taxes had to be received by the end of the 10th month, and for those a bit farther away—in the middle distance—they had to be there by the 11th month. Finally, the taxes from the farthest provinces were due by the end of the 12th month. This would have given officials time to collect the taxes and to transport them all the way to the capital. So when the chronicles talk about governors not paying on time, not keeping to this schedule may have been what the court was getting at—or at least some kind of similar schedule with deadlines, since it might have been modified over time.

Another record, that same month—actually a few days later—concerns specifically the governor of Shimotsukenu—or Shimotsuke, on the other side of Honshu. He sent in a report that that province had been hit pretty hard that year with a poor harvest. In fact, it was so bad that many peasants were seeking permission to sell their children. The court ultimately denied the request, but this does speak to a rather disturbing—yet not exactly uncommon—cultural practice. I don’t think we need to get into the different nuances here, beyond a look at the fact that this was likely not a new practice, but it does seem that the appeal to the government for permission to sell one’s children was something new. Perhaps this came with all of the records and registrations that the government had undertaken to know who was in what household. Regardless, one can hardly imagine that most parents would willingly take this option unless they had no other choice, and I suspect that it is meant to show both the desperation of the people in Shimotsuke, as well as the harsh benevolence of the sovereign, who would not permit the children to be separated from their families.
Of course, we aren’t told how the court otherwise ameliorated the situation, since moral righteousness is tremendous, but doesn’t suddenly fix the problems with the harvest or cause food to appear out of nowhere. One hopes that the court at least sent some amount of rice or other provisions to help the people.
Although it was Shimotsuke in the 5th month, in the 6th month we see a more general report of a large drought. Messengers were sent throughout the land to get people to donate cloth, and make prayers to the kami, while Buddhist Priests called upon the power of the Three Precious Things. It was all to no avail—the usual rains didn’t come, so the wugu, the five grains didn’t grow, and peasants starved. The five grains per se are rice, soybeans, wheat, and two types of millet, but in this case the term is just a stand-in for all types of agricultural produce.
Possibly unrelated, but somewhat telling, two months later we see a record of the court granting sustenance-fiefs of all Royal princes and princesses down to the high ministers and female officials at the palace down to the rank of Shoukin. So only two months after the peasants of Yamato were apparently starving, the court is handing out stipend increases to the elite. So… yeah….
We do see a focus in the 8th month on an Oho-barai, or Great Purification. I’m going to talk about this more in a future episode, though, so just noting here that they seem to have been working to purify the land and that may have been part of ongoing spiritual attempts to request the support of the kami in what appear to be difficult times. There were also plenty of examples of attempts to make merit by demonstrating righteousness and reading various sutras.
Moving on to the events of 677, things seem to have been going better than the previous year, so maybe all that merit-making had an effect? Either way, we don’t see any mention of droughts or famines this year, and we make it to the ninth month, when we see a notice that any vagabonds who returned after being sent back to their hometown would be set to forced labor. Vagabond, in this case, is “furounin”, or “person who floats on the waves”. This appears to be the origin of the term “Rounin”, which would later refer to masterless samurai. At this point it seems to refer mostly to commoners who were expected to work the land—and when workers abandoned the land that had implications for the government’s tax base system. So the State was invested in ensuring that people didn’t just move somewhere else—at least without asking permission and being properly registered. This does seem different from an actual fugitive, such as someone who was banished who tries to leave their place of banishment.
The following month, the 10th month of 677, we see that Kawabe no Omi no Momoye was appointed head of the Minbukyo, the Minister of the Interior. In addition, Tajihi no Kimi no Maro was made a Daibu, or high official, of the province of Settsu.     The term “daibu” could just refer to high ministers of the court, but the “daibu” of a province appears to be similar to a governor, but with more expansive and comprehensive authority. Settsu is one of the five home provinces, and as such an important part of the geographical heart of Yamato.   So we have the local chieftains, the governors, the viceroys at the Dazai, and also, apparently, a “high official” in some regions, each with what appear to be overlapping but slightly different portfolios.
The next month we see that the Viceroy of Tsukushi—whoever had taken the place of Prince Yagaki—had his officials present a red crow to the court. The person who caught the crow was granted five steps in rank—not a small reward. Also, local officials had their own rank raised, and taxes were remitted to the peasants of that district for a year. Finally, a general amnesty was announced across Yamato.
We talked in Episode 141 how something like a red crow would have likely represented either the three-legged crow in the sun or the legendary Suzaku, the fiery bird of the south. Either way, it was clearly an auspicious discovery. It is interesting that we don’t see any names at all associated with this event. We do, however, see that people were no doubt incentivized to report such things up to the court. Whoever found such a curiosity would likely have been celebrated by all of those around given the court’s broad show of appreciation. No doubt the local officials were more than pleased given that they were also likely to receive some of the benefits that accrued if the court was well pleased.
As far as the type of events I’m focusing on this episode, there isn’t much recorded between the red crow of 677 and a few years later in 682. Picking up in the 3rd month of that year, we get a record of the Emishi of Michinoku being granted court rank, incorporating them further into the growing Yamato polity. As I talked about a little earlier, Michinoku on the other side of the archipelago, so this event really shows expansion of Yamato and solidification of its power over the rest of Honshu. It is easy to forget that much of the Tohoku region was not firmly under Yamato control at this time. They may have claimed it, but the people and culture there were still considered distinct and not a part of Yamato, proper. But they were making inroads.
In the following month, the 4th lunar month of the same year, 682, we are back on the west coast and see Tajihi no Mabito no Shima as the latest Viceroy of Tsukushi, sending as tribute a large bell. It is somewhat interesting that, compared to the past few viceroys, Shima is actually a member of a noble family and not a Prince. Of course, there was no requirement that the Dazaifu be overseen by a Prince—that certainly wasn’t the case for Soga no Akaye, but it is interesting given how Ohoama had been making appointments, so far. Even if they weren’t princely, it is clear that this was an important posting, which says a lot for Tajihi no Shima, even if we didn’t know anything more about him.
Fortunately, there are a few clues. For one thing, there are records that claim he was descended from one of the previous sovereigns, but he did not hold the title of “Prince”. That is reflected in his family’s kabane of “Mabito”, however, or “True person”, which seems to indicate at least a nominal descent from a previous ruler. Shima would continue to rise in the government, and would eventually serve as the Minister of the Right and then Minister of the Left, and at one point he would be the highest ranking noble in the government—though that was still a ways off. All of this speaks to the importance of the position of viceroy, and probably gives us a clue as to why the Chroniclers were so interested in someone sending a bell, large as it might be, to the government.
A day after the bell tribute arrived, Emishi of Koshi, including Ikokina and others, requested 70 households of prisoners of war to create a new district. While we’ve talked about the Emishi of Koshi, before, what is particularly interesting is the request for prisoners of war—captives. Were these Wajin, or Japanese, who had been captured by the Emishi and they were requesting permission to resettle them? Were they asking for 70 households of people being held captive by the Yamato government? It isn’t clear. It also isn’t clear if “Ikokina” is the name of an individual or of multiple individuals. Aston originally translated it as Itaka, Kina, and others, while Bentley’s more recent translation suggests it is one name. However, given that this is an Emishi name, being transliterated in Kanji through a Japanese translator, it is hard to know without further sources.
From the fourth month to the 7th month of 682, we see a small entry that presents were given to men from Tanegashima, Yakushima, and Amami no Shima. This simple entry is important mostly just because of its mention of continued contact with these islands south of Kyushu. This helps us maintain some idea of the extent of Yamato’s influence.
In the late summer of 683, we once again see a drought. It began in the 7th lunar month and lasted until the 8th. A priest named Douzou prayed for rain and eventually obtained it. Douzou is said to have been a monk from Kudara, or Baekje. Aston suggests that this means he was a priest of Kudaradera, but it isn’t really clear to me.
In the early 8th month, we also see that there was a general amnesty ordered throughout Yamato, which I suspect was connected with the disaster of the drought and an attempt to help build merit and otherwise strengthen the state in the face of natural disaster and potential unrest.
At the end of 683, we see a survey team being sent out. The sovereign sent Prince Ise along with Hata no Kimi no Yakuni, Ohoshi no Omi no Homuchi, and Nakatomi no Muraji no Ohoshima with clerks and artisans to tour the realm and determine the border of the various provinces, but they were unable to determine them all in a year.
This really must have been quite the task. Certainly, the provinces were the ancient lands which people had been living in for some time, but there was never really a need for political lines on a map to determine where the boundaries were. People generally knew if they were in one or the other, and unless there was a very contentious piece of property, mostly you didn’t worry about which exact land or province you were in. Now, however, the court was in the midst of trying to lock down all of the data about the land, including what was where and how much there was. After all, their entire tax base was built on arable land, so they had to know where it was and what to expect. There is no way that such a project was going to be completed in a single year.
I would also note that Aston has this particular record misplaced. He seemed to think it was on the 23rd day of the month, but it is then followed by the 17th. It seems that Aston just got his dates wrong, and can you blame him? There was a lot that he was dealing with.
We do see, almost a year later, in the 10th month of 684, Prince Ise and others are once again sent to determine the boundaries of the provinces. Second time’s the charm, maybe? Evidently not, because we then see another mention in the 10th month of 685, where the court gave them gifts of robes and trousers as they headed back out to the Eastern Countries one more time.
In the 11th month of 684 we are given a small report of a huge disaster. The governor of Tosa reported that a great tide had risen high, with an overflowing rush, and destroyed many of the ships used to convey tribute.
Tosa is on Shikoku, facing out to the Pacific Ocean. It is the first piece of dry land just past the continental shelf. As such, a quake just off shore could create conditions not dissimilar to the 2011 disaster in Fukushima, and send a tsunami wave flooding the coastline. It looks like that is what happened, which would have devastated the fleet. Since Shikoku was an island, they relied on those ships to get taxes and tribute conveyed up to Yamato. So this was Tosa letting the court know that the “sea ate my homework.”
I can’t help but wonder if this tsunami wasn’t related to an earthquake recorded for the month earlier, which we mentioned back in Episode 139. It was a huge earthquake that seems to have had a tremdous impact. Much of it was mentioned as being focused on the Toukaidou region, but that region still lies along a related fault line all the way down through Shikoku. It may be that it took a while for the two events to be reported, and there may not have been an understanding that the event in one place could have had an impact elsewhere. I don’t know if they had yet connected that earthquakes could cause tsunami or not. On the other hand, it could be that it was a separate, but related quake, or even an aftershock, which caused the tsunami.
Overall, the year 684 does not appear to have been the best. We are told that in the lower district of Katsuraki, there was reported a chicken with four legs. Then, in the district of Higami, in Tanba province, there was a calf born with twelve horns. These don’t sound like great omens, and given the tsunami, and the earthquake, and other such things, I can perhaps understand why the court focused on trying to do some merit-making towards the end of the year. For instance they pardoned all criminals except those guilty of capital crimes.
And we are also told that Iga, Ise, Mino, and Wohari were notified that in future years, if they were paying commuted taxes—that is taxes other than rice, in lieu of service—that force labour would be remitted, and vice versa.   That is, if it was a year where they would pay in corvee labour, the commuted taxes would be remitted instead. In other words, they didn’t need to do both in one year. Similarly , in the 7th lunar month of 685, we are told that the Provinces on the Tousandou, east of Mino, and the Toukaidou, east of Ise, were all exempted from sending in conscript laborers as part of their taxes.
We aren’t told exactly why any of this was done, but I suspect that it had something to do with either construction going on in those regions, or just needing to have people to work the fields. Labor could always be remitted just because of something good like a good omen, but in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake, I wonder if there wasn’t a lot of rebuilding that had to take place, and maybe the court just wanted to make sure those regions had the people they needed for those projects.
The Tousandou and the Toukaidou were just two of the 7 official circuits around the archipelago. In this case, the Toukaidou hugged the coastal areas, heading from Ise out to modern Tokyo. Meanwhile, the Tousandou would have cut through the mountains in the middle of that area of Honshu, passing north of Fuji and through modern Gunma.    The other circuits were the San’youdou, the San’indou, the Nankaidou, the Hokurikudou, and Tsukushi, which was considered its own “circuit”. The San’youdou and San’indou were the Yang and Yin roads, going through the western part of Honshu. The San’youdou was along the Seto Inland Sea, while the San’indou was along the Japan sea. The Nankaidou, or South Sea Road, was the Kii peninsula and Shikoku. The Hokurikudou went north on eastern Honshu, through the Koshi region. Finally, Tsukushi, which would also be known as the Saikaidou, or Western Sea Road, was its own circuit
In the 9th lunar month of 685 we see Commissioners or Royal Messengers appointed to six of the seven circuits, the Hokurikudou being the one left out.    The commissioners were to tour and inspect the provincial and district offices and make sure they were good. Each person took a facility manager and a secretary to assist them. Bentley notes that there is, in later legal codes, a role of “Inspector”, who was similarly expected to tour and inspect the various provinces – but these were assigned on an as needed basis, so it wasn’t a permanent position.
Along with the inspection of the government offices, there was one other edict that same day in the 9th month of 685: the court ordered that male and female singers, as well as pipers/flute-players should pass down their skills to their descendants and make them practice singing and the flute. Thus they effectively created hereditary musicians which, at the time, was how you made sure that you had the different professions and skillsets you needed to run the State.
Then, in the 11th month of 685, we see a bunch of iron sent to the General Magistrate of Suwa. How much is a bunch? 10,000 kin, which is thought to be equivalent to roughly 6.6 tons. That is a huge amount of iron, assuming the record is true. At the same time, the viceroy of Tsukushi requested 100 bolts of coarse silk, 132 pounds of thread, 300 bundles of cloth, 4000 feet of labor tax cloth, 6.6 tons of iron, and 2,000 sets of bamboo arrows.   And by all accounts, the court sent it all out. No idea why—but there we go. Presumably it was to make things—probably clothing and weapons.
We see something similar in the 12th month, when the ships carrying the newest border guards out to Tsukushi were battered by bad seas and, eventually, they were left adrift in the water. They were rescued, but lost all of their clothing, so rather than sending clothes, the court sent cloth. 450 bolts of cloth were sent, to be made into new sets of clothing for the soldiers.
Sending raw materials makes sense. After all, there were likely artisans all over the place who just needed them. Furthermore, that way you could customize the equipment to the people who would be using it, rather than shipping off finished goods.
And with that, I think we are going to call it. Next episode will be a similar overview, but we’ll take a look at some of the laws that were passed, as well as how they dealt with law and order in the archipelago.
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

Wittkamp, Robert F. (2026). Reading the Nihon Shoki: Chinese Encyclopedias, Source Criticism and Historical Writing in Old Japan. ISBN 9783695198436
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Bentley, J.R. (2020). The Birth of Japanese Historiography (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780367809591
McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
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 143: Temmu's Monumental Projects

February 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Indication of the location of pillar traces found in excavations of the Fujiwara Palace in Kashihara, at the Fujiwara capital site. Photo by author.

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This episode talks about two projects that were started—but hardly finished—in the current reign. One of these was what Bentley describes as an “historiographical project” and the other was nothing less than the creation of the first permanent capital city: The city of Fujiwara-kyō

The Temmu-Jitō Historiographical Project

In 681, the sovereign gave orders to a group of Princes and high ministers to collect the various historical documents. There are many that believe this was the start of what would become the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, though given the differences, it seems like these works may have each leveraged some part of the effort, but may have been later works that put the historical details this effort gathered into context.

The group putting everything together included:

Royal Prince Kawashima - Second eldest son of Naka no Ōe (Tenji Tennō). He wouldn’t see the project through, either—or at least not the
Royal Prince Osakabe - Non-inheriting son of Ōama. He would also be involved with the Taihō Ritsuryō
Princes Hirose, Takeda, Kuwada, and Mino - Four non-royal princes, meaning that they were considered descendants of some prior sovereign, but their parents were not sovereigns, themselves. Unfortunately, these all appear to be locative titles, meaning they are names that come from locations that are passed to different individuals, making it difficult to determine who is who without more information. Still, it is key that they are outside of the ministerial class, and given some deference as being part of the extended royal family.
Kamitsukenu (Kōzuke) no Kimi no Michiji (Lower Daikin Rank) - The only one on the list with the “Kimi” kabane and the highest ranked official at Lower Daikin. In previous portions of the Chronicles, one would assume that that “Kimi” meant that they were the lords of Kōzuke, and the family seems to have had influence in the region. Unfortunately, they would pass away later the same year that they started the project.
Imbe no Muraji no Kobito (Middle Shōkin Rank) - A longtime supporter of the sovereign, he had joined the Yoshino side and defended Asuka, removing the planks from the bridges and building barricades to help defend from the Ōmi court. His kabane would later go from Muraji to Sukune under the new system.
Adzumi no Muraji no Inashiki (Lower Shōkin Rank) - Inashiki was a minister under the old Ōmi court, but not mentioned as directly fighting against Ōama, and would be among those pardoned by him. There must not have been too much distrust as he was clearly trusted with this task.
Naniwa no Muraji no Ōgata (no rank mentioned) - This individual is something of a mystery as no rank at all is mentioned and there seems to be no further mention of them in the Chronicles. We know that he was of the Naniwa family, which were previously the Naniwa no Kishi before they were given the status of Muraji. My assumption is that he was Lower Shōkin rank and they were just not restating it in the list.
Nakatomi no Muraji no Ōshima (Upper Daisen Rank) - Though a member of the powerful Nakatomi family, Ōshima’s position appears to have been that of scribe, helping to keep a record of what happened. This seemed to be the start of quite the career for Ōshima. He was a member of the Nakatomi house, but would later be listed as Fujiwara no Ōshima, from about 685 to 690. It is unclear if he took this name, or it was given to him—there is a bit of confusion around the name “Fujiwara” and which members of the Nakatomi clan would use it. This is something we should address at a later point in the story.
Heguri no Omi no Kobito (Lower Daisen Rank) - Another member of a prestigious family, but we don’t have much more to go on. Kobito itself is a fairly common given name in the Chronicles.

The Fujiwara Capital

We are going to discuss this more when we get into the next reign and they are actually occupying it, but the Fujiwara capital is the first time we’ve seen the state attempt to build an entire city. Previously we’ve seen “capitals” built, but it is mostly the palace, and we don’t necessarily see the larger infrastructure that was built around it. It may be that outside of the sovereign’s palace compound it was considered to be on the various ministerial families to figure out their own residences and lodging. However, in this instance it was full on large scale roads and blocks that were then divvied out amongst the ministerial families.

Palace comparisons

Oharida Palace (603-649)
Naniwa Toyosaki Palace (651-686)
Kiyomihara Palace (656-694)
Fujiwara Palace (694-710)

From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Excavation of the Palace site

From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Layout of the city

From the Fujiwara capital site. Photo by author.

Fujiwara palace ruins site

Photo by author.

Fujiwara Palace Ruins Site and Mt. Unebi

Photo by author.

Fujiwara Capital Roads

Diagram showing the excavated roads and how they may have been built. From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Kiln diorama

From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 143: Temmu’s Monumental Projects
Ohoama sat astride his horse and looked out at the land in front of him.   He could still see the image of the rice fields, now long fallow, spreading out on the plain. To the north, east, and west, he could see the mountains that would frame his vision. As his ministers started to rattle off information about the next steps of the plan, Ohoama began to smile. He thought of the reports his embassies to the Great Tang had brought back, about the great walled cities of the continent. In his mind’s eye, Ohoama envisioned something similar, rising up on the plain in front of him.
There would be an earth and stone wall, surrounding the great city. The gates would be grand, much like the temples, but on an even greater scale. Houses would be packed in tight, each within their own walled compounds. In the center painted red and white, with green accents, would be a palace to rival any other structure in the archipelago. The people would stream in, and the city would be bustling with traffic.
This was a new center, from which the power of Yamato would be projected across the islands and even to the continent.

Greetings everyone, and welcome back. This episode we are still focused on the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, between the years 672 and 686.
Last episode we talked about the Four Great Temples—or the Four National Temples. Much of this episode was focused on the rise and spread of Buddhism as we see in the building of these national temples, but also on the changes that occurred as the relationship between Buddhism and the State evolved. This was part of Ohoama’s work to build up the State into something beyond what it had been in the past—or perhaps into something comparable to what they believed it to have been in the past. After all, based on the size of the tomb mounds in the kofun period, it does seem that there was a peak of prosperity in the 5th century, around the time of Wakatakeru, aka Yuryaku Tennou, and then a decline, to the point that the lineage from Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, seemed to have come in during a time when they were rebuilding Yamato power and authority.
This episode we are going to talk about two projects that Ohoama kicked off during his reign. He wouldn’t see the completion of either one, since both took multiple decades to complete, but both focused on linking the past and the future.
The first we’ll talk about is a new attempt to gather historical documents and records—the last time that was done was in the time of Kashikiya Hime, over 50 years ago. That was during the height of Soga power. Since then a lot had changed, and presumably there were even more stories and records that had been written down. Plus the tide had changed. So they needed to update—and maybe even correct—the historical record. But beyond that, there was a greater goal: Ohoama and his court also needed to make sure that the past was something that they wanted to go back to, among other things.
The other thing we are going to discuss is the start of a project to build a brand new capital city. And when we talk a bout city, we really mean a city. This was a massive undertaking, likely unlike anything that we’ve seen so far. Sure, there had been monumental building projects, but this was something that was going to take a lot more work - how much more monumental could you get than a new city? And it would create a physical environment that would be the embodiment of the new centralization of power and authority, and the new state that Ohoama was building, with his administration—and Yamato—at the center.
Let’s start with the big ones. First and foremost, we have the entry from the 17th day of the 3rd month of the 681. Ohoama gave a decree from the Daigokuden to commit to writing a Chronicle of the sovereigns and various matters of high antiquity. Bentley translates this as saying that they were to record and confirm the Teiki, which Aston translated as the Chronicle of the Sovereigns, and various accounts of ancient times. This task was given out to a slew of individuals, including the Royal Princes Kawashima and Osakabe; the Princes Hirose, Takeda, Kuwada, and Mino; as well as Kamitsukenu no Kimi no Michichi, Imbe no Muraji no Kobito, Adzumi no Muraji no Inashiki, Naniwa no Muraji no Ohogata, Nakatomi no Muraji no Ohoshima, and Heguri no Omi no Kobito. Ohoshima and Kobito were specifically chosen as the scribes for this effort.
We aren’t told what work was started at this time. Aston, in his translation of the Nihon Shoki, assumes that this is the start of the Kojiki. Bentley notes that this is the first in a variety of records about gathering the various records, including gathering records from the various families, and eventually even records from the various provinces. And I think we can see why. Legitimizing a new state and a new way of doing things often means ensuring that you have control of the narrative. Today, that often means doing what you can to control media and the stories that are in the national consciousness. In Ohoama’s day, I’d argue that narrative was more about the various written sources, and how they were presented. After all, many of the rituals and evidence that we are looking at would rely on the past to understand the present. The various family records would not only tell of how those families came to be, but would have important information about what else was going on, and how that was presented could determine whether something was going to be seen as auspicious, or otherwise. Even without getting rid of those records, it would be important to have the official, State narrative conform to the Truth that the state was attempting to implement.
Ultimately, there is no way to know, exactly, how everything happened. If the Nihon Shoki had a preface, it has been lost. The Kojiki, for its part, does have a preface, and it points to an origin in the reign of Ohoama—known as the sovereign of Kiyomihara. In there we are told that the sovereign had a complaint—that the Teiki and Honji, that is the chronicles of the sovereigns and the various other stories and legends, that had been handed down by various houses had come to differ from the truth. They said they had many falsehoods, which likely meant that they just didn’t match the Truth that the State was trying to push. Thus they wanted to create a so-called “true” version to pass down.
This task was given to 28 year old Hieda no Are. It says they were intelligent and had an incredible memory. They studied all of the sources, and the work continued beyond the reign of Ohoama. Later, in 711 CE, during the reign of Abe, aka Genmei Tennou, Oho no Yasumaro was given the task of writing down everything that Hieda no Are had learned.
The astute amongst you may have noticed that this mentions none of the individuals mentioned in the Nihon Shoki. Nor does the Nihon Shoki mention anything about Hieda no Are. So was this a separate effort, or all part of the same thing? Was Are using the materials collected by the project?
As you may recall, we left the Kojiki behind some time ago, since it formally ends with the reign of Kashikiya hime, aka Suiko Tennou, but realistically it ended with Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou—after that point there are just lists of the various heirs. As such, there is some speculation that this was originally built off of earlier histories, perhaps arranged during the Soga era.
The general explanation for all of this is that Hieda no Are memorized the poems and stories, and then Yasumaro wrote them down. Furthermore, though the language in the Kojiki does not express a particular gender, in the Edo period there was a theory that Hieda no Are was a woman, which is still a popular theory.
Compare all of that to the Nihon Shoki. Where the Kojiki was often light on details and ends with Suiko Tennou, the Nihon Shoki often includes different sources, specifically mentions some of them by name, and continues up through the year 697. Furthermore, textual analysis of the Nihon Shoki suggests that it was a team effort, with multiple Chroniclers, and likely multiple teams of Chroniclers.   I have to admit, that sounds a lot more like the kind of thing that Ohoama was kicking off.
We have an entry in the Shoku Nihongi, the work that follows the Nihon Shoki, that suggests 720 for the finished compilation of the Nihon Shoki. So did it take from 681 to 720 to put together? That is a really long project, with what were probably several generations of individuals working on it.
Or should this be read in a broader sense? Was this a historiographical project, as Bentley calls it, but one that did not, immediately, know the form it would take? It isn’t the first such project—we have histories of the royal lineage and other stories that were compiled previously—much of that attributed to Shotoku Taishi, but likely part of an earlier attempt by the court. In fact, given that the Kojiki and Sendai Hongi both functionally end around the time of Kashikiya hime, that is probably because the official histories covered those periods. Obviously, though, a lot had happened, and some of what was written might not fit the current narrative. And so we see a project to gather and compile various sources. While this project likely culminated in the projects of the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, I doubt that either work was necessarily part of the original vision. Rather, it looks like the original vision was to collect what they could and then figure things out.
It would have been after they started pulling the accounts together, reading them, and noticing the discrepancies that they would have needed to then edit them in such a way that they could tell a cohesive story. That there are two separate compilations is definitely interesting. I do suspect that Oho no Yasumaro was working from the efforts of Hieda no Are, either writing down something that had been largely captured in memory or perhaps finishing a project that Are had never completed. The Nihon Shoki feels like it was a different set of teams, working together, but likely drawing from many of the same sources.
And as to why we don’t have the earlier sources? I once heard it said that for books to be forgotten they didn’t need to be banned—they just needed to fall out of circulation and no longer be copied anymore. As new, presumably more detailed, works arose, it makes sense that older sources would not also be copied, as that information was presumably in the updated texts, and any information that wasn’t brought over had been deemed counterfactual. Even the Nihon Shoki risked falling into oblivion; the smaller and more digestible Kojiki was often more sought after. The Kojiki generally presents a single story, and often uses characters phonetically, demonstrating how to read names and places. And it just has a more story-like narrative to it. The Nihon Shoki, comparatively, is dense, written in an old form of kanbun, often relying more on kanbun than on phonetic interpretations. It was modeled on continental works, but as such it was never going to be as easy to read. And so for a long time the Kojiki seems to have held pride of place for all but the most ardent scholars of history.
Either way, I think that it is still fair to say that the record of 681 was key to the fact that we have this history, today, even if there was no way for Ohoama, at the time, to know just what form it would take.
Another ambitious project that got started under Ohoama was the development of a new and permanent capital city.
Up to this point we’ve talked about the various capitals of Yamato, but really it was more that we were talking about the palace compounds where the sovereign lived. From the Makimuku Palace, where either Mimaki Iribiko or possibly even Himiko herself once held sway, to the latest palace, that of Kiyomihara, the sovereigns of Yamato were known by their palaces. This is, in part, because for the longest time each successive sovereign would build a new palace after the previous sovereign passed away. There are various reasons why this may have been the case, often connected to insular concepts of spiritual pollution brought on by the death of an individual, but also the practical consideration that the buildings, from what we can tell, were largely made of untreated wood. That made them easier to erect, but also made them vulnerable to the elements, over time, and is probably one of the reasons that certain shrines, like the Shrine at Ise, similarly reconstitute themselves every 20 years or so.
Furthermore, we talk about palaces, but we don’t really talk about cities. There were certainly large settlements—even going back to the Wei chronicles we see the mention of some 70 thousand households in the area of Yamateg. It is likely that the Nara basin was filled with cultivated fields and many households. Princes and noble households had their own compounds—remember that both Soga no Umako and Prince Umayado had compounds large enough that they could build temples on the compounds and have enough left over for their own palatial residences, as well. However, these compounds were usually distributed in various areas, where those individuals presumably held some level of local control.
It is unclear to me how exactly the early court functioned as far as housing individuals, and how often the court was “in session”, as it were, with the noble houses. Presumably they had local accommodations and weren’t constantly traveling back and forth to the palace all the time. We know that some houses sent individuals, men and women, to be palace attendants, even though they lived some distance away. This was also likely a constraint on the Yamato court’s influence in the early days.
We do see the sovereign traveling, and various “temporary” palaces being provided. I highly doubt that these were all built on the spot, and were likely conversions of existing residences, and similar lodging may have been available for elites when they traveled, though perhaps without such pomp and circumstance.
What we don’t really see in all of this, are anything resembling cities. Now, the term “city” doesn’t exactly have a single definition, but as I’m using it, I would note that we don’t see large, permanent settlements of significant size that demonstrate the kind of larger civil planning that we would expect of such a settlement. We certainly don’t have cities in the way of the large settlements along the Yangzi and Yellow rivers.
We talked some time back about the evolution of capital city layouts on the continent. We mentioned that the early theoretical plan for a capital city was based on a square plan, itself divided into 9 square districts, with the central district constituting the palace. This design works great on paper, but not so much in practice, especially with other considerations, such as the north-south orientation of most royal buildings. And then there are geographic considerations. In a place like Luoyang, this square concept was interrupted by the river and local topography. Meanwhile, in Chang’an, they were able to attain a much more regular rectangular appearance. Here, the court and the palace were placed in the center of the northernmost wall. As such, most of the city was laid out to the south of the palace.
In each case, however, these were large, planned cities with a grid of streets that defined the neighborhoods. On each block were various private compounds, as well as the defined markets, temples, et cetera.
The first possible attempt at anything like this may have been with the Toyosaki palace, in Naniwa. There is some consideration that, given the size of the palace, there may have been streets and avenues that were built alongside it, with the intention of having a similar city layout. If so, it isn’t at all clear that it was ever implemented, and any evidence may have been destroyed by later construction on the site. Then we have the Ohotsu palace, but that doesn’t seem to be at the same scale as the Toyosaki palace—though it is possible that, again, we are missing some key evidence. Nonetheless, the records don’t really give us anything to suggest that these were large cities rather than just palaces.
There is also the timeline. While both the Toyosaki palace and the Ohotsu palace took years to build, they did not take the time and amount of manpower that would be needed to create a true capital city. We can judge this based on what it took to build the new capital at Nihiki.
This project gets kicked off in the 11th month of 676. We are told that there was an intent to make the capital at Nihiki, so all of the rice-fields and gardens within the precincts, public and private property alike, were left fallow and became totally overgrown.
This likely took some time. The next time we see Nihiki is in the 3rd month of 682, when Prince Mino, a minister of the Household Department, and others, went there to examine the grounds. At that point they apparently made the final decision to build the capital there. Ohoama came out to visit later that same month.
However, a year later, in the 12th month of 683, we are told that there was a decree for there to be multiple capitals and palaces in multiple sites, and they were going to make the Capital at Naniwa one of those places. And so public functionaries were to go figure out places for houses. So it wasn’t just that they wanted to build one new, grand capital. It sounds like they were planning to build two or three, so not just the one at Nihiki. This is also where I have to wonder if the Toyosaki Palace was still being used as an administrative center, at the very least. Or was it repurposed, as we saw that the Asuka palaces had been when the court moved to Ohotsu?
This is further emphasized a few months later, when Prince Hirose and Ohotomo Yasumaro, at the head of a group of clerks, officials, artisans, and yin yang diviners were sent around the Home Provinces to try and divine sites suitable for a capital. In addition, Prince Mino, Uneme no Oni no Tsukura, and others were sent to Shinano to see about setting up a capital there as well. Perhaps this was inspired by the relationship between the two Tang capitals of Chang’an and Luoyang. Or perhaps it was so that if one didn’t work out another one might.
Regardless, Nihiki seemed to be the primary target for this project, and in the third lunar month of 684 Ohoama visited the now barren grounds and decided on a place for the new palace. A month later, Prince Mino and others returned with a map of Shinano, but there is no indication of where they might want to build another capital.
After that, we don’t hear anything more of Shinano or of a site in the Home Provinces. We do hear one more thing about Naniwa, which we mentioned a couple of episodes back, and that is that in 686 there was a fire that burned down the palace at Naniwa, after which they seem to have abandoned that as a palace site. And so we are left with the area of Nihiki.
This project would take until the very end of 694 before it was ready. In total, we are looking at a total of about 18 years—almost two decades, to build a new capital. Some of this may have been the time spent researching other sites, but there also would have been significant time taken to clear and level. This wasn’t just fields—based on what we know, they were even taking down old kofun; we are later told about how they had to bury the bodies that were uncovered. There was also probably a pause of some kind during the mourning period when Ohoama passed away. And on top of it, this really was a big project. It wasn’t just building the palace, it was the roads, the infrastructure, and then all of the other construction—the city gates, the various private compounds, and more. One can only imagine how much was being invested, especially if they were also looking at other sites and preparing them at the same time. I suspect that they eventually abandoned the other sites when they realized just how big a project it really was that they were undertaking.
Today we know that capital as Fujiwara-kyo, based on the name of the royal palace that was built there, and remarkably, we know where it was. Excavations have revealed the site of the palace, and have given us an idea of the extent of the city: It was designed as a square, roughly 5.3 kilometers, or 10 ri, on each side. The square itself was interrupted by various terrain features, including the three holy mountains. Based on archaeological evidence, the street grid was the first thing they laid out, and from what we can tell they were using the ideal Confucian layout as first dictated in the Zhouli, or Rites of Zhou. This meant a square grid, with the palace in the center.
Indeed, the palace was centered, due south of Mt. Miminashi, and you can still go and see the palace site, today. When they went to build the palace, they actually had to effectively erase, or bury, the roads they had laid out. They did the same thing for Yakushi-ji, or Yakushi-temple, when they built it as part of the city; one of the reasons we know it had to have been built after the roads were laid out.
We will definitely talk about this more when we get to that point of the Chronicles, but for now, know that the Fujiwara palace itself, based on excavations of the site, was massive. The city itself would surpass both Heijo-kyo, at Nara, and Heian-kyo, in modern Kyoto. And the palace was like the Toyosaki Naniwa palace on steroids. It included all of the formal features of the Toyosaki Palace for running the government, but then enclosed that all in a larger compound with various buildings surrounding the court itself. Overall, the entire site is massive. This was meant as a capital to last for the ages.
And yet, we have evidence that it was never completed. For one thing, there is no evidence that a wall was ever erected around it—perhaps there was just no need, as relations with the mainland had calmed down, greatly. But there is also evidence that parts of the palace, even, were not finished at the time that they abandoned it. Fujiwara-kyo would only be occupied for about 16 years before a new capital was built—Heijo-kyo, in Nara. There are various reasons as to why they abandoned what was clearly meant to be the first permanent capital city, and even with the move to a new city in Nara it would be clear that it was going to take the court a bit of time before they were ready to permanently settle down—at least a century or so.
Based on all the evidence we have, and assuming this was the site of the eventual capital, Nihiki was the area of modern Kashihara just north of Asuka, between—and around—the mountains of Unebi, Miminashi, and Kagu. If these mountains are familiar, they popped up several times much earlier in the Chronicles--Mostly in the Age of the Gods and in the reign of the mythical Iware-biko, aka Jimmu Tennou. Yet these three mountains help to set out the boundaries of the capital city that was being built at this time.
There is definitely some consideration that they were emphasized in the early parts of the Chronicles—the mythical sections, which were bolstering the story of Amaterasu and the Heavenly Grandchild, setting up the founding myths for the dynasty. Even though the Chronicles were not completed until well after the court had moved out, the Fujiwara capital is the climax of the Nihon Shoki, which ends in 697, three years into life at the new palace. And so we can assume that much of the early, critical editing of the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki were done with the idea that this would be the new capital, and so it was woven into the histories, and had it continued as the capital, the very landscape would have recalled the stories of the divine origins of the Royal family and the state of Yamato itself.
This was the stage on which Ohoama’s state was built. He, and his successors, didn’t just change the future path of the Yamato government. They rearranged the physical and temporal environment, creating a world that centered them and their government. I suspect that Ohoama didn’t originally consider that these wouldn’t be finished during his reign. That said, he came to power in his 40s, only slightly younger than his brother, who had just died. He would live to be 56 years old—a respectable age for male sovereigns, around that time. From a quick glance, Naka no Oe was about 45 or 46 years old, while Karu lived to about 57 or 58. Tamura only made it to 48. The female sovereigns seem to have lasted longer, with Ohoama’s mother surviving until she was 66 or 67 years old, and Kashikiya Hime made it to the ripe old age of 74. That said, it is quite likely that he thought he would make it longer. After all, look at all the merit he was accruing! Still, he passed away before he could see these projects fully accomplished. That would have to be left for the next reign—and even that wasn’t enough. The Fujiwara Capital would only be occupied for a short time before being abandoned about two reigns later, and the histories as we know them wouldn’t be complete for three more reigns.
So given all of this, let’s take another quick look at Ohoama himself and where he stands at this pivotal moment of Yamato history.When we look at how he is portrayed, Ohoama is generally lionized for the work he is said to have accomplished. I would argue that he is the last of three major figures to whom are attributed most of the changes that resulted in the sinification of the Yamato government.
The first is prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, who is said to have written the 17 article constitution, the first rank system, and the introduction of Buddhism. To be fair, these things—which may not have been exactly as recorded in the Chronicles—were likely products of the court as a whole. Many people attribute more to Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, as well as Soga no Umako. Of course, Soga no Umako wasn’t a sovereign, or even a member of the royal family, and Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, seems to have likewise been discounted, at least later, possibly due to the fact that she is thought to have come to power more as a compromise candidate than anything else—she was the wife of a previous sovereign and niece to Soga no Umako. Many modern scholars seem to focus more on the agency of Kashikiya Hime and suggest that she had more say than people tend to give her credit for. That said, Shotoku Taishi seems to have been the legendary figure that was just real enough to ascribe success to. That he died before he could assume the throne just meant that he didn’t have too many problematic decisions of his own to apparently work around.
The next major figure seems to be Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou. Naka no Oe kicks off the period of Great Change, the Taika era, and is credited with a lot of the changes—though I can’t help but notice that the formal sovereign, Naka no Oe’s uncle, Karu, seems to have stuck with the new vision of the Toyosaki Palace and the administrative state while Naka no Oe and his mother moved back to the traditional capital. And when Naka no Oe moved the capital to Ohotsu, he once again built a palace more closely aligned to what we see in Asuka than the one in Naniwa, which brings some questions about how the new court was operating. But many of his reforms clearly were implemented, leveraging the new concepts of continental rulership to solidify the court’s hegemony over the rest of the archipelago.
Ohoama, as represented in the Chronicles, appears to be the culmination of these three. He is building on top of what his brother had implemented through the last three reigns. Some of what he did was consolidate what Naka no Oe had done, but there were also new creations, for which Ohoama is credited, even if most of the work was done outside of Ohoama’s reign, but they were attributed to Ohoama, nonetheless. Much of this was started later in Ohoama’s reign, and even today there seem to be some questions about who did what. Nonetheless, we can at least see how the Chroniclers were putting the story together.
There are a lot of scholars that point to the fact that the bulk of the work of these projects would actually be laid out in the following reigns, and who suggest that individuals like the influential Uno no Sarara, who held the control of the government in Ohoama’s final days, may have had a good deal more impact on how things turned out, ultimately. In fact, they might even have been more properly termed her projects—there are some that wonder if some of the attributions to Ohoama were meant to bolster the authority of later decrees, but I don’t really see a need for that, and it seems that there is enough evidence to suggest that these projects were begun in this period.
All of this makes it somewhat ironic that by the time the narrative was consolidated and published to the court, things were in a much different place—literally. The Fujiwara capital had been abandoned. The court, temples, and the aristocracy had picked up stakes and moved north. Fujiwara no Fuhito had come on the scene, and now his family was really taking off. This was not the same world that the Chronicles had been designed around.
And yet, that is what was produced. Perhaps there is a reason that they ended where they did.
From that point on, though, there were plenty of other projects to record what was happening. Attempts to control the narrative would need to do a lot more. We see things like the Sendai Kuji Hongi, with its alternative, and perhaps even subversive, focus on the Mononobe family. And then later works like the Kogoshui, recording for all time the grievances of the Imbe against their rivals—for all the good that it would do. With more people learning to write, it was no longer up to the State what did or did not get written down.
But that has taken us well beyond the scope of this reign—and this episode, which we should probably be bringing to a close. There are still some things here and there that I want to discuss about this reign—so the next episode may be more of a miscellany of various records that we haven’t otherwise covered, so far.
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

Wittkamp, Robert F. (2026). Reading the Nihon Shoki: Chinese Encyclopedias, Source Criticism and Historical Writing in Old Japan. ISBN 9783695198436
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Bentley, J.R. (2020). The Birth of Japanese Historiography (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780367809591
McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
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 142: The Four Great Temples

February 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Yakushiji in Nara. When it was moved from the Asuka region, it was built in relatively the same configuration, and so despite its later construction, it gives a good example of what the temples of the time would have looked like, generally speaking. Photo by author.

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This episode we are looking at the Four Great Temples… and a few others. These are the early “National Temples” that were directly administered by the state, receiving, in turn, state grants of sustenance-fiefs. They were, among other things, expected to conduct ritual on behalf of the Yamato state—and more specifically the court and the sovereign. They thus held a pride of place that is both political and religious.

Asukadera, aka Hōkōji (飛鳥寺・法興寺)

Later known as Gangōji (元興寺), the name used by the transferred temple, today, in modern Nara city. This temple was founded by Soga no Umako on part of the Soga family estate. The Gangōji Garan Engi, which tells the story of the founding of Gangōji, is also the document that gives us the date 538 for the earliest reference for Buddhism in the archipelago. Today, the site of Asukadera is still occupied by a much smaller temple, which contains an image thought to have been one of those from the original temple. The rest of the temple buildings have long been lost and only a small part of the previous compound is currently occupied.

Kudara Ōdera, aka Takechi Ōdera, aka Daikandaiji (百済大寺・高市大寺・大官大寺)

This temple would later be known as Daianji (大安寺) after it was moved up to modern Nara city, and it is through the records of that temple that we get confirmation that helps us understand its history. There is still a lot of speculation as to the various locations that this temple stood. It appears that the temple ruins at Kibi Pond are the most likely. It was later moved to somewhere in Takechi district, and renamed Takechi Great Temple. Then it was likely moved one more time, though by that point it was already known as Daikandaiji, the Great Temple of the Royal Court.

Kawaradera (川原寺)

This temple we know the least about in terms of its founding. If there was a comparable “Garan Engi”, it seems to have been lost, and the Nihon Shoki does not go into much detail on it. It is the only temple of the four that was not transferred to the new capital in Nara. Today, you can see the foundations at the old temple site, though a new, much smaller temple, Gufuku-ji, has been built on top.

Yakushiji (薬師寺)

A temple specifically to Yakushi Nyorai (薬師如来), aka the Medicine Buddha, it was the last of the four built, and was dedicated in order to gain merit for Ōama’s wife, Queen Uno no Sarara, who had taken ill. It would not be completed until after Ōama’s death. It was built in conjunction with the new Fujiwara capital that they were building around the same time, and you can go see the site where we believe it was. When it was moved to modern Nara it kept its name and appears to have largely kept its layout as well.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 142: The Four Great Temples

Rising up into the sky, the bronze spire atop the pagoda seemed to touch the heavens. The beams, doors, and railings were all painted bright red, with white walls, and green painted bars on the windows. At each level, the eaves swept out, covered in dark ceramic tiles, with shining bronze plaques covering the ends of the roof beams. At each corner, a bronze bell hung, chiming in the breeze. This pattern continued upwards, tier after tier.
Around the base of the pagoda, throngs of government officials dressed in their formal robes of office moved past, flowing through the temple’s central gates. As they passed, they looked up at the impressive tower, the largest of its kind in all of Yamato. From somewhere, a deep bell chimed, and the crowds made their way towards the lecture hall. There, the monks were prepared, with sutras and voices at the ready. Facing a sacred image, they would read through their sutras in unison. Their voices would carry through the great empty space and reverberate through the crowds—those that could get close enough to hear, anyway. The chanting created a musical cacophony.     In that sea of human voices, one could almost sense something more—something spiritual. A power, that one could almost believe could hold at bay just about any disaster that could befall a person—or even the state itself.

Alright, so this episode we are still in the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou. I know we’ve already seen how that ends, but there is still a lot to cover.
But before I go too far, I’d like to first give a shout out to Lisa for helping to support the show on Ko-Fi. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it. If you would like to support us as well, we’ll have more information at the end of this, and every episode.
We’ve talked about how the reign of Ohoama was a time where the court reinforced, but also subtly adjusted, the laws of the Ritsuryo state. They seem to have equally courted the Kami, Buddhism, and even continental ideas of yin and yang. Today we are going to dive into Buddhism and the State. More specifically, I want to talk about something called the Yondaiji, the Four Great Temples, and look at how these government temples, also known as “kanji” or “Tsukasa no dera” came to be, what we know about them from archaeological research, and the role they played in the State. This is going to probably recap things from earlier episodes. I am also drawing a lot from a book by Donald F. McCallum called, appropriately, “The Four Great Temples”, which goes into a lot more detail than I’ll be able to get into, here, but I recommend it for those who are really interested in this subject.
Up to this point, we’ve talked a little about the relationship that the court had with Buddhism. By the late 7th century, Buddhism had spread throughout the archipelago, and there were many temples likely created by local elites. Sensoji, in Asakusa, Tokyo, claims a founding of 628, though it may have actually been founded sometime just after 645. There are other temples around Japan, far from the Home Provinces, which likewise had similar claims to being founded in the early to late 7th century, and I question how much a role the government had in each of them.
. In 673, there were two temple-related mentions of note in the Chronicles. In one of Ohoama’s earliest edicts he orders the copying of the Issaiko, the Buddhist canon, at Kawaradera.   That same year, 673, Prince Mino and Ki no Omi no Katamaro—whom we discussed last episode—were sent to build Takechi temple, later known as Daikandaiji. I mention Daikandaiji specifically because
while it was originally built as the Temple of Takechi, at some point took on that other name—“Daikandaiji”, aka Ohotsukasa no Ohodera—which Aston translates as the “Great Temple of the Great Palace”, as it appears to have specifically been designated as the great temple of the government. In other words, it is one of a few National Temples. And this became particularly important in the year 680, which is the year we are told the government stopped administering—and, more importantly, stopped funding—all but a handful of so-called “national temples”. At this point, as I’ve mentioned, Buddhism was widespread enough that there were enough adherents that could maintain their own local temples. Of course, local elites likely found some cachet in funding temples, and communities of believers in various areas would likewise have been asked to provide funds as well.
So the court accordingly declared that going forward, the government would only administer 2 or 3 national temples. For all other temples, if tthey had been granted the proceeds of sustenance-fiefs, those would be limited, from the first year to the last, of 30 years in total. As I read it, that indicates that if they had received the fiefs 15 years ago, they would be allowed to hold onto them for another 15 years, after which point they would need to find alternative sources of funding.
The early national temples appear to be Daikandaiji and Kawaradera. Finally, there is Yakushiji, which Ohoama began construction on in 680 for his queen, Uno no Sarara, when she was ill—and just hold on to that for now. Interestingly, Asukadera, or Houkouji, in many ways the original national temple, was not designated as such in the new reorganization, but it would continue to be administered by the government as a temple in a special arrangement. That’s why the original count in the Nihon Shoki mentions “2 or 3” national temples instead of four.
These four temples are mentioned in the Shoku Nihongi, the Chronicles following the Nihon Shoki, as the Four Great Temples, or Yondaiji. Although that work wasn’t compiled and published until the end of the 8th century, the term Yondaiji appears in an entry for 702, about five years after the last entry in the Nihon Shoki, and over a decade before its publication
So at this point we’re going to look at each of these “great” temples individually, plus a couple of other important ones, and what they tell us about the history of Buddhism, Buddhist temples, and the Yamato state at this point in Ohoama’s reign.
The first of these four temples, chronologically, is Asukadera. This is the temple originally built by the Soga, and the first major Buddhist temple built. Its layout shows three separate golden image halls, or kondou. And here we should probably recap something about the general layout of a Buddhist temple, so we can understand what we are talking about.
The most important buildings in a Buddhist temple at this time were the kondou, the golden image halls; the pagoda, or stupa; and the koudou, or lecture hall. The golden image halls held golden Buddhist images—Buddhas, Boddhisatvas, Arthats, and more. These rooms are often somewhat dark, and would have been lit mainly by candles, as well as the sun coming through—though even then the sun often is obscured by overhanging rooves and latticework. Sometimes the doors would have small openings so that the sun’s rays strike in a particular way at different times. All of this presents an image of bright gleaming gold in the darkness—a metaphor for the teachings of the Buddha, but also an intentionally awe inspiring display for those who came to view them and pray.
The kondo were usually the first structures to be built for a temple, so if your temple had nothing else, it probably had an image hall.
The next structure that one would probably build would be the stupa, or pagoda. A pagoda was a tower, in which were sometimes kept images, but more importantly, it would often hold some kind of relic. The idea of the stupa originated as a place to house relics—often bone fragments and teeth attributed to the Buddha, even if those were actually precious stones. Stupas were originally (and still, in many places) large mounds, but as Buddhism made its way over the Silk Road, these were replaced with multi-tiered towers. Pagodas are often 3 or 5 storeys, though the number of stories can go up to 7 or 9 or as low as 1.    Once again, in a world where most buildings, other than perhaps a specially made lookout tower, were only one or maybe two stories in height, a three to five story pagoda must have been something to behold, especially covered with tiled eaves, adorned with bronze bells, and brightly painted in the continental fashion.
In Europe I would point to similar uses of gold and ostentatious ornamentation on the cathedrals of the day, and even in churches more generally, if on a smaller scale. This is meant to impress and thus lend authority to the institution. And of course, because that institution was so closely aligned to the State, it gave the State authority as well. We mentioned, previously, how the monumental structures of the kofun had given way to the Buddhist temples as a form of ritual display.
The last of the three buildings I would mention is the lecture hall, or Koudou. This would also likely have Buddhist images, but it was more of a functional hall for conducting rituals, including recitation of sutras and presenting Buddhist teachings. The koudou was often at the back or north end of the temple complex. In early Buddhist temple layouts, it was common to have everything in a straight line, more or less, and to remain symmetrical. So there would be a main gate through which one would enter. In front of you there you probably saw the pagoda. Beyond the pagoda was a path, and then the kondou, or image hall, typically with a lantern in front, and behind that was the koudou, or lecture hall.
This was all typically oriented on a north-south axis, such that one would enter through the southern gate and walk north towards the lecture hall. The north-south orientation is likely another feature from the continent, where the most important buildings were often south-facing, and thus in the north of the compound. This was the same with the palace layout, and likely for similar reasons—not just cultural, but also practical. After all, the sun, in the northern hemisphere, remains slightly to the south, and so this would have provided the most light through the day.

This layout was not strictly adhered to, however. For instance, if we look at Asukadera, you would enter through the southernmost gate and you were then met with another gate for an inner compound. This middle gate would lead you to a large courtyard, about 320 meters on a side, with a covered walkway, or gallery, along the entire circumference of the compound. Entering through the middle gate one would have first noticed the large pagoda and not one but three golden image halls. A path led to the pagoda, and then beyond from the pagoda to the central kondou. There is even a stone where a large bronze lantern was likely situated between the pagoda and the kondou. Based on archaeological evidence, it appears that there was originally just one image hall, directly north of the pagoda, but at a later date, they added two more kondou to the east and west of the pagoda. This has been compared to a temple layout found in Goguryeo, but given that these were likely later additions, and we know that Baekje artisans were involved, I suspect that is just later coincidence.
Connecting the layout of the temples to continental examples has been a keen area of study for many scholars. The general theory is that temple layouts can help point to whether there was more of a Baekje, Silla, or Goguryeo influence during the construction of the temple, and what that might have meant for Yamato’s international relations as well as various political factions in the court who may have leaned more towards one group or another.
The last building at Asukadera, the koudou, or lecture hall, was directly north of the kondou, but you couldn’t get there directly. The entire pagoda and image hall compound was separate from the lecture hall, which stood north and apart, though still on the temple grounds, which would have been surrounded by an outer wall.

At this point, since we’re talking about the layout of Asukadera and where it came from, I’m going to digress from the next of the four great temples and talk about two other early temples that are important for understanding Buddhist temple building at this time. So bear with me for this slight detour.
The first of these is Shitennoji, the Temple of the Four Heavenly Kings, in modern Osaka. This temple is said to have been built in 593, and is attributed to Shotoku Taishi. Presumably he made a vow to do so during the war between the Soga and the Mononobe, which we discussed back in episode 91. As you may recall from that and earlier episodes, the Mononobe were considered to be against the idea of Buddhism, while the Soga were promoting it.
Shitennouji was important, but doesn’t show up in the Chronicles as much as other temples, and was all the way over in Naniwa. As such, I suspect that it was not considered a good candidate for “national” temple status at the time. Still, if we look at the original layout, Shitennoji is quite similar to what we see in Asukadera. Everything is on a north-south axis. You go through a middle gate to the inner compound. There you find a pagoda, and past that, a lantern and then the kondou. Unlike Asukadera, the koudou, or lecture hall, is incorporated into the back wall, such that the gallery continues from the middle gate around to either side, and then meets at the sides of the lecture hall. There are also east and west gates, as well as other buildings, but the main layout is pretty comparable.
The second is another temple, which also lays claim to being founded by Prince Shotoku Taishi, and which was not included in the four great temples. This may have had to do with the fact that it wasn’t in the Asuka valley, but also may have had to do with just the timing. That temple is the famous one known as Horyuji. Horyuji was founded on the site of the Ikaruga palace, said to have been the home of none other than Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi. As such, one imagines it was quite the prominent temple in its day. However, it was at a distance from the capital, and it also had the misfortune to have burned down in about 670, just before Ohoama ascended the throne, and it wasn’t fully rebuilt until about 711, leaving a forty year gap where the temple was not necessarily at the forefront of Buddhism.
Still, like Shitennoji, it is interesting to look at the original layout for Horyuji and compare it to Asukadera. First off, you have the same north-south orientation, and you have the same separate, internal compound for the image hall and the pagoda. Unlike in Asukadera, however, the kondou and the pagoda, which both faced south, were on an east-west axis, flanking the central pathway. Entering through the middle gate one would have seen a five storey pagoda on the left and the kondo on the right. The Koudou was outside the inner compound in the rear, along that central north-south axis. There is also evidence of two other buildings. One likely held a large bell—and possibly a drum—and the other was likely a sutra repository, where they could keep holy texts and various ritual implements.
I will also note that, even though Horyuji burned down in 670 and was accordingly not that prominent during Ohoama’s reign, it is absolutely worth visiting because substantial portions of those rebuilt buildings are still standing today. Indeed, both the Horyuji pagoda and kondou are among the oldest wooden buildings in the world. The central pillar of the pagoda was felled in 594 according to dendrochronological dating. The kondou was damaged by fire during a restoration in 1949, but about 15-20% of the original building from 670 still remains.
Going back to the Great Temples, the next of these to be built was Kudara Ohodera. Kudara here means “Baekje”, but this appears to refer more to the temple’s location near the Kudara river, rather than to the kingdom of Baekje. Kudara Ohodera is remarkable in a couple of different ways. First off, there is the fact that it is the first temple with a firm royal lineage—that is to say a temple that claims to have been founded by the sovereign. Asukadera was founded by Soga no Umako, the Prime Minister, and though Prince Umayado is said to have been the Crown Prince, nonetheless, he never reigned as sovereign, though he was considered the founder of both Shitenouji and Houryuuji. Kudara Ohodera, however, is said to have been founded at the behest of Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, who reigned from 629-641. The temple appears to get its start in a record dated to 639, and by 645 it appears to be fully operational.
There is another tale of its founding—in the Daianji Engi, the history of Daianji, a successor temple to Kudara Ohodera, there is mention of a Kumagori Dojo, and many modern histories claim that this was the actual first temple, but there isn’t much evidence. Donald McCallum, in his treatment of Kudara Ohodera’s history in his book, “The Four Great Temples”, suggests that the Kumagori Dojo story is likely a later legendary founding that got recorded, as there is scant evidence for it, and no mention of it in other records. On the actual founding of Kudara Ohodera, however, there does appear to be general agreement with the Nihon Shoki, despite some minor differences in the dates.
The call to build Kudara Ohodera comes alongside Tamura’s also building Kudara Palace. Kudara Ohodera was also built on a grand scale, and it is said to have had a nine-storey pagoda—almost double the size of a five-storey pagoda, which already towered over other buildings of the time.
Despite all of this, for a long time it was unclear where Kudara Ohodera was actually situated. There were several sites proposed, but most recently archaeological research on Kibi Pond seems to have placed the temple there. At excavations on the southern side of the pond were found remnants of the foundations of two buildings, arranged in an east-west format. The western foundation would appear to be for a pagoda—but one much larger than any of the five storey pagodas we’ve seen elsewhere. And to the east was the foundation for what appears to be the kondo. This golden image hall, however, is likewise much larger than any other hall of this time. This arrangement would fit very well with a Houryuuji-like temple layout. There were also various other traces that were consistent with the early mid-7th century, which would coincide with the 639-645 dates for Kudara Ohodera’s construction.
Subsequent excavations appear to have found quarters for the priests, as well as at least part of a gallery wall and one gate, situated due south of the kondo. There may have been another gate south of the pagoda. The koudou, the lecture hall, may have been in the area that was later excavated to create the pond, and therefore we may never have any hard evidence of its location, despite numerous attempts to dig trenches to find more of the temple buildings. This probably also means that, similar to Shitennouji, the lecture hall was incorporated into the enclosing gallery wall rather than being outside, because if it was outside, then it likely would have been farther north and we would probably have seen some trace. As it is, the lack of any trace suggests that it was inside or part of the enclosure with the pagoda and kondou.
The large size of this archeological site concurs with what we know about Kudara Ohodera, both in its description and in the fact that it is referred to as “Ohodera”, or “Great Temple”—no other temple has really been given that name directly, though there are a few references to “Ohodera” that are ambiguous and might refer either to this temple or Asukadera.. Still, if this temple, sometimes also called Kibi Pond Temple due to its location, is not Kudara Ohodera then that just brings up more questions. How could there have been such a monumental Buddhist temple this close to Asuka and within the bounds of the later Fujiwara-kyo and yet nobody thinks to mention it? It doesn’t appear to have been started and abandoned, as there were quite a few structures built. So if this isn’t Kudara Temple then someone has some ‘splaining to do.
Indeed, McCallum notes that while there are some objections, the preponderance of evidence seems to lean greatly in favor of the Kibi Pond site for Kudara Ohodera. We still have yet to find the Kudara palace, however, so who knows. There are also questions about the construction as various architectural features are missing in ways that are not consistent with other sites. Some oddities, such as a seeming lack of rooftiles given the apparent size of the building, actually may be a point in favor of this being Kudara Ohodera, since we know that the temple was moved in 673 when Ohoama requested that they build the Takechi Ohodera, which appears to have been Kudara’s successor temple. If they had reused the material from Kudara Ohodera to build, at least in part, Takechi Ohodera, that could explain why rooftiles and other such things are not present in the numbers expected at the Kibi Pond site.
Takechi Ohodera is another bit of a mystery. I can’t help but note that Takechi is the name given Ohoama’s son who was with him on the front lines of the Jinshin no Ran. We also see a “Takechi no Agata-nushi”, who is noted as the governor of the district of Takechi. In all cases here it is spelled “Taka-ichi”, or “high market”, and it is not an uncommon name—we even find a Miwa no Kimi no Takechimaro.
In the record of the Jinshin no Ran it is noted that the governor of Takechi was possessed by the kami of Takechi and of Musa. These were named as Kotoshironushi and Ikuikazuchi. They claimed that they had been the kami that escorted Ohoama to Fuwa and saw him safely there. As such, donations were made to their shrines. Musa is an area in modern Takaichi district, which includes the area of Asuka, and is part of Kashihara city. The Takaichi Agata Jinja—or the Takechi District Shrine—sits in the Shijo area of Kashihara city, north of Mt. Unebi.
There are several proposed locations for Takechi Ohodera, but despite excavations, no clear temple features have been found. As such, there isn’t anything to clearly point to one or the other.
What we do know is that Takechi Ohodera underwent another transformation. According to the Daianji Engi, the Takechi Ohodera was renamed to Daikandaiji in 677. There is no specific mention of this in the Nihon Shoki, other than a note that Takechi Ohodera was also known as Daikandaiji and a reference, in 679, of “fixing the names”. Personally, I can’t help but wonder if this is a case of a nickname becoming the name-in-fact. As I mentioned earlier in the episode, Daikandaijij, which can also be read as “Oho-tsukasa no Oho-tera” can be translated into something like Great Government Official Great Temple or Great Temple of the Royal Court.
We do know the location of this temple in later years, but this is probably not exactly where Takechi Ohodera was originally built. For one thing, it is suspicious that the temple lines up exactly with the later grid for Fujiwara-kyo, the later capital city that was built north of Asuka. We also are told by the Daianji Engi that a nine storey pagoda and kondou were built between 697 and 707 CE. There are also notes about activities at the temple mentioned in the Shoku Nihongi for the same period. And yet there were also activities being held during that time which would not seem feasible if they were renovating in place. So likely the new construction was at a new site—possibly near the old site. And at this later site, the rooftiles were from a later period, closer to the period of the later construction and not really matching with earlier construction dates.
So what did this temple of many names – Kudara Ohodera, then Takechi Ohodera, then Daikandaiji – actually look like? We probably have a layout for the original temple and the later temple. If Kibi Pond Temple is the original Kudara Ohodera, the original temple had the kondou and the pagoda on the same east-west axis, and likely had the koudou north of that – very Horyuji-like. But based on the layout at the later temple site, we have something quite different. From the central gate, there is a path straight towards the Kondou, with the Koudou directly north of that, and the nine-storey pagoda in an odd, off-set position, southeast of the kondou. This disrupts the symmetry even more than the Kudara Ohodera layout. There is some speculation that this asymmetry was temporary and that they planned to fill the other space but just never got around to it, but there is no indication that they had prepared for anything, either. Also odd is the fact that the koudou, the lecture hall, was the same size as the image hall, the kondou, and that was roughly the same size as the enormous hall at Toudaiji, which is really saying something. This really was a tremendous building, fitting for the main temple of the royal government.
The third of the four great temples is Kawaradera, and this one is challenging to plot out chronologically as there isn’t a lot of documentation. There is no exact date for the building of Kawaradera. There is a mention of it in 653, but the same entry in the Nihon Shoki also states that there are sources that claim it should be Yamadadera, instead. Based on other evidence, this actually seems more likely.
Yamadadera is thought to have been the work of Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, and it is where he eventually fled when accused of treason. It was founded in 641, according to the Joguki, the record of Prince Shotoku, but construction didn’t actually start until2 years later, and monks only began to occupy it in 648. The following year, however, construction halted as that is when Ishikawa no Maro fled there and committed suicide. Construction was resumed in 663, but still took time. Still, even in the middle of this very long DIY project, it makes sense that there might be some activities in 653, even if construction was paused.   Later the temple would be completed, and seems to have had powerful backing. Uno no Sarara, Ohoama’s queen, was a granddaughter of Ishikawa no Maro, and so likely had a connection to the temple, but it never attained the status of a national temple the way the others had. As far as its layout—it was similar to Shitennouji, with the pagoda, kondo, and koudou all in a line on the north-south axis.
Kawaradera was another matter. Though we aren’t sure when it was built, exactly. If we discount the 653 date as applying to Yamadadera instead, then the first date we really see anything at Kawara is Kawara Palace, built for Takara Hime—aka Saimei Tennou—who took up residence there when the Itabuki Palace burned. Later it would be used for her mogari—her temporary interment. The next mention of a temple at Kawara isn’t until this reign, in 673, when Ohoama had the Buddhist canon, the Issaiko, copied, as I noted at the top of the episode. So it must have been established and built some time before 673.
Although we don’t know when it was founded, we very clearly know where it was, as the foundations stones are still present, and quite clear—and unlike other Asuka era temples, it would stay in Asuka, rather than being removed up to the new capital at Heijo-kyo.
Given everything else and its apparent importance, the lack of information on when Kawaradera was established is quite odd. McCallum suggests that this could have been deliberate as a way to help delegitimize the temple in the 8th century, but also admits that it may have just been due to the general problems with early record keeping back in the day and there may not have been a good record of why and when the temple was founded. The rooftiles are similar to those used during the time that the court was at Ohotsu. I would also note that there is a connection between the foundation stones and a quarry up near Ohotsu at what is, today, Ishiyamadera. That still doesn’t tell us when Kawaradera was founded, as that could have been any time, and doesn’t necessarily mean that it was during the time the court was in Ohotsu.
Regardless of what textual evidence does or does not exist, the archaeological evidence is pretty staggering. Even today you can go and see some of the exposed foundation stones. This was a massive temple. There was a south gate and then a middle gate just north of that. The main enclosure was divided into two courtyards. In the first, just beyond the middle gate, at the north end was the middle kondo, while in the courtyard itself, facing each other on an east-west axis, was a western kondou and the temple pagoda. Past the middle kondou was a larger courtyard, with the koudou, or lecture hall, in the north, with a bell tower or sutra hall in the south west and southeast corners. The walls of the enclosure were made up of a covered gallery, and around the outside of the northern courtyard, containing the koudou, were smaller chambers believed to be the monks quarters, something we don’t necessarily see at all of the other sites.
Despite being an important temple, and one of the Four Great Temples during the Asuka periods, when the capital eventually moved to Heijo-kyo, in modern Nara, Kawaradera had the distinction of being the only one of the four that was not moved as well. All three of the other Great Temples had new compounds built in Heijo-kyo, and the temples were thus “transferred” to the new capital. Presumably that means that most of the monks and administration moved there, and those new temples took up the roles, duties, and responsibilities of the old temples. The temple complexes in Asuka were not necessarily destroyed or deconstructed, but instead were apparently left to their own devices, becoming reduced in status. Many of them fell into disrepair, and when disasters, such as fire, struck they were not rebuilt to the same extent as before, if at all.

Kawaradera, however, appears to have not been transferred. It would eventually be replaced as one of the Four Great Temples by the temple of Koufukuji, which was specifically a temple for the Fujiwara family, who were having a bit of a moment in the Nara period. Some have speculated that Kawaradera was specifically left behind in Asuka for that reason—so that the Fujiwara family temple could sneak into the ranks of national temples. Or it may have been that Kawaradera had a particular connection to Takara Hime and the site of her interment. If it was a memorial temple to her, then perhaps it didn’t seem appropriate to remove it from its physical location. McCallum also suggests that it was so powerful in its position in Asuka that it preferred to stay and keep its stipend-fiefs, perhaps believing that even the move to Heijo-kyo would be just another short fad, as had been Ohotsu and Fujiwara-kyo. Of course, if so, they were sorely mistaken.
And so Kawaradera would eventually fade from the picture, but during the time of Ohoama’s reign, and into that of his immediate successors, it seems that it certainly held some sway.
The fourth of the Four Great Temples was the temple of Yakushiji—the temple of the Medicine Buddha. This is the latest temple of the bunch. Its construction was ordered in the year 680 in response to Ohoama’s queen, Uno no Sarara, falling ill. And so he vowed to build a temple for her—specifically a temple to Yakushi Nyorai, the Medicine Buddha, whom we discussed last episode. That said, there is considerable time between the order to construct a temple and getting enough of it built to actually be functional. I haven’t really touched on this, except when I briefly discussed Yamadadera and how long that took to build, but all of these temples were massive works, much more complicated than the traditional palace buildings. For the most part, palace architecture could be built relatively quickly with the tools and labor available. This was a good thing, seeing as how, for many years, the sovereign had moved again and again, either because of the previous sovereign’s death in the palace or just because they chose a new location for a palace. As such, one couldn’t spend years building a new palace. So palace buildings were simply made with wooden posts, sunk into the ground, with thatched roofs. In a few examples we see attempts to use wooden boards or tiles, but they weren’t complicated.
A temple, on the other hand, was something different. Temples were largely wood, but they were massive in size and their roofs were covered in heavy ceramic tiles. All of that weight had to be properly distributed on a strong base—simple posts were not likely to work. Instead they were built on raised stone foundations. That’s great for us looking at them, today, but at the time it would have been an inordinate amount of labor. Hence why a temple like Yamadadera took so long to build.
So Yakushiji may have been founded in 680, but was likely not finished until much later, which is why we don’t really see it in the records for Ohoama’s reign and why the order for national temples probably only states that there were just two or three. However, it would become one of the four great temples, and is also notable because, in its transfer to Heijokyo, it largely retained its shape and layout, meaning that you can go to it, today, and still get some sense of what it may have been like back in the Asuka period. Granted, there are certainly differences, but there are enough similarities that it is likely worth a visit. Many of the other temples were significantly modified when they were rebuilt in the new capital in Nara.
The layout for Yakushiji is a basic rectangular layout. North of the central gate there is not one, but two pagodas, on an east-west axis from each other, flanking the path to the kondo, roughly in the center. Finally the koudou at the north end, built into the roofed gallery. The modern Yakushiji, a UNESCO world heritage site, maintains one of the pagodas from 730. Other buildings have been lost and rebuilt over the years. Today, the covered gallery only goes around half of the compound. This temple would be important, but mostly in the period following the current reign.
This period of the four Great Temples perhaps gives us some insight into the relationship between Buddhism and the State. Early on, Buddhism was the province largely of the Soga family, and Soga no Umako was apparently the most powerful figure of his day. He founded Asukadera, and early temples weree founded by Soga or their associates, including Prince Umayado. McCallum points out that the National Temples, however, were, with one exception, founded by sovereigns. Kudara Ohodera was the first, Kawaradera was likely founded for Takara Hime, and Yakushiji was founded for Queen Uno. The only one of the four that wasn’t expressly founded on a sovereign’s order was that of Asukadera, the temple by Soga no Umako. This may explain why it was both included and excluded as a national temple in the Chronicles. After all, there is no doubting its importance, but the narrative of a single, strong, royal house is somewhat impeded by the idea that one of those temples was founded by what was, for all of his power and authority, a private individual. Ultimately they didn’t include it in the edict and yet still acknowledged it as one of the Great Temples.
McCallum also points out that these four may not have been fixed quite so early on. For example, on the matter of Houryuuji—there is a bronze plaque that mentions an “Ikaruga no Ohodera”, suggesting that the Ikaruga Temple—that is to say Houryuuji, founded on the estates of Prince Umayado—was at one time granted that title. Of course, there are questions as to the exact date of the inscription, and whether or not they meant “Ohodera” in the later sense of a national temple or simply in the sense that it was large; and the term may have meant something else, earlier on.
The roster of official temples, the Tsukasa no Tera or Kanji, would grow over time, but that is something for a later period. It is worth noting, though, that the Chronicles at this point seem to distinguish between three types or levels of temples at this time, based on other edicts that we see. There is also the matter of temple names.
The first edict is from the 5th day of the 4th lunar month of 679, six years into Ohoama’s reign. The declaration states that the court would consider the history of any temple with sustenance fiefs and add or remove them as appropriate. This suggests that there were temples with sustenance fiefs—that is, that had stipends based on lands whose official output went to their upkeep—and temples without such fiefs. The latter were likely more local temples, likely funded by local elites, possibly out of actual devotion, or an attempt to gain the power that Buddhism presumably brought, or possibly just in emulation of the central court, much as the peripheral elites had also constructed the keyhole shaped kofun. Along with the adjustments of stipends, we are also told that the administration quote-unquote “fixed” the names of the temples.
This again goes to the government’s control of the temples and Buddhism. McCallum suggests that what is meant here is that they moved away from locative names to Buddhist names for the temple; up to this point, temple names appear to be about the location of the temple. So we have Asuka dera, or Asuka Temple, built in Asuka. Kudara Ohodera is Kudara Great Temple because it was by the Kudara river and the Kudara palace. When it was moved to Takechi, they changed the name to Takechi temple. Kawaradera was at Kawara, while the temple we know as Houryuuji was known at the time as Ikaruga Temple—or possibly Ikaruga Great Temple. But later these temples would be known by their Buddhist names, so Asukadera is Houkouji. Kudara Ohodera becomes Daikandaiji—and in fact, it is after this point that we see Daikandaiji in the narrative. Ikaruga dera—though not one of the yondaiji, or four Great Temples—becomes Horyuuji. I’m not quite so sure about Kawaradera, but Yakushiji, which is founded after this decree, comes to us with a Buddhist name rather than just the name of a location.
This change in name likely simplified, somewhat, the concept of moving, or transferring the temples. Rather than establishing a brand new temple with new administration and everything, they could build a new temple, but grant it the name and rights of the old temple. The old temple grounds could still be used and occupied—it was still a temple, but it was no longer the temple, at least for official purposes. It would be strange, however, to move the Asuka Temple up to the area of modern Nara city and still call it the Asuka Temple.
The year after reassessing the stipends and fixing the names of the temples we get the edict about the 2 or 3 national temples. And we’ve mostly discussed that, but here I would just point out that it does add a third distinction to the types of temples. So we have temples with no stipends, temples with stipends—but they would only last for 30 years total after which they were expected to find new sources of funding—and the national temples, which would presumably receive funding through the government in perpetuity—or until the court changed its mind.
So why do we care about any of this? Obviously Buddhism has had a huge impact on Japanese culture. However, this isn’t just about the religion as an idea, but about the institutions. These temples—especially these great temples—contained a fair amount of wealth.   It wasn’t just the golden images, or the elaborate amount of work and materials that went into the creation of the buildings. There was also the sustenance-fiefs that were paying for the upkeep. These temples were also being managed by formal government administrators. They also performed rituals that the court relied on. Association with these temples was no doubt important. Later we see princes and other members of high status families taking high ranking positions, and the temples ended up cultivating their own power. Over time, the power of various Buddhist institutions would grow, often challenging or even rivaling the power of the court itself.
There are a few other items from this reign that we see related to these temples and Buddhism, more generally. In 677 we see a Buddhist festival at Asukadera, where the entire canon was apparently reda out. The sovereign himself showed up and did obeisance to the Three Precious Things—an interesting bit of religious piety and humility.   At the same time, he had all of the Princes and Ministers find one person each to renounce the world and become a monk or nun—both men and women were chosen, without apparent distinction. We are also assured that they all did so of their own volition, and weren’t forced.
In 679, we see a regulation on the clothing of priests and nuns, as well as the men and horses who accompanied them when they traveled. If priests are going around with a full on noble retinue, well, that probably says something about the status of priests—at least the abbots and heads of these institutions.
680 – A fire breaks out at the nunnery at Tachibana temple. Tachibanadera is situated south of Kawaradera, and similar to that temple, it seems to have previously been the site of a royal palace and also isn’t recorded as being founded in the Nihon Shoki—it appears fully formed in this record. Tachibanadera’s own records seem to suggest that it was founded in 606, and claims a founding by Shotoku Taishi. It is also said to be the site of the palace where Shotoku Taishi was born to his mother, Princess Anahobe no Hashibito, consort of Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Yomei Tennou. Shotoku Taishi is also the subject of the primary image of Tachibana temple, today.
Although Tachibanadera wasn’t one of the Four Great Temples, it was likely connected to one—Kawaradera. Not only was it built on the same north-south axis as Kawaradera, but some of the tiles are similar to Kawaradera’s founding tiles. The layout was similar to Yamada-dera or Shitennouji, with the pagoda, kondou, and kooudou, all in a single north-south orientation. It is possible that Kawaradera was a monastery for male monks while Tachibanadera may have been the complementary nunnery for female initiates.
680 had a lot going on. In the 10th lunar month, the sovereign handed out alms to monks and nuns—silk and cloth. A month later, Ohoama vowed Yakushiji in hopes that it would help his wife, Queen Uno, who was unwell. He also granted a general amnesty, likely to just add further merit. Apparently it was successful, as she would go on to live for quite some time after that, even helping to take the reins of government when Ohoama himself fell ill.
In 682, Princess Hidaka fell ill. 190 people, both men and women, were pardoned for capital or lesser crimes, in an attempt to make merit, and the following day we are told that over 140 people renounced the world at Daikandaiji—likely on the Princess’s behalf.
The year after that, 683, we see the sovereign making appointments to the official buddhist offices of Soujou, Soudzu, and Risshi—Doctors of the Law. This was probably a somewhat regular occurrence, though this is the first time we see the Risshi, it seems. The mention here is apparently due to the admonition given that “Those who control the monks and nuns should act according to the law.” Definitely seems to be something there—perhaps a reason as to why the Soujou and Soudzu were being appointed. But the Nihon Shoki doesn’t give us a lot more to go on other than speculation.
Later that same year, in the 7th lunar month, we see priests and nuns gathered at the palace for the first ever ango, or retreat. An ango is where priests and nuns of different temples are brought together. The term refers to a practice said to come from the time of Shakyamuni, before there were temples. Shakyamuni’s acolytes, who spent much of the year wandering, would return to one place during the rainy season. At that time they would listen and discuss Shakyamuni’s teachings. In some sects, this practice of coming together would be particularly important, and it was a mark of honor for how many retreats a monk might have attended over the years.
In 685, the court promoted Buddhism with an edict requiring every household to maintain a Buddhist altar, with a statue of the Buddha and a copy of a sutra inside. It is unclear to me if this was just for merit-making or what, but it must have been somewhat lucrative for the various temples, who would have likely been the source for said sutras, and, at least peripherally, the statues as well.
Later that year, in the 4th lunar month, there was another ango at the palace. The month after that, Ohoama went to Asukadera and presented precious objects and worshipped. In the 8th lunar month Ohoama went to Joudouji – Aston claims this is Asukadera, also known as Houkouji—and the next day he visited Kawaradera and provided rice to the monks there. One month after that, Ohoama was feeling ill, so the court ordered Daikandaiji, Kawaradera, and Asukadera—the three Great Temples that were fully operational at that point—to chant sutras for his sake. In return they were granted various quantities of rice.
Ohoama recovered for a time, but it was perhaps a precursor of what was to come. A month later a monk from Baekje and a lay monk were sent out to seek a medicinal herb known as white okera. Today, a similar compound is known in Chinese traditional medicine as Bái Zhú. A few months later Ohoama went to the medicinal herb garden of Shiranishiki, and a few weeks later he was presented with Bai Zhu, the boiled white okera.   That same day, ritualists performed the Chikonsai, the “Calling of the Spirit”. All of this seems to indicate the early onset of symptoms that may have been temporarily abated, but likely were part of the disease or illness that would eventually take his life.
But we covered most of that last episode, and we are already dragging on longer than I expected, so I think I’m going to end it here. Coming up in the narrative, since I started to mention it, I’ll probably take a look next at the founding of the new capital of Fujiwara kyo, and what that would mean, along with other initiatives that would outlive Ohoama.
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.
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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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

Episode 141: Temmu's New Year's Traditions

January 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

A 6th century haniwa showing the circular “tomo”, an archer’s traditional wrist-guard that would continue to be used for somee time, eventually fading out of fashion in later periods but still used for ceremonial purposes. They were designed to wrap around the wrist holding the bow. Haniwa from the Tokyo National Museum, photo by author,

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Welcome back to your regularly scheduled podcast. This episode we are looking at the festivities around the New Year during the reign of the sovereign known as Temmu, aka Ōama. Much of this involved feasting, gift-giving, and a regular archery tournament.

We also discuss some of the reasons that reading in translation can be a pain, and we look at Ōama’s eventual illness and death. Though that doesn’t mean we are finished with this period.

On the Archery Tournament of the New Year

There are various things we touch on in this episode, but one of them is the archery tournament of the new year. This isn’t the first mention of an archery competition around New Year, but it is certainly one of the first times it is mentioned with such frequency. Later this would come to be specifically on the 17th day of the first month, with traditions around who competed, how, and any prizes. There was even a later competition the next day for any who didn’t get to shoot on the first day.

This would have been archery on foot, rather than the famous yabusame, or horsed archery, and it is unclear to me at this point just how traditions changed over time. Still, I think we can glean a few things just from what we know of what was going on, and of the period and layout of everything. They would have had targets set up at a sizeable distance from the archers, there would have been places for spectators to watch, and a specified shooting location.

This wasn’t kyudo, at least not how we think of it today. There is no indication that the traditions of modern kyudo had been developed just yet. I suspect it was a little more wild and individualistic—though still something that one would want to attempt with grace and poise, given the venue.

From what we can see of other such events in later periods, safety was likely not as high on the minds of those attending. It is very likely that spectators would have lined either side of the lanes, trusting the archers to keep their arrows at least somewhere in the vicinity of their target. There were probably those down near the targets who were prepared to swap them out, retrieve arrows, and the like, during pauses in shooting. It would no doubt have driven modern range or field captain nearly insane, but it made for good spectacle.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 141: Temmu’s New Year’s Traditions

The chill winter air meant that most of the assembled crowd had donned multiple layers of robes. Men and women had assembled together, upon the open, rock-covered courtyard, both to see and be seen. To the north and east of the courtyard were the walls and gates of the buildings that made up the royal palace, the rooves of the buildings just visible beyond the gates.
The onlookers stood arrayed around the open lanes that had been created for the event—at one end of the rocky field were targets, while at the other were archers, also arrayed in their finest outfits. While technically they wore hunting robes, cut to allow greater movement in the arm, many of these fabrics had no business being anywhere near a moor or the dirt of open fields. After all, this wasn’t just some hunt: They were demonstrating their skills in the center of the State.
At the officials’ command, the archers let loose their arrows. The crowd murmured at the soft crack of the bowstring, the faint whisper of arrow as the fletchings cut through the air, and the thud as the arrows struck their targets. Looking downrange, approval bubbled through the crowd: the targets were well-struck. Behind the archers on the field, another group awaited their turn.
The events of the day would be the talk of the court, from the lowest clerk to the highest prince , for days to come.   Not just the well-placed shot, but also the grace and poise of the one who had let loose an arrow of particular note. And heaven forbid an arrow miss its target. Even kicking up stones or scraping the earth could have negative social consequences. A particularly good showing could inspire poetry, and beyond the prizes being offered to the winner, could also bring notice to those from more obscure backgrounds.
The new year had just started, and a good performance might be just what was needed to help put the rest of the year on a good footing.

Welcome back! This is the first episode of the new year, 2026, and we are still going through the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tenno, covering the period from 672 to 686.
Before we get started, though, a quick shout out to Suzuki for supporting us on Patreon. It means a lot and helps us keep this thing going. If you would like to support us or our efforts to maintain the website, where we also have the Armor manual, clothing, and a miscellany on various topics, we have information at Sengokudaimyo.com and we will have more information at the end of this and every episode. Support is appreciated as I really do want to try and minimize ads—I don’t put any into the podcast myself, though some platforms may place ads around the podcast, which I cannot always control.
Now we’ve covered a lot this reign, but this episode we are going to cover three things in particular. First off, and perhaps a bit of a tangent, we’ll talk about some of the issues with the Chronicles when it comes to reading it,especially in translation. It seems quite clear to me that even the sources that the Chroniclers were using weren’t always in agreement with each other on how they spelled certain things or even in properly recording when things happened.
After that we’ll cover the major topics of this episode, focusing primarily on the New Year traditions of the court—we’ll look at the major events of the first month for each year in the reign, allowing us to see some of the similarities, and differences.
Finally, we’ll look at the last year of Ohoama’s reign, particularly as he grew ill, because it can be a fascinating question: What did people do when disease struck before we had modern medicine? Here the Chronicles reveal a lot about not only the beliefs of the time, but of their syncretism: how people were willing to reach out to whatever power they could in order to cure disease. Whether it was Yin-yang divination, beseeching the local kami, or attempting to make merit, all of these things were on the table when it came to illness and mortality.
And so, let’s get into it.
One of the first things I want to talk about is the problem that we have in trying to read the Chronicles, both in the way they are written and then the translation issue on top of that. Even in Japanese the Chronicles have to be translated out of an ancient form of kanbun—basically a Japanese version of Chinese, using Sinitic characters.
Like any document written by non-native speakers, the Chronicles have their idiosyncrasies that make it different from what someone in Chang’an might be writing at the same time. There are times and places where it is clear that something is meant to be read in the Japanese pronunciation, which itself was different from modern Japanese. Add to this the fact that there are many times that different Sinitic characters sound alike in Japanese—especially in modern Japanese. So any English translation of the Chronicles which doesn’t give the actual characters in the source text can add to the confusion.
This is why I like to consult either the Japanese Historical Text Initiative or an electronic version of the National History series text—though even those have issues at times when the characters used in the text don’t exist in modern character sets, though that seems to be less and less of a problem.
One example I want to give of the complexities of reading the Chronicles, and the need to dive deeper into the original language and consult multiple versions, is a set of records for Ki no Omi no Abemaro and others. He is our first mention of a member of the Ki family: on the 9th day of the 8th month of 673, the first year since Ohoama’s ascension and one year after the Jinshin no Ran, we are told that Ki no Omi no Abemaro and others were given favors and rewards for their service during the war in Iga province. Indeed, Ki no Omi no Abemaro is listed prominently in the records of the Jinshin no Ran and appears to have been one of the generals for Ohoama and the Yoshino faction in general. Less than a year later, on the 28th day of the 2nd month, Ki no Omi no Abemaro died and was posthumously awarded the rank of Daishi, which was 5th from the top in the old system of 26 ranks. A rather respectable rank, to be sure.
Later that same year we get a note that Ki no Omi no KATAmaro—another member of the family, apparently--was appointed, along with a “Prince Mino” as a commissioner for the erection of the Great Temple of Takechi.
Two years later, however, we get a record on the 22nd day of the 4th month of 676 that the sovereign, Ohoama, sent an order to the Governor of Mino telling him to let the children of Ki no Omi no Abemaro, resident in the district of Toki, be removed to the East country and become peasants in that country. On the face of it, this appears to be an incredible fall from grace. Ki no Omi no Abemaro is basically one of the top generals and heroes of the Jinshin no Ran, but his children are so unruly that they are banished to the East and stripped of their noble status? There has to be a story there, right?
Then in 679, on the 3rd day of the 2nd month, we are told that Ki no Omi no Katamaro died. For his service in the Jinshin War he received the posthumous rank of Upper Daikin. That would have been roughly the 7th rank—two below Ki no Abemaro. So was the Ki family back in the good graces of the court? What is going on?
First off, when we go to the original text, we see that Aston, whose translation of the Nihon Shoki we’ve been working on Ihas made an apparent error in translation. Remember, Aston was translating the Chronicles back in 1896, without the aid of modern computers, along with a lot of other research that has happened since then, and I can hardly fault him for missing things here and there. This is why, if you cannot check the original, you may want to also look at the new translation from John Bentley. Here we can see that he translates the name not as “Ki no Omi no Abemaro”, but rather that of “Ki no Omi no KASAmaro”. And if we compare Ki no Omi no KaSAmaro with the previous entry on Ki no Omi no KaTAmaro we can see that these are actually the exact same names except for a single character.
Which leads us to the question: Are these the same person, and the scribes simply miswrote one of the characters in the name? It may not even be on the Chroniclers so much as whatever texts they were, themselves, working on. This isn’t helped by the fact that we later on see another entry for Ki no KATAmaro, but that one uses character for “KATA”, meaning “hard”, using the kun’yomi, or Japanese reading, rather than using two phonetic characters in the on’yomi reading. So is this just another way to write “KATAmaro” or is this a different person altogether?
Ultimately, we cannot be entirely sure. It does seem wild that there would be two “Ki no Omi no Katamaro” at court at the same time and nobody otherwise distinguished the two. The question about KaSAmaro and KaTAmaro, and whose kids were sent into exile, is a bit harder to untangle.
And, truth be told, it is ultimately a minor point. We have only a couple of lines here, and maybe these passages will help illuminate something later in the histories, but for now, they are just fragments of the story of what was happening. Parts of the tattered tapestry from which the royal history was ripped out and restitched together, the rest of the story largely discarded, unless it made its way to us through other means.
The Chronicles may be flawed, but they are still our main source for the period, and while we might challenge individual items, we still get a glimpse at how things operated back at this time. For instance, if we look at the events happening around the New Year, we can see some common threads.
The New Year is an important tradition in many cultures. Whether it was a solar or lunar cycle—or some combination—the new year indicated a new cycle, and was often accompanied by associated symbols and rituals. Today in the US it is often celebrated with fireworks and champagne, followed by making resolutions for the new year. In Japan, people will often go to their local shrine or temple for an important first visit, and temple bells will ring out 108 times.
Another tradition is the osechi-ryori, the traditional new years foods. This has grown over time from a tradition of eating a large bowl of rice to various other foods that are seen as auspicious or having special properties, such as the hardening of teeth—a major concern before the era of modern dental hygiene! Then there are traditions such as the Kagami Biraki, or opening of the mirror, and the creation of special mochi, or rice cakes for the purpose.
Of course all of these traditions started somewhere and have evolved over time, so what do we know about the New Year celebrations during the late 7th century? One caveat: in the Chronicles, we only really see what was happening in the court, and the Yamato court at that. There may have been local traditions that others were following that, unless we find documentation about them, we likely would never know. But many of the court traditions were passed down to later generations. These traditions appear to include the giving of gifts; large, celebratory banquets; and the annual archery tournament.
Banquets are some of the first and most common things we see. We see a banquet as Ohoama assumed the throne in 673—which probably was the event that overshadowed anything else they might have done that year. The following year, 674, there doesn’t seem to have been much recorded, and I wonder if they were still pulling everything together after the turmoil of Ohoama’s ascension. And so it is that in the first month of 675 we really get to see the annual new year’s events in their full form.
On the second day of that year, from the Royal Princes on down, all of the public functionaries presented their respects to the sovereign. I suspect that this was a large ceremony, where everyone gathered in the courtyard of the palace together or something similar, not that each person individually went up and presented their respects—I doubt Ohoama would have wanted to sit through all of that. Also, as we’ve already seen, there were limits on what parts of the palace different functionaries were allowed to enter. So some of these well-wishers may have been “outside”, others in the courtyard, and others in the palace building itself, depending on their rank and importance in the bureaucratic hierarchy.
On the following day, all public functionaries, from the initial rank upwards, presented firewood. Aston notes that this is the first mention of what would become a yearly practice. Firewood may not seem like much, but it would have likely been important to keeping things running, especially given how early people were supposed to arrive at the palace and administrative complex each day. This wasn’t firewood for a fireplace—they didn’t have those—but probably would have been used either for cooking or, I suspect, for the large braziers that burned with wood and pitch to light the darkness, particularly in the winter months. Firewood could also be processed into smaller pieces of coal for other uses.
It is interesting that for the first ceremony, the Chronicles describe the court from the Royal Princes on down, while for the giving of firewood the order is from the initial—which is to say the lowest—ranks upwards. This could indicate the order in which things progressed in these cases.
Several days after that, on the 7th day of the first month, a banquet was given at court for the Ministers—so only the higher ranking functionaries. But ten days later, on the 17th, everyone of rank—the Ministers of State; the Daibu, or high officials; and all of the public functionaries from the initial rank upwards had an archery meeting in the Court of the Western Gate.
Archery and archery contests had been important to the Yamato people for ages—and the same on the continent. Confucius, in his day, suggested that archery was a martial skill that even nobles should cultivate. I believe we’ve noted before how archery could be used both for warfare and for just feeding your family. As such, it was considered a particularly useful skill for just about everyone to have. It probably also helped that it was a martial skill that noblemen and others could use to show off without actually risking any injury to themselves in the process. I’m just saying. And as we described at the top of the episode, this particular archery contest would, for both participants and spectators, likely have been a chance to show off the top of their game, whether in martial prowess, clothing, or behavior.
And since we are looking at the new year’s celebrations, let’s keep this going and look at later years in Ohoama’s reign. As I go through these you’ll start to see the patterns, where the events I’ve just described will generally recur year after year, but not identically, sometimes with a shuffle in the schedule.
In 676, we see that the Ministers and public functionaries pay their respects on the first day of the new year. On the 4th day, the sovereign granted gifts to the higher level officials, from Royal Prince Takechi, down to the high officials, or Daibu, of Shoukin rank. Their not so secret Santa gifts included robes, hakama, lined garments, obi for their waist, leg straps, and staves, or walking sticks. We are also told that everyone above the rank of Shoukin also got an armrest thrown in, as well. Further gifts or grants were given out several days later, on the 7th, to everyone from Shoukin on up, based on their individual circumstances. Then, on the 15th, we again see all of the functionaries present firewood and then they were all entertained at a court banquet.
The following day they held the annual new year’s archery contest, with prizes, at the court of the western gate. Those who hit the target received prizes of different values. In his recent translation of the Nihon Shoki, Bentley references Kuroita on Article 41 of Miscellaneous Statutes, saying that this archery event was apparently a regular new year’s occurrence, and even the prizes were noted as varying over time.
The same day they held the archery contest, that year, Ohoama held a banquet at the Shima Palace. Shima was the name given to the Soga Prime Minister, back in the day, so I assume that this was at or near the site of the old Soga residence?
In 677, by comparison, we don’t see nearly as much referenced. There is archery at the South Gate, vice the west gate, but that is it. The festivities in 678 similarly only talk about the archery at the south gate. There is also mention of a preparation for worshipping the kami of heaven and earth, for which a purification was held throughout the state. In addition, an abstinence palace, or saiguu, was erected on the bank of the Kurahashi river. Kurahashi appears to refer to a tributary of the Ohara river, in Sakurai. This feels less like a New Year’s celebration, however, and more like a sign of merit-making. The Saiguu would have likely been to prepare for a trip to Ise shrine, and three months later Ohoama was preparing to go to the Saiguu, but that is when Princess Towochi suddenly died, and they scuttled the plans.
In 679, the court greeted the New Year with a new decree. Ohoama declared that Princes, Ministers, and public functionaries—anyone in service to the government, basically, were to refrain from paying respects during New Years or other ceremonies to anyone except relatives of the grade of elder brother, elder sister, and above, or to the senior members of the Houses. Princes weren’t even to pay respects to their own mothers unless they were, themselves, princesses. Ministers were likewise not to pay respects to their mothers if they were of “mean” rank. In other words, if they were commoners.
These kinds of statutes are interesting. First of all, you ask yourself why? In all likelihood, there were various local traditions and individuals paid respects to their parents as well as to others to whom they owed respect for one reason or another. Here the State is ordering society such that there is a clear hierarchy, at least among the members of the court.   Since women often found advancement by marrying up, it was usual for one’s mother to have been born a lower rank in society than oneself. And so we see them enforcing the social order. That new order was based on Confucian concepts of hierarchy, and this seems to go along with those same ideas.
What we don’t really see is how this was enforced—if at all.
The day after that, the yearly archery competition took place at the West Gate of the palace.
The next year, 680, we see a New Year’s Banquet at the Court of the Great Hall. Ohoama himself occupied the Mukai-kodono, which appears to refer to one of the smaller wings. Based on the palace layout that we see in the posthole remains, this probably means that he was set up in the smaller wing, likely in a more intimate space, while most of the other guests were in the large hall, maintaining that crucial separation of sovereign and subjects.
This New Year’s archery event included Princes of the Blood all the way down to the rank of Shouken—the very lowest rank in the court—and it was held at the South Gate.
You may be noticing a pattern, that the archery competition is listed as being held at either the south or west gates. The south gate probably refers to the main gate of the later Okamoto—aka the Kiyomihara—palace. The West gate refers to the west gate of the Ebinoko enclosure.   We talked about these and the general layout of the palace back in Episode 134, and you can check out that podcast blog post for some images of what things looked like, as well.
These gates were on the north and east sides of a large, rectangular courtyard, which was likely the actual event location. So it isn’t as if these were separate areas, just a difference of where things were set up in what was otherwise the same relative space.
The following year, 681, we see similar ceremonies. We see offerings made to the kami of Heaven and Earth, and we once again see a note about various functionaries paying their respects at court. Even though this wasn’t mentioned every year, it could have been an annual thing and just wasn’t always recorded so the Chroniclers just wrote down what they had records for. There are certainly other things we don’t necessarily witness in the records, such as the annual promotions and promulgations. We see irregular promotions, of course, such as on someone’s passing, but the regular administration of the government and promotions of people to new positions is not something we really see regularly documented, since it doesn’t really shed much light on the sovereign and the royal household. And so we sometimes see things if they get mentioned, but otherwise we only see glimpses. That would change as records became more administrative and the histories were more about simply recording what was happening—though still from a particular angle. At this point, however, we aren’t dealing with a single court record, but rather with numerous records, stories, and recollections.
That same year, 681, we also see another banquet, with Ohoama situated in the Mukai no Kodono, while the Princes of the Blood and non-royal Princes were both introduced into the inner reception chamber. Ministers attended in the outer reception chamber. They all received sake and musical performances, and rank advancements were given out. Kusakabe no Kihi no Ohogata was graduated from the rank of Upper Daisen to Lower Daikin, and given the title of Naniwa no Muraji. A few days later, Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwazumi was granted a fief with 60 horses and received presents of coarse silk, floss silk, cloth, and one hundred mattocks—the last one being a rather interesting gift, I have to admit. Of course, in true Chronicles fashion, we have no idea why these gifts were made—we don’t even have another reference to Iwazumi around there, but he must have done something.
We are later told that there was the annual archery shoot, and then a decree, possibly unrelated to New Years, that the various provinces were ordered to repair the shrines to the kami of heaven and earth.
The year 682 is an anomaly. There is no mention of a banquet, nor of an archery tournament. I wonder if this may have to do with some of the sad events of that first month. While it started fine—Toneri no Miyatsuko no Nukamushi was raised from Daisen to Lower Shoukin—we are told that on the 18th, Lady Higami, one of Ohoama’s consorts, died in the palace. The next day there was an earthquake, and she was buried on the 27th. A prominent illness and death may have put a pall on the ceremonies, and could explain why we don’t see any mention of them for that year.
It is also possible that some of this New Year tradition had become so routine that people were no longer commenting on it, and therefore the Chroniclers weren’t including references to it.
The following year, in 683, we again see the functionaries paying their respects. We also see the presentation of a three legged sparrow by the Viceroy of Tsukushi, Tajihi no Mabito no Shima, along with others. A three legged sparrow would have been something: it is reminiscent of the three legged crow, often depicted in the sun. It is unclear if it was still alive, but that wasn’t the point. They invited the Princes of the Blood down to the Ministers to great hall, the Daigokuden, for a banquet, where the three legged sparrow was displayed.
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Later that month, Ohoama issued a decree in regards to all of the auspicious omens and made presents to everyone, from Shouken rank upwards. There was also a general amnesty—all crimes were pardoned, from capital offenses on down, and all forced labor was remitted, so that people didn’t have to provide the normal service. The phrasing for this particular entry is intriguing. Ohoama is mentioned as Yamato Neko Sumera no Mikoto and is specifically called a “God Incarnate”. This is one of the rare times that we see the Chronicles explicitly call out the sovereign as a living deity. Of course, they trace the royal lineage back to Amaterasu, but there isn’t a lot suggesting that the sovereign is necessarily a deity.
And in reality, this was probably something that was more honorific than anything else. Heck, at times in Japanese history we would see sovereigns selling their calligraphy to help keep the royal palace funded while warriors went around actually being in charge of things. However, this divine language did show up in the 19th and 20th century, especially as the Tennou, now called Emperor in English terminology, once again was recognized as the Head of State, and people would actually pray to him. Not necessarily like praying at a shrine, but out of respect. And remember, a lot of time the Tennou was kept out of sight of regular people and hidden, much like the way that the kami were treated. The concept of the Emperor’s divinity was very much tied up in the elevation of the State and the general sense of Nationalism that had gripped Japan in the early half of the 20th century. And so the allies quite explicitly had Emperor Showa renounce his divinity after Japan World War II.
Those studying Japanese history have probably heard of this concept, and so it is interesting to see evidence of it here, as well as the nature of the royal house, where the sovereign is kept at a distance from those of lower rank, unless they are directly serving him. But it was not as though the sovereign was a god in the sense of being all powerful. Even if he were considered a living, visible kami, the kami were not omnipotent, and there was no getting over the fact that our particular sovereign, Ohoama, was getting older. Only a year or so earlier, he had suffered a rather bad illness, so he clearly was not invincible. And it is of course possible that this language was simply royal exaggeration, rather than any attempt to define the sovereign as something more than he was. Still, that concept would continue to play a part throughout Japanese history.
The same day in 683 that Ohoama issued the pardons, we are told that there was a special performance at the Woharida Court of dance and music from Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla—the “Three Countries” of the Korean peninsula, even if only one of them was still going strong. The Woharida palace is thought to have been north, along the banks of the Asuka River. It may have been moved over time—there appears to have been a palace in the Furumiya area, near Toyoura, but there is also evidence of a palace by a shared name over by Ikazuchi-no-oka, on the other side of the river. Excavations at Ikazuchi no oka revealed pottery with the name of the palace, suggesting that this was the site, but even then, that pottery was from the later Tempyo era. Regardless, it seems that the Asuka valley was just chock full of palaces, new and old, though the older ones were not as regularly used for government functions, one assumes.
The following year, 684, we again get told about the annual archery shoot. It took place in the Eastern court this time, with Ministers in attendance. Apparently they had men skilled in archery shooting alongside palace attendants and little people—the word used in Japanese is “Shuju” or “Hikihito”. This word is often translated as “dwarf”; it appears to be a derogatory term for anyone considered short of stature, though it is also used to refer more generally to those seen as either lacking wit or to actors and performers.
This isn’t the first time we see the term. Back in 675, about 9 years prior, Ohoama had sent orders to a number of regions near the capital, from Awaji to Tamba, to Afumi and to Mino and Wohari, among others, to send as tribute common people who could sing, shuju—or dwarfs—and jugglers. More generally they seem to be referring to entertainers, and it strikes me that could be what is meant here. Either way, the entertainment industry was hardly a lucrative one, and we can see that performers are almost more of a commodity, to be “paid” as tribute, rather than a professional who is “hired” to work. I suspect that, as in many other times and places, individuals who were shorter than average often found work as entertainers in this sense—whether they wished it or not.
The year 685 we don’t see any mention of archery, though it probably still happened. Instead the Chronicles focus on the various government officials paying their respects to their sovereign. The rest of the entries for the month are largely concerned with changes to the rank system as of that year.
The year 686, we get the last records of various new years festivals—four months later, the sovereign would grow terribly ill, and he would eventually pass away later that year. However, for those still celebrating the new year in 686, that was all in the future.
The last year of Ohoama’s reign started out relatively like others. Ohoama went to the Daigokuden, the Great Hall of Audience, and gave a banquet to the Princes and High Officials. There he decided to have something of a riddle challenge. He would ask riddles, and then offer prizes for the correct answer.
And no, unfortunately we don’t have any of the riddles, at least that I have seen. Aston calls these “conundrums” and notes that they are specifically nonsensical questions, and provides examples such as “Why does a horse, after a rapid run, listen to the earth? Why does a dog, when he goes slowly, raise his leg?”
Ohoama’s son, Prince Takechi, answered correctly, and so did Prince Ise. Their prizes differed in content, but in both cases were pretty extensive. The winners received ceremonial robes, brocade or purple hakama, numerous bolts of coarse silk, many pounds of thread, hundreds of pounds of flossed Silk, and hundreds of bolts of cloth. I think that makes it quite a bit more lucrative than any of the quiz nights I’ve ever been to.
Later that month, there was another banquet, this time for nine Buddhist monks of Daikan-daiji. Besides its status as a national temple, this may have also been related to the year before, when Ohoama had fallen ill, and prayers had been offered at Daikandaiji for his recovery. The courthad likewise provided gifts to the temple in the last month of the previous year, and then, at the banquet, gave to the attending monks silk and cloth, based on their rank.
But that wasn’t the end of the gifts. The following day the Princes and High Officials all received upper garments and hakama—likely referring to official garments—each getting one suit, each. Then, on the 13th day of the new year, the court invited 20 exceptional individuals to a banquet. These were talented people, professors, divination specialists, and physicians. They were also wined and dined and presented various gifts. On the 16th day, the Princes and High Officials were then invited to a banquet in the Daigokuden. They were given gifts of silk and cloth, based on their rank. Then they held another riddle competition, with correct answers rewarded with gifts of coarse and flossed silk.
This was only a short time after disaster had struck, though a bit removed—two days earlier, in the evening, the royal storehouse at Naniwa had caught fire, eventually burning the entire Toyosaki palace complex to the ground. Some claimed that it was actually started at a private residence, that of Ato no Muraji no Kusuri, and then spread to the Palace. In the end, only the military storehouse was spared.
This would have been quite the tragedy for the government, but it did not halt the festivities happening down in Asuka. The Naniwa Palace appears to have been a major government center for the administration of the state, but it was not the royal court which had been in Asuka for over a decade. Indeed, I imagine that the news probably reached Asuka around the time of the Banquet itself.
And yet, rather than putting a damper on the festivities, they continued another couple of days – presumably everything was already prepared and there was no point in canceling. On the 17th, the court sponsored a banquet in the rear palace, presumably for the Queen and members of the imperial family. Then the following day there was a great revel at the palace. Ohoama took his place in front of the royal muro and made presents to performers, as well as to the singers. As before everything varied according to rank.
Asuka wasn’t the only place to get in on the festivities. The same month, the court also sponsored a banquet for the Silla envoys in Tsukushi, sending Prince Kawachi and others.
Regrettably, that would be the last new year that Ohoama would see. In the fifth month, he grew ill, and what we see in the Chronicles after that is an interesting look into how people of the time dealt with sickness.
First, the court had the Sutra of Yakushi expounded at Kawaradera and held a Buddhist retreat in the palace, inviting monks to come and expound Buddhist teachings. Yakushi, or Yakushi Nyorai—Bhaisajyaguru in Sanskrit—was known as the Medicine Buddha, and his name in Sinitic characters was basically “Master of Medicine”. It is said that he was responsible for the Eastern Pure Land, and that, as a Bodhisattva, he had made 12 great vows to cure the illnesses of all living beings in the world. For that reason, Yakushi Nyorai was often called upon to cure illness.
In fact, six years earlier, when the Queen, Uno no Sarara Hime, had taken ill, Ohoama erected an entire temple to Yakushi Nyorai, known as Yakushiji. He then had 100 people take vows as priests, and they attributed her recovery to this effort.
In this case, however, it seems that it didn’t have quite such an effect, and Ohoama remained under the weather. We are also told that the court sent Palace Attendants, the Oho-toneri, to clean the pagodas of various temples and that a general amnesty was announced for all under heaven, emptying the prisons. All of this points to the idea of making merit in the hope of bringing good karma, and thus healing.
But the following month, Ohoama was still ill. Divination was performed by the Onmyoji, the court diviners, and they claimed that there was a curse from Kusanagi, the sword that is considered one of the three main royal symbols. This is the sword that was said to have been found by Susanowo in the tale of Yamata no Worochi, and which gained its name, Kusanagi, when used by Yamato Takeru, cutting down the grass to save him when his enemies tried to catch him by setting fire to the field where he was hunting. For more on that, check out Episodes 34 and 35.
Given the importance of Kusanagi, I suspect that the idea of destroying it to remove the curse was out of the question, and so it was sent to Atsuta Shrine, where it was enshrined and would largely stay except when needed for enthronement ceremonies.
And yet, even after the sword was taken away, the illness remained. Six days later, on the 16th day of the 6th month, the court sent Prince Ise and officials to Asukadera and asked the monks there to make and oath with the Buddha to make Ohoama whole through the power of the Three Treasures of Buddhism.   For their work, the three Buddhist Officers, the Master of the Law, and the Upadhyaya and temple directors, as well as those monks with the rank of “master” each received a donation of one robe and one cover, or “Ohi”.
Three days later, the court ordered the hundred officials to go to Kawaradera and perfom the ceremony of lighting lanterns and giving offerings to Buddha. Then they held a great feast and offered repentance for their transgressions. All of this sounds like a continued attempt to make merit for the state, and thus for Ohoama.
We then see the court granting the monks Hounin and Gishou 30 stipend-households to provide for them in their old age, which may be more merit-making, or possibly was related to some of the many other activities so far. There are a few issues with this entry, and Aston and Bentley don’t seem to agree on the actual date. Bentley has it on the 28th, but that seems odd as it comes before the entry for the 22nd of the same month. Aston has it as the 20th, but then claimes that there is something odd about the date of the 22nd.
On the 22nd, we are simply told that the district kitchen of Nabari caught fire. Aston notes that this would have been the official government arm in the district gathering food to supply the royal household—rather than being a kitchen in terms of a place to prepare food.
Merit-making continued into the 7th month. We see the Soujou and Soudzu, the primary and secondary prelates of the Asukadera, performing ritual repentance. The following day there is another general amnesty, and Aston specifically mentions performing a Oho-harai, or cleansing.
The day after taxes were halved from the provinces and corvee labor with local conscripted labor was exempted for the year. Then we see the court presenting paper offerings to the Kunikasu Kami in Ki provinces, as well as the four shrines in Asuka and the Great Suminoe—aka Sumiyoshi—shrine.
On the 8th day of the 7th month, 100 monks were invited to the court to read the Golden Light Sutra—Konkoymyou kyou. And on the 15th there was another court issued amnesty.
Despite all of these attempts to make merit and intercede with the Buddha or with various kami, Ohoama’s illness continued. We see that the court issued a decree that all things that should occur, great or small, should be reported to the queen and the crown prince—presumably because Ohoama was no longer in a state to be able to do so.
Continuing with their efforts, the court declared that destitute commoners who had been forced to borrow rice seed or money before the 12th month of the previous year would be exempted from repayment. And then the court changed the name of the year to Akami-tori, or Shuuchou. They also renamed the palace in Asuka to “Kiyomihara”—again, go check Episode 134 for more on the palace. “Shuuchou” is the Red Bird, likely referring to Suzaku, though Aston also points out that “Asuka” here is given as “flying bird”, as well, and there had been numerous bird-related omens reported throughout the reign.
Although these names would not have been used prior to this point—the 7th month of the final year of the reign—the Chroniclers applied the nengo, Shuuchou, to all of the entries for this year, and the name of the palace is often given as “Kiyomihara” is given to distinguish it from the Later Okamoto Palace, even though it was simply the latter palace with the addition of the Ebinoko enclosure.
The changing of the era name was likely another attempt to change the seemingly inauspicious year, along with all of the merit-making that the court had been undergoing.
And yet they kept going.
The court selected 70 people who were diligent in keeping Buddhist laws and had them take the tonsure, and they sponsored a feast—or festival—in the Royal Muro of the Palace.
At the same time the various princes had a statue of the Boddhisatva of Compassion, Kannon, made for the sovereign and had the Lotus sutra—the sutra where Kannon is first mentioned—read out at Daikandaiji.
Kannon, or Avalokitesvara, was originally seen as a male Boddhisatva, but is often depicted as a woman. They are also known as Guanyin, from which we get Kannon in Japanese. Guanyin is also seen as Goddess of Mercy, and is one of the most popular figures across multiple sects of Buddhism and even outside of the Buddhist faith, where she is still seen as a goddess. In this case, however, it seems clear that the princes were seeking compassion to relieve the sovereign of his affliction.
And yet it persisted.
They had 80 more people take the tonsure, and then 100 more men and women, placed 100 statues of the Boddhisatva, Kannon, in the palace, and then read out 200 volumes of the Lotus Sutra.
And then they made prayers to the kami of Heaven and Earth. And they dispatched Hata no Imiki no Iwakatsu to present paper offerings to the Tosa great shrine. Nothing seemed to be working.
In the 9th month, we see the royal princes and others, down to the various ministers, all gathered at Kawaradera making oaths for the health of the sovereigns. This last ditch effort would go unrewarded. Five days later, and Ohoama would pass away. Of course, they couldn’t just say that he died: The Chronicles actually say that he divinely departed. After all, didn’t they call him an incarnate kami?
Two days later, the court began the ritual of mourning, raising voices in lamentation, and setting up a temporary palace of interment in the courtyard, south of the palace. Ohoama’s body was placed there some thirteen days later, and people mourned his passing.
For the rituals, we see monks and nuns performing ritual lamentation in the courtyard between 3 and 5 am, around the time that court officials would normally be waiting at the gates. Over the next several days, various ceremonies were held and eulogies given. We are told that the court presented offerings of food for the dead for the first time, and over the next several days monks and nuns would offer their laments and then various individuals would provide their eulogies. Finally, on the last day of the ninth month, the eulogies concluded with Nyang-u, a Baekje prince, who pronounced a eulogy on behalf of his father, and then the Miyatsuko of various provinces came and did likewise. There were also performances of all manner of singing and dancing.
With that, the reign of Ohoama would come to an end. The government would continue under his wife, the Queen, and Crown Prince. We’ll get into the succession in a later episode. For now I’ll just say that he was eventually buried in a large tomb in the modern Noguchi area of Asuka, and you can still go see it.
And while that does bring us to the end of the reign, we still have a few more things that I want to discuss.   This episode just seemed a good time to talk about all of the various new years ceremonies, and that seemed to lead naturally into the very last year, but there is still more to discuss. For one thing, we still haven’t quite covered the spread of Buddhism and the changes in the structure. There are also various laws and punishments that are worth covering. Finally, there are the Chronicles themselves: we’ve talked about it all along, but the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki are attributed to this era, as is the start of what would become the capital of Fujiwara-kyo—many works that Ohoama would not live to see to the end, but is largely held responsible for starting.
But 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
Suzuki, Hiroyuki (2010). 日本古代の弓矢行事～特に歩射行事に関して～ On the Shooting Ritual of Ancient Japan ～About Shooting Ritual where it walks～. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/58124ac8579fb3f8ea46dc1b/t/587c1e10e3df288ed10be9d9/1484529173995/2010_Suzuki.pdf
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

New Year's Recap 2026

January 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Kinojo - The demon’s castle. Built in the 7th century in the land of Kibi (modern Okayama). While not mentioned in the record, it is the kind of Baekje style fortress that was being erected in Japan following the naval defeat at the Battle of Baekgang River. Photo of the modern reconstruction by author.

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Happy New Year!

Welcome to our 2026 recap. This episode we look back on the past year, but also try to make sure that we prepare for the next year. We’ll cover the big events and then go into some of the major themes that we’ve seen over the year. For that, we’ll also cover some of the previous history that has led up to the start of things this year.

This year we’ve covered the end of the reign of Takara Hime (Saimei Tennō), through the reigns of Naka no Ōe (Tenji Tennō) and into the reign of Ōama (Temmu Tennō)—not to mention the possible (if short) reign of Ōtomo (Kōbun Tennō). We saw an expanded contact with the continent—and an expanded international world, in general. We saw students from the archipelago studying with the famous monk Xuanzang, who traveled all the way to India.

But then war came. Iki no Hakatoko and others in the same embassy were held under house arrest in the Tang court while they attacked Yamato’s ally, Baekje. They deposed king Wicha of Baekje, and Yamato was drawn into the conflict. At the Battle of Baekgang river, Yamato forces suffered a tremendous defeat. Yamato and those Baekje allies that could join them fled to the archipelago, where the government built fortresses and set up a defensive posture should the Tang and Silla attack them next.

But the attack never came. The capital was moved to Afumi, but that was anything but a popular move. After the Jinshin War, which put Ōama on the throne, they moved back to Asuka. There, Ōama had been continuing the work of his brother, shaping the Ritsuryō state.

In the coming year we’ll see through the end of Ōama’s reign as we continue to march towards the end of the Nihon Shoki. After that, we’ll have to see, but I expect we’ll want to talk about the Nihon Shoki some and then look at the Shoku Nihongi—the continuing court chronicles.

Shinnen Akemashite! Happy New Year and Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is the New Year’s Recap episode for 2026!
Here’s hoping that everyone has had a great new year. I’m not sure about everyone else, but this past year seemed particularly long, and yet what we have covered on this podcast is only a relatively small part of the history of Yamato, so let’s get into it.
And in case anyone is wondering, this is covering episodes 118 to episode 140, though we will likely dip a little bit into the past as well, just to ensure we have context, where needed.
We started last year in the 650’s, in the second reign of Takara Hime, where we know her as Saimei Tennou. We discussed Yamato’s place in the larger world, especially in connection with the Silk Road. In fact, we spent several episodes focused on the wider world, which Yamato was learning about through students, ambassadors, and visitors from far off lands. Of course, that all came to a head at the Battle of Baekgang, when Yamato and their ally, Baekje, were defeated by a coalition of Tang and Silla forces, putting an end to the Kingdom of Baekje and driving Yamato to fall back and reinforce the archipelago.
This was also the start of the formal reign of Naka no Oe, who would go on to be known as Tenji Tennou. Naka no Oe would be a major proponent of substantial reforms to the Yamato government, as well as moving the capital to a new, more defensible location called Ohotsu, on the shores of Lake Biwa, in the land of Afumi. He also introduced new concepts of time through water clocks both in Asuka and in the Afumi capital.
Upon Naka no Oe’s death, almost immediately, violence broke out between the Yamato court’s ruling council led by Naka no Oe’s son, Prince Ohotomo, and Naka no Oe’s brother, Prince Ohoama. Ohoama would emerge victorious and ascend the throne, being known as Temmu Tennou.   During his reign he took his brother’s government and placed upon it his own stamp. He reinvigorated Shinto rites while also patronizing Buddhism. Meanwhile, relations with the continent appear to be improving.
So that is the summary, let’s take a look at what we discussed in more detail.
First off, back to the reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou—as opposed to her first reign, where she is known as Kougyoku Tennou. Takara Hime came back to the throne in 654 after a nine-year hiatus, having abdicated in 645 when her son, Prince Naka no Oe, had killed Soga no Iruka in front of her at court, violently assassinating one of the most powerful men in Yamato. Naka no Oe had then gone on to take out Soga no Iruka’s father, Soga no Emishi, a few days later. Upon abdicating, Taka Hime’s brother, Prince Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, took the throne, but there are many that suggest that the real power in court was Naka no Oe and his allies—men such as the famous Nakatomi no Kamatari. When Karu passed away, Naka no Oe still did not take the throne, officially, and instead it reverted back to his mother.
Takara Hime is interesting in that she is officially recognized as a sovereign and yet she came to the throne when her husband, known as Jomei Tenno, passed away, even though neither of her parents were sovereigns themselves. This may have something to do with the fact that much of the actual power at the time was being executed by individuals other than the reigning sovereign. First it was the Soga family—Soga no Emishi and Soga no Iruka—but then it was Naka no Oe and his gaggle of officials. This makes it hard to gauge Takara Hime’s own agency versus that of her son’s.
Still, the archipelago flourished during her reign. This was due, in no small part, to the growing connectivity between the Japanese archipelago and the continent—and from there to the rest of the world. And that world was expanding.
We see mention of the men from “Tukara” and a woman—or women—from Shravastri. Of course it is possible, even likely, that these were a misunderstanding—it is most likely that these were individuals from the Ryukyuan archipelago and that the Chroniclers bungled the transcription, using known toponyms from the Sinitic lexicon rather than creating new ones for these places. However, it speaks to the fact that there were toponyms to pull from because the court had at least the idea of these other places. And remember, we had Wa students studying with the famous monk Xuanzang, who, himself, had traveled the silk road all the way out to Gandhara and around to India, the birthplace of Buddhism. The accounts and stories of other lands and peoples were available—at least to those with access to the continent. This helped firm up the Japanese archipelago’s location at the end of a vast trading network, which we know as the Silk Road. Indeed, we find various material goods showing up in the islands, as well as the artisans that were imported to help build Buddhist temples.
And just as all of this is happening, we hit a rough patch in relations between Yamato and the Tang dynasty. In fact, in one of our most detailed accounts of an embassy to date, thanks to the writings of one Iki no Hakatoko. Because the fateful embassy of 659 saw the Tang take the odd step of refusing to let the embassy return to Yamato.
It turns out that the Tang, who had, for some time now, been in contact with Silla, had entered into an alliance and were about to invade Baekje. It was presumed that if the Yamato embassy left the Tang court they might alert Baekje, their ally, that something was up. And so it was safer to place them under house arrest until the invasion popped off.
Sure enough, the invasion was launched and in less than a year King Wicha of Baekje and much of the Baekje court had been captured. With the initial invasion successful, the Yamato embassy was released, but that is hardly the end of the story. Baekje had sent a request to Yamato for support, but it came too late for Yamato to muster the forces necessary. That said, some factions of the Baekje court remained, and one of their Princes was still in Yamato. And so, as they had done in the past, Yamato sailed across the strait with the goal of restoring a royal heir to the throne.
Unfortunately, this was not quite as simple as it had been, previously. For one thing, the Tang forces were still in Baekje, and the fight became long and drawn out. Things finally came to a head in the early months of 663, at the mouth of the Baekgang river—known in Japanese as Hakusuki-no-e. This was a naval battle, and Yamato had more ships and was also likely more skilled on the water. After all, much of the Tang fighting was on land or rivers, while the Wa, an island nation, had been crossing the straits and raiding the peninsula for centuries. Even with all of the resources of the Tang empire, there was still every reason to think that the forces from the archipelago could pull off a victory. However, it was not to be. The Tang forces stayed near the head of the river, limiting the Wa and Baekje forces’ ability to manuever, drawing them in and then counterattacking. Eventually the Tang ended up destroying so much of the fleet that the remaining Wa ships had no choice but to turn and flee.
This defeat had profound consequences for the region. First and foremost was the fall of Baekje. In addition, Yamato forces pulled back from the continent altogether. Along with those Baekje refugees who had made it with them back to the archipelago they began to build up their islands’ defenses. Baekje engineers were enlisted to design and build fortresses at key points, from Tsushima all the way to the home countries. These fortresses included massive earthworks, some of which can still be seen. In fact, parts of the ancient fortifications on Tsushima would be reused as recently as World War II to create modern defenses and gun placements.
Even the capital was moved. While many of the government offices were possibly operating out of the Toyosaki palace in Naniwa, the royal residence was moved from Asuka up to Ohotsu, on the shores of Lake Biwa. This put it farther inland, and behind a series of mountains and passes that would have provided natural defenses. Fortresses were also set up along the ridgelines leading to the Afumi and Nara basins.
And all of this was being done under a somewhat provisional government. The sovereign, Takara Hime, had passed away at the most inconvenient time—just as the Yamato forces were being deployed across to the peninsula. A funerary boat was sent back to Naniwa, and Naka no Oe took charge of the government. That there was little fanfare perhaps suggests that there wasn’t much that actually changed. Still, it was a few years before the capital in Ohotsu was completed and Naka no Oe formally ascended the throne, becoming known to future generations as Tenji Tennou.
Naka no Oe’s rule may have only formally started in the 660s, but his influence in the government goes all the way back to 645. He assassinated the Soga family heads, and then appears to have been largely responsible for organizing the governmental reforms that led that era to be known as the Taika, or era of great change. He served as Crown Prince under Karu and Takara Hime, and from that office he ensured his supporters were in positions of authority and instituted broad changes across the board.
He continued in this position under the reign of his mother, Takara Hime, and so the transition upon her death was probably more smooth than most. This also explains how things kept running for about three years before he took the throne.
In officially stepping up as sovereign, however, Naka no Oe continued to solidify the work that he had done, focused largely on consolidating power and control over the rest of the archipelago. There were tweaks here and there—perhaps most notably changes to the ranking system, which allowed for a more granular level of control over the stipends and privileges afforded to different individuals as part of the new government. This work was presumably being done with the help of various ministers and of his brother, Ohoama. Ohoama only really shows up in the Chronicle around this time, other than a brief mention of his birth along with a list of other royal progeny of the sovereign known as Jomei Tennou.
We also see the death of the Naidaijin, Nakatomi no Kamatari—and supposedly the head of what would become known as the Fujiwara family. His position as Inner Great Minister was not backfilled, but rather Naka no Oe’s son, Ohotomo, was eventually named as Dajo Daijin, the head minister of the Council of State, the Dajokan, placing a young 20 year old man above the ministers of the left and right and in effective control of the government under his father—though his uncle, Prince Ohoama, maintained his position as Crown Prince.
However, even that wasn’t for long. As Naka no Oe became gravely ill, he began to think of succession. Ohoama, having been warned that something was afoot, offered to retire from his position as Crown Prince and take up religious orders down in Yoshino, theoretically clearing the line of succession and indicating his willingness to let someone else inherit. His actual suggestion was that Naka no Oe turn the government over to his wife, who could act as a regent for Ohotomo. What actually happened, however, was that the movers and shakers in the Council of State pledged their loyalty to the Dajo Daijin, Prince Ohotomo, who was named Crown Prince and ascended the throne when his father passed away.
Here there is a bit of a wobble in the historical record. The Chronicles never mention Prince Ohotomo formally assuming the throne and therefore the Chroniclers never provide him a regnal name. It isn’t until more modern times that we get the name “Kobun Tennou” for his short-lived reign.
And it was short-lived because early on Ohoama raised an army, and after several months of fighting, took the throne for himself. Because the year this happened was known by its sexagenary term as “Jinshin”, often colloquially known as a Water Monkey year, the conflict is known as the Jinshin no Ran. “Ran” can mean disturbance, or chaos, and so is often translated as “Jinshin Disturbance”, “Jinshin Revolution”, or the “Jinshin War”. The entirety of the fighting is given its own chapter in the Chronicles, known as either the first year of Temmu or sometimes as the record of the Jinshin War. This chapter actually shows some stylistic differences with the chapter on Tenji Tennou, just before it, and tells the story of the events slightly differently, in a light generally favorable to Ohoama, who would go on to become Temmu Tennou. As such, while the broad strokes and military actions are likely correct, there are a lot of questions around the details, especially around the motivating factors.
Regardless, what is known is that Ohoama was able to quickly move from his quarters in Yoshino eastward towards Owari and Mino, where he was able to cut off the capital from support and gather troops from the eastern lands. The Court tried to take the Nara Basin—a huge symbolic and strategic point—as well as cut off his supply lines, but these actions were thwarted by those loyal to Ohoama. Attempts to gather troops from the west had mixed results, with several allies of Ohoama resisting the Court—most notably Prince Kurikuma, who at that time was the head of the government presence in Kyushu, where a large number of troops had been stationed to defend against a possible Tang invasion.
Eventually, Ohoama’s troops defeated those of the Court. Ohotomo was killed, and those running the government, including Soga no Akae, Nakatomi no Kane, Soga no Hatayasu, Kose no Hito, and Ki no Ushi, were either executed or exiled.
Ohoama then swept into power. He moved the court back to Asuka—the move to Ohotsu had not been a popular one in the first place—and took up residence in his mother’s old palace, renovating it. It would eventually be known as the Kiyomihara palace. From there Ohoama continued his brother’s reforms, though with his own spin.
First off was a reform to the ceremonies around royal ascension. Taking the existing feast of first fruits, the Niiname-sai, Ohoama made it into a new public and private ceremony known as the Daijo-sai, which is still practiced today upon the elevation of a new sovereign. He reformed the government court rank system and also instituted reforms around the ancient kabane system—the ancient rank system that contained both clan and individual titles. These old kabane titles had certain social cachet, but were otherwise being made obsolete by the new court ranks, which were, at least on paper, based on merit rather than just familial connections. Of course, the truth was that family still mattered, and in many ways the new kabane system of 8 ranks simply merged the reality of the new court with the traditions of the older system.
And this was something of a trend in Ohoama’s reign. The court seems to have taken pains to incorporate more kami-based ritual back into the court, with regular offerings, especially to gods associated with food, harvest, and weather. There is also a clear focus on the shrine at Ise. The Chroniclers claim that Ise was established and important since the time of Mimaki Iribiko, but it is only rarely mentioned, and while its founding story might be tied to that era, the Chroniclers, who appear to have started their work this reign, appear to have done their best to bolster that connection.
As for actual governance, we see another change from the government of Naka no Oe.   The former sovereign relied heavily on noble families to run the government, granting them positions of responsibility. In the Ohoama court, however, most of those positions appear to lay dormant. Instead we see copious mention of princes—royal and otherwise—being delegated to do the work of the throne.
Indeed, Ohoama seemed to want to reinstate the majesty of the royal society, including both the royal family, but also others with royal titles as well. Still, there were plenty of ways that the noble families continued to have an influence in various spheres of government, they just weren’t handed the kind of prime ministerial powers that previous generations had achieved.
Within the royal family, itself, Ohoama attempted to head off future succession disputes. He had been through one himself, and history was littered with the violent conflicts that followed on the heels of a sovereign’s death. So Ohoama gathered his family together, to include sons and nephews of consequence, and he had them swear an oath to support each other and the Crown Prince. After doing so, he seems to have utilized them to help run the country, as well.
Of course, we’ve seen how such pledges played out in the past, so we’ll have to wait to see how it all plays out, eventually. I’m sure it will be fine…
Whilst the archipelago was going through all of this transition—from the death of Takara Hime, and then the reign and death of her son, Naka no Oe, along with the Jinshin no Ran that followed-- we have a glimpse of what was happening on the peninsula. Yamato had fortified against a combined Silla-Tang invasion, but it seems they needn’t have done so.
First off, that alliance’s attention was turned northwards, to Goguryeo. With the death of the belligerent tyrant and perpetual-thorn-in-the-side-of-the-Tang-Court, Yeon Gaesomun, the Tang armies were finally able to capture the Goguryeo court. However, for years afterwards they were dealing with rebellions from those who had not gone quite so quietly. And to make matters worse it turns out that these Goguryeo recalcitrants were apparently being funded by none other than Silla, the Tang’s supposed ally.
From the Yamato perspective this manifested, initially, as embassies from both the Tang court and the Silla court. While the content of the embassies’ messages are not fully recorded, we can imagine that both the Tang dynasty and Silla were looking for support. At one point there was a direct request for military support, but Yamato offered a half-hearted reply along the lines of the fact that they didn’t have as many able-bodied men as they once did—not after the fighting in Korea.   And that might have even been true.
Either way, the Tang embassies petered out, as the Silla influence came to dominate the embassies and trade more generally. The Tang attempted to push back against Silla, militarily—their alliance now long since dead. Silla took some initial losses, but ultimately was able to push the Tang off of the peninsula, uniting everything from Pyongyang south. North of Pyongyang, though still nominally under Tang dynasty control, a rebel Goguryeo court continued to act as though they were still a going concern. They hitched a ride on Silla ships and traveled to Yamato for regular missions, maintaining diplomatic ties.
As such, Yamato itself relaxed, to a certain extent, its defensive posture—but not entirely. They continued to maintain the fortresses and there were several edicts addressing military preparedness, so as to ensure that Yamato would be ready should anything occur.
And though the missions to the Tang court themselves may have been stymied in this period, it doesn’t mean that Yamato lost interest in continental learning. They had acquired numerous texts, and appear to have been devouring them, as well as generating their own observational data. They were recording a variety of phenomena, some more clearly consequential than others. Some of that was practical, but, in a time where there was very little dividing the natural and the supernatural in the minds of the people, they were just as likely to record a storm or an earthquake as they were the finding of a white or albino animal that is not normally that color. Science, myth, and legend often clashed and intermingled. Regardless, they carried on, figuring out what they could and filling in the gaps where they had to do so.
And I believe that catches us up for the year. If I were to add anything, it would probably be a short note on Ohoama’s wife, Uno no Sarara hime. Uno no Hime is only mentioned occasionally during Ohoama’s reign, and yet those few times are more than many others appear to have been mentioned. She is explicitly said to have traveled with him when he went on campaign, and is said to have been there when he made his prayers to Ise shrine. She was also there when the family was gathered to swear to assist each other in the smooth running of the government.
There is plenty to suggest that, especially with many of the Great Minister roles left empty, that Uno Hime had a much greater role in the administration of the government than is otherwise assumed. This may have also been the case with Naka no Oe’s wife. Both women are mentioned in ways that suggest they were considered to have some amount of political clout and savvy, and had greater agency than one might otherwise conclude. Remember, Takara Hime had twice reigned in her own right, and we aren’t so many generations removed that people wouldn’t know the name of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou. We also know that there was a lot more going on, but the focus of the Chronicles is pretty firmly on the sovereign, and it is only with the greatest of reluctance that the Chroniclers turn that lens on anyone else except the sovereign who was reigning at the time. So I think it is safe to say that Uno likely played a large role in the court, and we will see even more of that in the coming year.
But first, there is going to be more to say about the reign of Ohoama. After all, we aren’t entirely through with his reign. We have only barely touched on the various Buddhist records in the Nihon Shoki, nor some of the various court events, as well as some sign of how the government enforced these new laws and punishments—the Ritsuryo system. Finally, we’ll talk about Ohoama’s dream and vision for a new capital—a permanent capital city unlike anything that had yet been seen. Ohoama would not see that through to completion, but we can talk about what it meant, the first permanent capital city in the archipelago: Fujiwara-kyo.
Until then, I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday season.   As usual, thank you for listening and for all of your support. Thanks also to my lovely spouse, Ellen, for their continued work at helping to edit these episodes!
Remember, 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 Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

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New Year's Recap 2025

January 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Mt. Fuji from Miho Matsubara. Photo by author.

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Happy New Year!

Welcome to our 2025 recap. This episode we look back on the past year, but also try to make sure that we prepare for the next year. We’ll cover the big events and then go into some of the major themes that we’ve seen over the year. For that, we’ll also cover some of the previous history that has led up to the start of things this year.

One of the biggest things we’ll do is look at the various forms of power and influence used in the archipelago, based on what we can see in the archaeological record, but also on what we are told by the histories. There is still much that we don’t know, and one of the largest debates between the Chronicles and modern scholarly interpretations of events seems to be just how much control Yamato actually held prior to this period. However, from about the 7th century onwards, there appears to be enough correlation with other events that we have some idea of what was actually happening.

A key fact to remember is that we are in the middle of the 7th century, and the Nihon Shoki’s account ends in 697 CE—about twenty-three years earlier than the date it was published, in 720 CE. So these latter events would have been the ones with the most sources and the most people who probably remembered something about them—or had at least heard stories. In fact, we can imagine that someone who was 80 years old in 720 CE would have been born in 640, and would have been in the prime of their life by 660. So we are now within the period where people actually remembered the events the Chroniclers were writing about.

Chart showing the various lineages with bold outline around those referenced most heavily this year

Isshi Incident and the Taika Era

The majority of this year was focused on the changes that stemmed from the Isshi Incident, which spawned the Taika era—the era of “Great Change.” This is the start of the Ritsuryo era, and the birth of the bureaucratic state that would be used for some time to govern Yamato—and eventually Nihon, aka Japan.

Though it wouldn’t necessarily take a direct path—after building a grand palace in Naniwa, they moved back to Asuka. Still, they had expanded control throughout the archipelago, or so it seemed.

And now here we are: Takara hime is back on the throne, but Prince Naka no Oe is still Crown Prince and still has a lot of influence on the court.

Shinnen Akemashite! Happy New Year and Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is the New Year’s Recap episode for 2025!
It’s that time again: we are going to look back at what happened in the episodes this year. That was only episodes 101 to 117—we’ll skip the travelogue episodes for the time being. This covered the years of the early to mid-7th century, from roughly 613 to 659. That is easily within the lifetime of a single individual, and yet a lot was going on.
At the start of this year, we were at the height of Soga power. In 2023, we covered how back in 587, Soga no Umako had wrested power away from the powerful Mononobe clan, defeating Mononobe no Moriya. As you may recall, the sovereign known to posterity as Jimmu Tennou was the descendant of the Heavenly Grandchild known as Ninigi no Mikoto, at least according to the Nihon Shoki. The Mononobe clan claimed descent from none other than Nigi Hayahi, the Other Heavenly Grandchild, whose offspring were said to have been defeated by Jimmu.
You may recall that scholars generally consider the story of Jimmu, and the nine sovereigns that immediately followed him, as almost certainly a later addition to the story of the royal lineage. So when did the story of Nigi no Hayahi’s defeat enter the picture? And was its inclusion perhaps related to the defeat of the Mononobe by the Soga family? A family that successfully intermarried with the Royal House, themselves, such that all later sovereigns would trace their ancestry back to the Soga house?
Of course, under Soga dominance we saw the rise of figures like the Soga descended Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno. During her reign, major reforms were carried out, Buddhism became fully established by the State, and ties with the continent were strengthened.
Politics would continue to be dominated by Soga, even after the death of Soga no Umako and Kashikiya Hime, with Soga no Emishi taking up the mantle of Prime Minister, working closely with his son, Soga no Iruka. The Soga family was so entwined with the politics of rulership that the main rivals of the Soga were… the Soga. That is to say different Soga-descended lineages, like that of the Prince Umayado, aka Prince Shotoku. Rather than supporting Umayado’s son, Prince Yamashiro no Oe, Soga no Emishi backed another candidate to the throne, Prince Tamura. , of the royal Okinaga lineage. Tamura came to power as Jomei Tenno, but there is little doubt that Soga no Emishi was the one in control.
Later, when Tamura passed away in 641, Yamashiro no Oe continued to be passed over. In fact, Soga no Emishi supported the ascension of Tamura’s wife, Takara hime, over Yamashiro no Oe, and there is evidence that he supported a prince known as Furubito no Oe as the Crown Prince and eventual successor. All of the evidence—which, to be honest, is rather biased—suggests that the Soga family were setting up a series of puppet rulers who would do their bidding, or at least be pliable to their suggestions.
There must have been some pushback, though, especially when one considers how strong the cult of Prince Shotoku, aka Umayado, would eventually become. One imagines that Prince Yamashiro was another pole around which those who opposed the Soga family could rally. After all, he was the son of Crown Prince Umayado, and likely had just as much of a claim as Tamura and his children. And so, to counter this threat, Soga no Emishi’s son and successor, Soga no Iruka, took matters into his own hands.
In a brazen display of the violence of court politics, Soga no Iruka had Yamashiro no Oe accused of plotting against the throne and took an army to arrest him—no doubt in the hope that the prince would resist. Eventually they cornered Yamashiro and his family, who committed suicide rather than submit.
This attack was likely targeted to take out the rival to the Soga family’s preferred Crown Prince, Prince Furubito no Oe, but rather than quell any dissent, the move seems to have enflamed the passions of those who wanted to see an end to the Soga house. Those passions took particular root in none other than Furubito no Oe’s younger brother, Prince Naka no Oe. Together with the support of his uncle, Prince Karu; the head of the Nakatomi house, Nakatomi no Kamatari; as well as another scion of the Soga house, Soga no Kuroyamada, Prince Naka no Oe staged a coup d’etat. Using the death of Prince Yamashiro no Oe as an excuse, they engineered a plot to assassinate Soga no Iruka in court, in front of Naka no Oe’s own mother, Takara Hime no Oho-kimi. After Iruka’s death, Naka no Oe and his supporters then took the fight to Soga no Emishi, who committed suicide and set his own house on fire in what came to be known as the Isshi Incident.
This shocking assassination caused Takara hime to step down. The Soga-backed Prince Furubito no Oe, rather than stepping up and taking the throne, retreated to a Buddhist temple and took holy orders, effectively retiring and theoretically taking himself out of court politics. That left Prince Naka no Oe and his uncle, Prince Karu, as possible candidates.
We are told that Prince Naka no Oe declined to take the throne himself, instead supporting his uncle, Prince Karu. Prince Karu took the throne, and is known to us as Kotoku Tenno, today. Prince Naka no Oe stepped up as the Crown Prince, and with the help of his co-conspirators, such as Nakatomi no Kamatari, Soga no Kurayamada, and others, they began a project to remake the Yamato government, using continental models—specifically the Sui and Tang courts, which were also influencing the governments of the Korean peninsula, such as those of Baekje and Silla.
This is known as the Taika, or Great Change, era. There had been previous movements to adopt some of the continental trends, but nothing to this extent, which culminated in a tremendous palace complex built in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka. Governors were sent out to the east of the country. The old, decentralized system was being replaced by a centralized bureaucracy.
And yet this wasn’t entirely a smooth transition. Early on there was a threat by supporters of the previous Crown Prince, Furubito no Oe. He was killed to put down any possible revolt. Later, Naka no Oe was hoodwinked into going after his own co-conspirator, Soga no Kurayamada, resulting in Kurayamada’s death and the punishment of his entire family. A few years later, Naka no Oe moved back to Asuka, taking most of the royal family and the court with him, abandoning the grand government complex that they had built in Naniwa for reasons that remain unclear.
Shortly thereafter, Karu, aka Kotoku Tenno, passed away. But rather than Naka no Oe taking the throne—or even Karu’s son, Prince Arima—the throne went back to Naka no Oe’s mother, Takara Hime. This is the only case we have of a single sovereign reigning twice, and the Chroniclers gave her two separate regnal names—Kogyoku Tenno to refer to her first reign and Saimei Tenno to refer to her second.
And this is the reign that we are going to start the new year with.
Beyond what was going on on the archipelago, there was also plenty that we covered on the continent. We started the year with the Sui dynasty having consolidated control and working to continue to expand their territory north, south, and west, while also connecting the economic areas of the Yangzi and Yellow rivers.
Unfortunately, through their wars and public works projects they overextended themselves, and the dynasty fell, replaced, in 619, with the Tang dynasty. The Tang continued to expand, taking control of important points on the Silk Road and becoming a hub of trade and commerce. At the same time, they were contesting their borders with the Goguryeo, who, themselves, had come under the control of Yeon Gaesomun, an infamous noble and anti-Tang hard-liner, who had staged a coup, murdered the Goguryeo king and any who stood against him, and who had installed a puppet king on the throne. It is little wonder that the Tang dynasty was courting Goguryeo’s enemy, Silla, to pressure them from the other side. This eventually kicked off the Tang-Goguryeo war, with the loosely allied Tang and Silla fighting on and off with Goguryeo and their ally, Baekje, who was also invested in stifling Silla’s ambitions on the peninsula.
So that’s where we are: The Korean peninsula is currently embroiled in conflict between the three kingdoms on the peninsula and the nearby superpower, the Tang Dynasty. Meanwhile, Yamato, on the archipelago, is going through a whole… thing. What that is, we’ll try to get into over the next year.
Given all of this, let’s go over some of the themes from the past year. To start with, let’s talk about expanding Yamato influence.
From what we can tell, Yamato’s influence in the archipelago had peaked around the 5th century, between the creation of giant Daisen Ryo kofun and the reign of Wakatake no Ohokimi, aka Yuryaku Tenno. Wakatake no Ohokimi had courtiers from as far away as Kyushu and the Kanto plain. However, from what I can tell, Yamato’s influence appears to have temporarily waned, possibly coinciding with the end of Wakatake’s own dynasty, with a new dynasty coming to power in the 6th century.
It is possible that Wakatake was simply never quite as powerful as the Chronicles make out, but there are a few other things that make me think that the end of the 5th and early half of the 6th century were a low point in Yamato’s power. For one thing, we see a drop off in interactions with the continent after 479—or at least anything beyond the tip of the Korean peninsula. In addition, we see smaller rooms built in the region of the Nara Basin and the Kawachi plain, while more “royal” tombs continue to appear elsewhere in the archipelago. It isn’t that they stopped, but the size decreased, suggesting that Yamato didn’t have the same labor pool it used to.
On top of that, we have the dynastic change. We are told that the line related to Wakatake died out and they had to bring in someone from Afumi and Koshi, who traced their lineage back to the legendary Homuda-wake, aka Ōjin tennō, some five generations back. Many scholars suggest that this connection was a later merging of the lineages, suggesting that, in reality, an entirely new branch of sovereigns had come to power.
Finally, we can see the Chronicles focusing more and more on the areas near to Yamato, the area known as the Home Provinces, possibly because Yamato only held direct control over these areas, while control beyond that was only nominal. Local elites in those regions had a lot of autonomy, and if Yamato did not have anything in particular to offer them, they would not have a reason to necessarily go along with Yamato’s requests.
This may have even been part of the impetus for the so-called “rebellion” by Iwai, in Kyushu. As you may recall, in the early 6th century Iwai attempted to ally with Silla against Yamato and Baekje, with the idea of cutting off Yamato’s access to the continent. This ultimately failed, and Yamato ended up creating what would become the Dazaifu near modern Fukuoka, but the fact that Iwai could contemplate it and gather such support would suggest that Yamato was at least perceived as vulnerable.
Now up to this point, we see several different policies that were used for increasing the court’s control. Early on, this was done by doling out various elite goods. We also see Yamato soft power in the form of spiritual authority and the expansion of local Yamato cultic practices out into the other lands of the archipelago. There was also the tradition of monumental tombs, and especially the royal keyhole style tombs, which spread out from Yamato and was likely as much an indication that those regions saw Yamato practices as worthy of emulation, at the least, and perhaps saw Yamato as a cultural nexus on the archipelago.
To all of this, they eventually added the “Be” system. This appears to have been copied from systems being used on the Korean peninsula, and it focused on creating familial units to organize various industries, with family heads responsible for reporting and funneling necessary goods up to the court. This eventually included the noble “uji” clans, with their power bases in various geographic regions.
Yamato extended its influence through a variety of methods, including various public works projects. These included things like the building of ponds, or reservoirs, which would have been critical to the wet-rice paddy agriculture that was the economic backbone of the Yamato government.
Another means of extending government control was the “miyake”, or Royal Granaries. Originally we see these set up in the Nara basin, but during the current dynasty they had been extended all the way out to Kyushu. Ostensibly, they were there to collect rice for taxes, but they appear to have acted as government offices, providing a presence for Yamato even out in the hinterlands. Eventually they would turn the area in Kyushu, the Dazai, into its own, semi-autonomous extension of the Yamato government, as well.
In the past year of the podcast, we’ve seen many of those older forms of government control replaced with a new bureaucratic system. This included an upgrade to the rank system, which was a way for the government to both organize the bureaucracy while also creating a means to award individuals. Early rank systems had initially been granted at the family level, but following a continental model meant that the new system was based solely on the individual. Thus they could hand out rank to various kings and chieftains across the archipelago and entice them into the Yamato orbit, a trick they had been doing previously as well with various types of recognition. Those that took the titles and rank that Yamato handed out gained a certain amount of legitimacy, locally, but since that legitimacy was tied to the Yamato court, it also helped solidify Yamato’s own influence on those areas.
That doesn’t mean that all expansion was peaceful. Yamato contested on their eastern and northern border with the people referred to as the Emishi, which eventually included contests as far north as the island of Hokkaido with the Mishihase people.
There was another form of soft power used by the court in the way that it supported Buddhism, which was still a new religion at this point, having arrived in the early part of the 6th century. Patronage of Buddhism would lead to the building of temples and otherwise claiming some authority in the spiritual realm, beyond simply the court’s control of the Mt. Miwa site. Furthermore, the state itself took particular interest in Buddhist institutions, and cracked down heavily on the clergy, ensuring that they reported up to the court, formally solidifying the connection between temples and the State.
But then they went a bit further and instituted actual governors. They were appointed by the Yamato government, and they were particularly installed in the Eastern lands—referred to as provinces. These governors reported to the court, and appear to have initially been separate from locally recognized elites, who were known as the Kuni no Miyatsuko. The governors were to take stock of the areas under their authority and report up information such as a summary of the lands and local census information. This meant that Yamato did not need to rely on local elites to administer an area, they would have greater insight into what was actually going on.
This was all combined with the institution of new laws on taxes, corvee labor, and more, while eliminating traditional practices such as the Miyake and even royal tomb-building. The latter was likely affected by the various public works projects, but also the fact that more work was going into the building of things like Buddhist temples.
As we noted back in the previous year, Buddhist temple building appears to have had a hand in the end of the prolific kofun building, at least in Yamato proper. Kofun were memorials—meant to carry on the memory of an individuals well after their death. They were ritual sites, and families were set up to care for them.
Temples, likewise, were erected with certain memorial qualities. Donating to build a temple was thought to increase one’s karma, and thus do wonders for your next life. Temple patrons would be remembered, and services were carried out, but temples also had a certain public aspect to them, as well. On top of that, they were new, and no doubt exotic, with their tiled rooves, intricate carvings, and colorful buildings. Much of the labor that would have built tombs appears to have been co-opted, instead, to build temples.
Some of the temples founded in this period include Asuka dera, aka Hokoji, built on or near the Soga family compound, as well as other Asuka temples, such as Yamadadera, Kawaradera, Toyouradera, and Kudaradera. There was also Houryuji, erected by Prince Umayado near his house, and the ancient temple of Shitennouji, erected in Naniwa. Of these, both Horyuji and Shitennoji continue, today, at or near their original with some of the oldest extant buildings in Japan. Asukadera was moved to its modern site of Gangoji, in Nara city proper, but there is still a smaller Asukadera on the original site, with what may be one of the original images, though the buildings have been rebuilt after numerous fires and disasters over the years.
Of course, a big part of all of these foreign ideas, such as Buddhism but also Confucian thought as well, was the growing influence of the continent, whether in the form of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, or beyond. While there had been influence ever since the Yayoi period—and arguably even during the Jomon, in some instances—there seems to have been an acceleration once Yamato began to import Buddhism, which was likely connected with all of the learning and texts that were also being imported around that time. Then, during the Sui and Tang dynasties—both of which the Chronicles simply label as the “Great Tang”—the court sent several embassies to the Sui and Tang emperors, bringing back individuals with actual experience in the way things were happening outside of the archipelago.
And we should not discount the various embassies to and from the Korean peninsula. Yamato was increasing its involvement in peninsular affairs. They continued to be concerned with the state of Nimna, also known as Imna or Mimana, which had been assimilated by Silla, along with the rest of Gaya, or Kara, by the early to mid-6th century, with many accounts dealing with attempts to reinstate Nimna as a separate and sovereign entity. Along with this, Yamato continued their relationship with Baekje, who sent Prince Pung to reside at the Yamato court. This continued a long-standing tradition that is portrayed as a type of diplomatic hostage, though there have been several times that princes at the Yamato court came back to Baekje to rule after the king died or was killed.
All of this to say that not only did ambassadors from Yamato go to these countries, but ambassadors also traveled to Yamato, while various immigrants from these areas of Baekje, Silla, and even Goguryeo occasionally settled in Yamato. This further increased the number of individuals with knowledge and experience of continental concepts and technology, and we can see their influence in numerous different ways.
This was all part of what led to the Yamato government’s adoption of Tang style law codes, though it should be noted that the law codes were not taken wholecloth. Rather, they were adapted specifically to the issues of the archipelago. This was the beginning of what came to be known as the Ritsuryo system, literally the system of laws and punishments.
Under this system, the government went from a single Oho-omi, or great minister, to two Great ministers, one of the left and one of the right. These would come to be known as the Sadaijin and the Udaijin. Nakatomi no Kamatari was afforded a special place as the third minister, the minister of the center, or Naidaijin, possibly referring to his responsibilities with the interior of the royal household, while the ministers of the left and right would have had particular ministries beneath them - eight ministries in total, with various departments underneath them. They would be assigned to report either to the Minister of the Left or the Minister of the Right, each one overseeing, effectively, half of the government portfolio.
This system, combined with the governors and the Tomo no Miyatsuko in the provinces, meant that Yamato had much more granular control over the workers and the means of production. They organized households into villages, and villages into districts. There were lower level officials who reported up the chain all the way to the great ministers, the Daijin, or Oho-omi. This meant that they effectively abolished the Be and Uji system, at least as it had been set up. These familial groups continued to operate as families, or perhaps more appropriately as “clans”, given how the groups had come to be.
These officials were granted rank and, more importantly, stipends from the government. A portion of taxes, which were paid in rice, went to various officials. This meant that officials not only relied on the government for their status, but for their incomes as well.
This went along with an attempt to implement something known as the “equal field system”, imported, again, from the continent. This determined who would work what fields, and was another way that the government was involved down to the actual labor producing the rice that was the economic engine of the State.
And that covers most of what we’ve been up to this past year. There have been individual accomplishments that we didn’t get into, but there is plenty there if you want to listen to it.
So that covers the past year in the podcast—a little over half of the 7th century. It really was a time of dramatic change—whether or not “Taika” was the name given to part of it, it certainly feels appropriate. Even though the court eventually moved to Naniwa, this is the height of the Asuka period, and the start of the Ritsuryo state. It would form the foundations for what was to come, and themes from this period will continue to show up again and again.
In this next year, we are going to continue to look at Takara Hime’s reign and beyond. We’ll see the resolution of the Tang-Goguryeo war, and the impact of all the continental fighting on the archipelago. We’ll also see continued developments within the archipelago itself, hopefully getting through to the end of the 7th century.
We are actually reaching the end of the material in the Nihon Shoki. This does not mean that we are running out of material, though. The Chronicles end in 697—less than 40 years out from our current place in the Chronicles. From there, we have the Shoku Nihongi, which covers 95 years, until 797 CE. Translation of much of the Shoku Nihongi is available through the work of Dr. Ross Bender, and you can find his work online if you want to get a leg up on the reading, though that is a ways out. For now, we can still comfortably continue with the Nihon Shoki, at least through the reign of Temmu Tennou.
Until then, Happy New Year! As usual, thank you for listening and for all of your support. Thanks also to my lovely wife, Ellen, for her continued work at helping to edit these episodes!
Remember, 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 Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Zaman, M., Charbonneau, L., & Maruyama H. (2022). Critiquing the Colonialist Origins of the New National Museum Upopoy. FOCUS Asia-Pacific, March 2022 Vol 107. 9-12. https://www.hurights.or.jp/archives/focus/section1/focus107.pdf
Bauer, M. (2020). The History of the Fujiwara House: A Study and Annotated Translation of the Toshi Kaden. Amsterdam University Press. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv125jv4q
Hudson, M. J., lewallen, ann-elise, & Watson, M. K. (Eds.). (2014). Beyond Ainu Studies: Changing Academic and Public Perspectives. University of Hawai’i Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt6wqw7k
Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Lewis, Mark Edward (2009). China’s Cosmopolitan Empire: The Tang Dynasty. The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts / London, England. ISBN 978-0-674-03306-1
Van Goethem, E. E. M. A. (2009). Capital and Countryside in Japan, 300-1180: Japanese Historians Interpreted in English (Joan R. Piggott, ed.). Journal of Asian Studies, 68(3), 988–90.
Como, Michael (2008). Shōtoku: Ethnicity, Ritual, and Violence in the Japanese Buddhist Tradition. ISBN 978-0-19-518861-5
Matsuo, K. (13 Dec. 2007). A History of Japanese Buddhism. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. doi: https://doi.org/10.1163/ej.9781905246410.i-280
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Kiyotaka Tanikawa, Mitsuru Sōma (2004). On the Totality of the Eclipse in AD 628 in the Nihongi. Publications of the Astronomical Society of Japan. Vol. 56, Issue 1, 25 February 2004. pp. 215–224. https://doi.org/10.1093/pasj/56.1.215
Benn, Charles (2002). China’s Golden Age: Everyday Life in the Tang Dynasty. Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-517665-0
Hudson, M. J. (1999). Ainu Ethnogenesis and the Northern Fujiwara. Arctic Anthropology, 36(1/2), 73-83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316506
Yamaura, K. (1998). The Sea Mammal Hunting Cultures of the Okhotsk Sea with Special Reference to Hokkaido Prehistory. Arctic Anthropology, 35(1), 321-334. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316472
Piggott, Joan R. (1997). The Emergence of Japanese Kingship. Stanford, Calif : Stanford University Press. ISBN9780804728324
Hanihara, K. (1990). Emishi, Ezo and Ainu: An Anthropological Perspective. Japan Review, 1, 35-48. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25790886
Kracke, E. A. (1976). Early Visions of Justice for the Humble in East and West. Journal of the American Oriental Society, 96(4), 492–498. https://doi.org/10.2307/600081
Kiley, C. J. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25–49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1
Befu, H., & Chard, C. S. (1964). A Prehistoric Maritime Culture of the Okhotsk Sea. American Antiquity, 30(1), 1-18. https://doi.org/10.2307/277625
Kitagawa, J.M. (1961). Ainu bear Festival (Iyomante). History of Religions, 1(1), 95-151. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1061972
Knox, George William (1903). The Early Institutional Life of Japan, a Study in the Reform of 645 A. D. By K. ASAKAWA, Ph.D. The American Historical Review, Volume 11, Issue 1, October 1905, Pages 128–129

Episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings

April 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

An anachronistic image of Kamitsukenu no Kimi no Katana by Kobayashi Kiyochika, published in 1886. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we take a quick look at the reign of Tamura, aka Jomei Tenno.

A few notes here: First off, it is still unclear how far Yamato’s reach actually was, and I should mention that it is also unclear just what the relationship was between Yamato and the Emishi. Obviously the Chronicles refer to it in particular manner, but that was just that.

Second, in case anyone’s curious, “Katana” as a name is not the same as “katana” the sword. It is just a bit of linguistic irony that they wind up together.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings
The general paced back and forth behind the walls of the fortress. Glancing around, he couldn’t help but notice how empty it now seemed. The palisades were holding, but most of the soldiers had gone, disappearing in the night. Outside the walls of the fortress, he could hear the Emishi laughing and singing. They were in good spirits—and why wouldn’t they be? The great army of Yamato sent to chastise them had been routed, and they had besieged them in their fortress, built in these still wild lands of northeastern Honshu, on the edge of an area known to many as Michi no Oku, roughly: the end of the road.
And for the general, it looked like this might be the end of the road for him. His options were limited, and he was clearly outnumbered. It was beginning to look like his troops had the right idea. Of course, it meant leaving his wife and other women to fend for themselves, but fear can do a lot to motivate someone. The general eyed the walls and the trees beyond. If he could slip past the besieging forces in the darkness, perhaps he could escape. It wouldn’t be the most honorable way out of this situation, but it would at least leave him with his head. And so, as night fell, he decided to make his move…
Greetings everyone, and welcome back!
Before I get into it, a quick shout out an thank you to YamiRaven for supporting us on Patreon, and thanks to Johnny for a supporting us on Ko-Fi.com. If you’d like to join them, and help us keep this thing going, we’ll have more info at the end of the episode.
Speaking of: This episode we are going to be talking about events during the reign of Prince Tamura, also known as Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hiro-nuka, or by the name given to him by the 8th century chroniclers: Jomei Tennou. As we discussed back in episode 103, Prince Tamura came to power in an interesting turn of fate. The grandson of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tenno, his father, Prince Hikobito no Ohoye was killed during the tumultuous period following Nunakura’s death. After several short-lived reigns, it was Kashikiya Hime, wife to Nunakura, who took the throne, known to us as Suiko Tennou.
Kashikiya Hime had named an heir, Crown Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, but he died before she did and by the time that Kashikiya Hime passed away, there was nobody clearly set up to take the throne, though two candidates did stand out. There was Prince Yamashiro no Ohoye, the son of Crown Prince Umayado, whom a strict lineal succession might seem to indicate was next up to inherit, but Yamato inheritance tradition was not so cut and dried. Soga no Emishi, the son of Soga no Umako, the powerful Oho-omi who helped run the government during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, campaigned to put Prince Tamura on the throne, rather than Yamashiro no Ohoye, despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that Yamashiro no Ohoye was actually a close relative to Emishi.
Now Prince Tamura was on the throne and Soga no Emishi was the Oho-omi, taking his father’s place.
And yet, despite the chaotic start to the reign in 629, the majority of it was almost tame and nondescript. Don’t get me wrong, Tamura, as I’ll keep referring to him, was on the throne for a respectable thirteen years, and during that time there were certainly events that move our narrative forward in many ways. However, much of the years of his reign are filled with discussions of things like rain storms and celestial phenomena. In fact, the only thing that apparently happened in all of 634 was that they saw a comet in the sky. The year before that, in 633, the only entry was the return of envoys from the Tang. For two years, then, there is hardly a mention of politics and anything else going on. And yet, this is a period that would set the stage for what was coming next.
Shortly after Tamura was appointed sovereign, he appointed his consort, Princess Takara, as his queen. Takara was, herself, a great-great grand-daughter of Nunakura Futodamashiki, a granddaughter of Prince Hikobito and daughter of Prince Chinu—presumably niece to Tamura, then, which is basically par for the course. She was also a royal descendant on her mother’s side, tracing back to Nunakura’s father, Ame Kuniyoshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. In fact, her mother, Kibitsu Hime, is said to have been buried in her own kofun at the head of Ame Kuniyoshi’s kofun—and today it is the site of the 7th century saruishi figures that I mentioned in the talk about traveling around Asuka.
Takara would give birth to three children of note. The first was her eldest son, Prince Katsuraki, who would, spoiler alert, later be known as Crown Prince Naka no Ohoye. He was around three years old when his father took the throne. He had a sister by Takara, named Hashibito, and a brother, whose name you may have heard me mention previously: Oho-ama.
Yes, Naka no Ohoye and Oho-ama are the future sovereigns Tenji and Temmu, but for now they are still relatively young. In fact, Oho-ama wouldn’t be born until several years into his father’s reign, in 631.
Some of the early events of the reign were carryover from Kashikiya Hime’s time on the throne. In 629, for instance, Tanabe no Muraji went to Yakushima, returning the following year, and with people coming to Yamato from Yakushima the year after that.
There were also a fair number of foreign embassies, including an Embassy from Goguryeo and Baekje. These may have been missions of condolences and congratulations—typical international diplomacy at the time when a neighboring ruler passed away and a new one ascended the throne, it would seem. They arrived in the third month of 630 and departed in the 9th month of that same year—a 6 month visit, all told.
We also have the first actual account of ambassadors sent off to the Tang dynasty: Inugami no Mitasuki and Yakushi no E’nichi, each of Dainin rank. These are some of the first true kentoushi, or Ambassadors to the Tang court, that were sent, but over time their influence would be felt across Yamato and the archipelago.
These ambassadors—or at least Mitasuki—would return in 632 with a Tang ambassador, Gao Biaoren, along with student-priests Ryou’un and Soumin, as well as Suguri no Torikahi. Perhaps most tellingly, they would arrive with Silla escort envoys, which would seem to indicate that passage to the Tang court was not done without Silla’s assistance. As you may recall, Silla had entered into a nominal alliance with the Tang against Goguryeo. The Tang Ambassadors eventually reached Naniwa, where they were met with boats decked out with drums, flutes, and flags, and where they exchanged formal greetings before being escorted into the official residence. The Nihon Shoki takes pains to note the different individuals involved in the duties, from the initial greeting, guiding them to the residence, and then preparing them in the residence, along with a welcome drink of sake brewed on temple rice land.
And then, three months later, they depart once more. Nothing else is said of their visit.
Meanwhile, in the time between when Mitasuki went to the Tang court and when he returned with Gao Biaoren and company, a few things had happened. For one we get a note about Tamura moving to a new palace complex known as Okamoto no miya, supposedly at the foot of Asuka hill, hence the name, which means “foot of the hill”. This would not have been much of a change from Kashikiya Hime’s palace, still within the sacred area defined by the Soga temple of Asukadera as well as various other temples being stood up in that area as well. A move was to be expected, though in this case it is interesting that he didn’t go very far.
There is also mention, still in 630, of the repairing the official residences in Naniwa where ambassadors from the continent would be quartered during their trips to Yamato
631 opens with something of a treat – so it would seem, anyway. We are told that in the third month of Tamura’s third year on the throne, Prince Pung—named Pungjang in the Chronicles—was sent to the Yamato court by his father, King Wicha of Baekje. On the one hand, the Korean sources do agree that Prince Pung was, indeed, sent to Yamato, where he would live as a guest and diplomatic hostage. We’ve talked about this practice in the past, which seems to have strengthened bonds between nations, although we rarely hear of Yamato returning the favor by sending hostages to the continent. It may have also helped keep a potential heir out of harm’s way in case of a coup or other such politics. Several times, heirs returned to Baekje to be enthroned with Yamato assistance, if the Chronicles are to be believed.
Except that this entry is probably not quite right. You see, Wicha wouldn’t even come to the throne until 641—he wasn’t even made Crown Prince until 632—so why would he send his son as a diplomatic hostage in 631? Johnathan Best, translating the Baekje records of the Samguk Sagi, suggests that perhaps the Chroniclers were off by a factor of 10 or 12 years. You see, as we mentioned earlier, the East Asian calendrical system was based on a series of ten stems and twelve branches. The stems represented the elemental forces, and the branches were identified with the twelve signs of the zodiac. Incrementing each one each year led to a series of 60 years before it started repeating, and based on the way that the records for this reign are dated, it looks like the records the Chroniclers were drawing from used this system for their dates. However, if you misread—or even miswrite—one of these characters it can change your date by ten or even twelve years. It would make much more sense for Prince Pung to have arrived twelve years later, in 643. Similarly, we find other records, particularly having to do with Baekje, which may be a bit jumbled, possibly indicating they came from a similar source that either had things in the wrong chronological order or was simply vague or poorly scribed so that the Chroniclers had to figure out exactly what was happening when—which they may have made mistakes with, from time to time.
So Prince Pung arriving as a hostage is probably misplaced, and likely didn’t happen during Tamura’s reign. Which means that other than people from Yakushima showing up in 631 the only other major event of the year was Tamura going to the hot springs of Arima, in Settsu, where he stayed for about three months.
Now I know I’ve mentioned hot springs, or onsen, before in the narrative. After all, the volcanic islands that make up the Japanese archipelago are full of them, and it isn’t like they were suddenly discovered during this reign, but it does look like this might be the first formal mention of them in the Nihon Shoki—which gives Arima, in the mountains north of Kobe, some serious bona fides to be considered the oldest known hot spring town in Japan.
And that would be a cool side note in most reigns, but for Tamura it seems to have been a habit. He apparently went for a dip at least three times in his reign—the second time, in 638, he apparently went to the “Arima no Miya”, or the Arima Palace, which suggests that he had something built specifically for his visits. And then, in 639, he headed to the hot springs in Iyo.
The country of Iyo is better known today as Ehime prefecture, on the western edge of the island of Shikoku. The largest city in Ehime is Matsuyama, home to the famous Dougou Onsen, which also lays a claim to being the oldest operating hot springs in the archipelago. Dougou Onsen is not only the traditional place in Iyo where Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, took the waters, as they might say in the west, but in the Iyo Fudoki it is said that its fame goes back even further. As we mentioned back in Chapter 18, it is said that the legendary figures Ohonamuchi and Sukuna Bikona met there, back in ancient times. In more recent times, relatively speaking, Dougou Onsen was the inspiration behind the fantastical bathhouse created by Hayao Miyazaki in the Studio Ghibli film, Spirited Away.
For all that these visits to the hot springs are somewhat interesting, they don’t exactly tell us a lot about what was happening with government, and in fact tend to make it seem almost as though Tamura was skipping out, at least in the fall to early winter. And to be honest, can you blame him? Winter is one of the best times to go take advantage of the volcanic springs.
Many of the other records appear to be natural phenomena, mostly having to do with the heavens: rain, storms, lightning, and more. Some of the more intriguing are comets—stars with “long tails” that appeared in the skies. There are also mentions of eclipse and what may have been a meteor—a star in 636 “floated east to west, with a noise like thunder.” The Priest Soumin, from the Tang, said it was the sound of the Celestial Dog, a creature from the ancient Han or possibly pre-Qin text, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, a fantastical account of mythical geography and various animals, including the nine tailed fox and the celestial dog, whose bark was said to be like Thunder. This book was considered to be a true account up through the Tang dynasty.
One could probably track the celestial phenomena and see if there is any correlation with known sightings, but it is also just as likely that some of it was taken from continental records and inserted into the Chronicles as appropriate.
Besides such phenomena, there were accounts of more missions, especially from Baekje. Yamato was still using the cap rank system attributed to Prince Umayado during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, and some of the envoys were given cap rank, or granted a promotion—a gesture that was likely pure diplomacy, as the rank wouldn’t necessarily convey any special rights back in their home country.
There are a few more things of note. First, in 636, we are told that all those who had affairs with the uneme at court were put on trial and punished—which likely means they were put to death. The uneme, as you may recall, were women sent to serve at the court, and as such they were apparently off-limits, at least while they were serving. That clearly didn’t stop people from having some late night escapades, though.
The main reason it likely comes up, though, is that we are told that one of the accused was a man named Miwa no Kimi no Osazaki, and that he took his own life by stabbing himself in the throat because the examination—by which I’m sure they meant torture—was too much to bear. And here I have to wonder how similar Yamato’s sense of justice was to that of their neighbor, the Tang dynasty. In the case of the latter, there was often a suspicion that any person accused of a crime must be guilty of at least something—after all, why would they have been accused if they didn’t do something to upset the peace, even if it was just that they didn’t get along with their neighbors. It was considered de rigeur to submit suspected criminals to torturous ordeals with the idea that this would elicit a confession. Unfortunately, this idea that harsh and torturous examinations can be used to uncover the truth often still persists, despite evidence that, under enough duress, most people will say anything. In this case, it drove Osazaki to take his own life.
Later in that same year, the Okamoto palace caught fire and burned down, and so Tamura moved to a new palace, called the Tanaka palace, or the Palace in the Middle of the Rice Fields. We also have a little more court action, as Prince Ohomata, a son of Nunakura Futodamashiki by one of his consorts, reached out to Soga no Emishi—called in this record the Toyoura no Oho-omi, likely because his mansion was in or near Toyoura, in Asuka.
Prince Ohomata suggested to Soga no Emishi that the ministers had not been attending court properly. He suggested that they should be there by roughly 5 or 6 AM—an hour before daybreak—and they should stay until 10 or 11 AM. Specifically he mentioned the hour of the hare and the hour of the serpent, as each ancient hour was actually two, with twelve hours making up the day, each named for one of the twelve signs of the Asian zodiac.
To enforce all of this, Ohomata also recommended having a bell rung that would let people know that it was time to start or end work. This was all common practice in the continental courts of the day, and it wasn’t like they were asking for a modern 40 hour work week, even: the court ministers would literally be serving for maybe 5 to 6 hours at court, with the rest of the time to handle their own affairs. Still, Soga no Emishi apparently didn’t think much of the idea and so was not inclined to support it.
All of this is kind of an odd mention. First, Ohomata is an obscure Prince—he’s only mentioned three times in the Chronicles, and once just in a list of Nunakura’s children. Second, the idea doesn’t go anywhere. Third, they don’t call Soga no Emishi by the name they used in both the previous or the next reign, but use Toyora no Ohoomi, for whatever reason. It just sticks out as odd, and I wonder if it was added to show that Soga no Emishi was resistant to change and new ideas.
At the same time, it does give us a clue that Soga no Emishi was still running things. His name may not have been on a lot, but then again, neither was Tamura’s, so we can only infer what was actually going on during this period. It’s almost a lacuna in the history.
There were a few other events worth noting, however, one of which took more than a bit of the Chroniclers’ ink, and this was a rebellion by the Emishi people.
First off, because it can be confusing: There is no apparent link between Soga no Emishi and the Emishi people that I’m aware of. Emishi, of course, is the name given to the people living outside of the Yamato cultural sphere in the northeast, from modern Ibaraki prefecture north. They were apparently expected to pay tribute at court, and are clearly treated differently from other outside groups, like Baekje and Silla. Some of them were likely members of the groups that had lived in the region since the Jomon period, who never fully adopted the Yayoi and later Kofun lifeways, and they may be related to the Ainu people who still live in modern Hokkaido, though there is also evidence that some of the Emishi may have been ethnic Wa people who had gone to live outside the Yamato court’s reach—though that is more evident in later centuries than in the current narrative.
I would also note that “Emishi” is an exonym—that is a name given by outsiders, in this case, by the Wa people of Yamato. In fact, other than what we can see in the archaeological record, what we know of the Emishi comes from Yamato sources, which are almost entirely biased. We don’t really have any good telling of their story from their own perspective. For instance,did they feel oppressed by Yamato in general, and not think they should have to keep bringing tribute? Or was there a more specific event that occurred, much like the conflicts we see later between the Wajin, the ethnic Japanese, and the Ainu up in Hokkaido? It is unclear.
To subdue the Emishi, and bring them back under Yamato hegemony, the court appointed Kamitsukeno no Kimi no Katana, a courtier of Dainin cap rank, as general. Spoiler alert: he’s the general in the story at the beginning of this episode. Based on his name, it would seem he was from the family in charge of Kamitsukenu, later shortened to Kozuke Province in modern Gunma prefecture, north of Tokyo. As such, he would have been well positioned to know something of the Emishi on his border. That said, he apparently didn’t know them so well that it gave him an advantage. His forces were routed and they retreated back to their fortress, where they were besieged by the Emishi.
Now when I say “fortress” please don’t picture some grand castle, like Himeji, Azuchi, or Matsumoto. In fact, don’t really picture a castle at all. More likely than not, this was simply an area enclosed by a wall—possibly some earthworks and maybe a moat, but perhaps just a quickly erected palisade structure. True castle structures wouldn’t come until later. For those familiar with American history, this may have been something like the fort at Jamestown or even the quickly assembled and ill-fated Fort Necessity—though perhaps a little larger if it was capable of housing the forces and the noncombatants that had accompanied them.
And so, when some of Katana’s soldiers decided they didn’t really want to be there any longer they apparently just up and left. Presumably they found a time when nobody was looking and just yeeted themselves over the walls and did their best to hide from the surrounding Emishi forces. Pretty soon just about all of the able-bodied soldiers had taken this approach, and Katana was thinking about joining them. In fact, he was getting ready to when his own wife noticed what he was doing.
That’s right, his wife was there with him. Whether she was a combatant or simply part of the train it isn’t entirely clear, but she wasn’t going to have her husband run off and abandon his post. She poured out sake for him to drink and as he did so, she took his sword and girded it to herself. She then went and found all of the bows and handed them out to all of the other women and people who had been left behind when the soldiers deserted, and they started pulling the bowstrings back and making a sound like they were being shot.
Upon seeing this, Katana roused himself, grabbed a weapon himself, and advanced out of the fortress.
The besieging Emishi were not sure what to make of this. They could hear the twang of bows, and it sounded as though there was quite a force, so as general Katana stepped out of the fortress they pulled back, thinking that there was a much bigger force than he actually had. As they did that, some of Katana’s own forces, who had escaped, but not too far, started to gain hope. They regrouped and attacked the Emishi with fresh energy, eventually defeating them.
Of course, Katana’s wife remains nameless throughout this whole episode, even though she was the one who helped turn the tide—first by turning her husband, but then by organizing the others to make it seem like they had a lot more people than they did.
After this fascinating story, the Chronicles getback to the normal records of storms, of fruit trees blossoming, of hot springs, and tribute. It wasn’t until two years later, in 639, that we get something interesting that we might easily overlook. This was the start of a new temple on the banks of the Kudara River, known to us as Kudara dera, or Kudara Temple.
Kudara Temple is definitely a bit of an enigma. It is mentioned quite heavily in later records, and yet it would eventually disappear without a trace, or so it seemed. It wasn’t until modern times that archaeologists identified a temple that we believe is Kudara dera. We are told that it had a nine-story pagoda, which may reflect ideas from Tang or Silla practice—somewhat ironic given that “Kudara” is a name used to refer to Baekje. In this case, the name seems to have come from the Kudara River, on whose banks the temple was built.
From the 80s through the 2000s there were a series of excavations at the site of Kibi Pond north of Asuka, closer to the center of Sakurai. Here a temple was found, which we believe to be the site of Kudara dera. The pond itself was dug at a later point in time, on the site of the temple, which was likely moved. Today, there is a small Kudara temple to the northwest of the old site, but it isn’t nearly as grand as it once was.
By all accounts, the construction of Kudara temple took years, in contrast to the building of royal palaces, which went up relatively quickly. This is because the palaces, for all of their size, were still being made using largely local construction methods. Posts were placed directly into the ground and the roofs were thatched. Being made of wood, these buildings went up relatively quickly, which was good seeing as how every reign the sovereign and court would move to a new palace. Of course, I also wonder if the tradition of moving didn’t come from the fact that the palace would likely have started rotting away on its own after a while. Then again, even in a single reign you might change palaces multiple times, as Tamura did.
In contrast, we have temple construction from the mainland. Here, rocks were set down, and the posts were placed on those, which gave a firm foundation and prevented water from easily getting in and ruining the base of the pillar. Packed earth and stone construction were used in places, along with heavy tile roofs, for which thousands of rooftiles had to be constructed. Centuries of architectural knowledge were used to design and create structures that were meant to outlast any patrons who helped to build them.
Add on to that the nine story pagoda. If you consider that the beautiful and imposing tenshukaku, or main keep, of Himeji castle, built in the early 17th century, is six stories and rises over 46 meters, or about 152 feet, this pagoda may have been about the same height or even a bit higher, assuming that relative proportions were similar to those in other pagodas from the time, such as that of Yakushiji. It must have been a towering beacon at the time, and the temple is considered one of the four great temples of the Asuka era, at least by some.
That this temple was commissioned by Tamura and not by Soga no Emishi is something that may indicate some unspoken tensions at the time. Tamura’s previous palaces were in Asuka, near Asuka temple, the chief temple of the Soga family, and situated in a Soga stronghold. Kudara temple was built significantly outside of this area, though still within walking distance, so not so far as to be a complete move—it isn’t like he moved it up to lake Biwa or anything, wink wink.
In 640, Tamura returned from his trip to the hot springs in Iyo—again, modern Ehime prefecture—and came back to a new palace at Umayazaka, but just six months later he moved into the Kudara palace, which was presumably nearby Kudara temple, effectively moving the court out of—or at least to the periphery of—Soga controlled territory.
Unfortunately, his stay at Kudara palace would only last about a year, as he passed away there in the 10th month of 641. He was roughly 48 years old. His son, and heir apparent, Prince Hirakasuwake, aka Naka no Oe, pronounced the funeral elegy.
And just like that, the throne was vacant again. There was an heir apparent, but Naka no Oe was only 16 years old, and so his mother, Takara, would take the throne, presumably until he was ready. She would be known as Ame Toyo Takara Ikashi-hi Tarashi Hime, aka Kougyoku Tennou, and her reign was anything but quiet. To give some context: if we had a little over 50 or so events recorded during the 13 years that Tamura was on the throne, while we have over 60 events recorded in just the first year of Takara’s reign. So, you know, there’s that.
But I’m going to have to ask you to wait a little bit for us to dig into that. For one thing, the politics are going to start getting hot and heavy, as anyone who may recognize the name “Naka no Oe” likely knows. As this young prince was coming into his own he was going to come face to face with the power of the Soga family. All that, starting next episode.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for her 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

McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 104: A Bloody Start to Golden Age

March 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A series of men on horseback, dressed in the round-necked collars typical of the Western regions with Chinese style hats, carrying flags with streamers. — Image of courtiers out on horseback dressed in the style of the Western Regions but with traditional ethnic Han headgear. From a Tang dynasty era tomb mural in modern Xian (ancient Chang’an). Photo by author.

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This episode we head over to the continent to kick off the Tang dynasty. The Tang dynasty was extremely influential on Yamato and later Japan, as well as the rest of East Asia. And so we'll take a look at how it got its start and how it expanded along the silk road, while at the same time talking about the literally cutthroat politics of the period. Especially in the royal house. Nobody fights like family.

Who’s Who

Li Yuan

Li Yuan (aka Emperor Tang Gaozu) is the founder of the Tang empire. Likely related to families from the Western Regions that intermarried with ethnic Han to become elites during the chaotic Sixteen Kingdoms period, they made claims to a royal ancestor in the Western Liang. In the Sui they were an elite family providing military service. The “Li” family surname is a common one, with many different branches of the Li family.

Li Er

Aka Laozi, or “Old Sage”, a likely apocryphal name for the supposed author of the Dao De Jing and thus founder of Daoism. In all likelihood he is a fictional character or an amalgamation of many different philosophers whose ideas came to form the core of Daoist philosophy and religion. By the Sui dynasty there were some Daoists who believed that a person with the surname of “Li” would come to power and usher in a Daoist millennia. This may have made the Sui Emperor suspicious of anyone surnamed “Li” and was certainly used by Li Yuan to help justify his new dynasty.

Li Shimin

Li Shimin (aka [spoiler alert] Tang Taizong) was a son of Li Yuan and given the historical narrative he is portrayed as one of the key figures pushing Li Yuan to dethrone the Sui and take over. Eventually he maneuvered to put himself on the throne, and is generally regarded as having one of the best reigns despite all of the political bloodshed that seems to have occurred.

Li Jiancheng

The eldest son of Li Yuan, and one of his generals in his fight to form the Tang dynasty. He was named Crown Prince until the Xuwanwu gate incident.

Li Yuanji

Another son of Li Yuan, he was close with his brother Jiancheng and opposed the rise of his brother, Li Shimin.

Princess Pingyang

Pingyang was one of the daughters of Li Yuan, and the only full-blooded sister to Li Shimin, Li Jiancheng, and Li Yuanji. She was married to Chai Shao, an ally of Li Yuan, and during Li Yuan’s effort to take the throne she commanded an army, the “Army of the Lady”, in support of him and her brothers. She became the first female Tang General, and even when she and her husband were united on the field, they kept separate headquarters for their different forces.

Li Chengqian

Son of Li Shimin, and the Crown Prince. He was brought down by infighting with his brother, Li Tai

Li Tai

Son of Li Shimin, who was quite popular and so threatened Li Chengqian’s position as Crown Prince. The politics of the day, however, led to him being removed from court.

Li Zhi

Youngest son of Li Shimin, he would eventually come to the throne as emperor Tang Gaozong. He would rule with his wife, Empress Wu Zetian.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 104: A Bloody Start to a Golden Age
It was early in the morning on the fourth day of the sixth month of the ninth year of Wu De. Brothers Li Jiancheng, Crown Prince, and his younger brother, Li Yuanji, were more than a bit annoyed--Their brother had apparently slandered them to their father, the Emperor, claiming that they had had illicit relationships with his concubines. Although the accusations were false, they still had to come to the palace to clear their names. So they left the crown prince’s residence at the Eastern Palace and were traveling on horseback with a retinue of men through the private, forested royal park north of the city towards the Xuanwu Gate—the northern gate to the palace and to the great city of Chang’an.
As they approached Linhu Hall, they noticed something was afoot: there were soldiers in the park, headed their way. It was immediately apparent that the accusations had been a ruse, and their brother meant for more than just to tarnish their honor. As they fled eastward, back towards the Eastern palace, their brother, Li Shimin, came galloping towards them and called out to them. Li Yuanji tried to draw his bow, but couldn’t get to it in time, and Li Shimin shot and killed Li Jiancheng, their older brother and the crown prince.
Li Yuanji himself fell from his horse as he dodged arrows from the attacking troops, but Li Shimin also became entangled in the brush of the park and had to dismount. Li Yuanji ran up to his brother and tried to strangle him with his bow string, but soon he was chased off by reinforcements. Li Yuanji fled on foot to Wude Hall, where he was finally caught and struck down with arrows. Li Shimin’s forces struck off the heads of the two murdered princes, and took them to the Xuanwu gate, where opposing forces were still fighting. Seeing the heads of the two princes, it was clear that Li Shimin’s ambush was victorious, and the princes’ forces quickly dispersed.
Three days later, the victorious Li Shimin was instated as the new crown prince. Two months later, his father, Li Yuan, known to history as emperor Tang Gaozu, abdicated in favor of his son, who came to power as Emperor Taizong. This was the start of the Zhenguan era, which would come to be seen as a golden age in the history of the various Chinese empires.
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Alright, so as may be apparent, we are deviating a bit from our discussion of Yamato to look at some of the events on the continent. This is because the rise of the Tang dynasty would have an incredible impact on the Japanese archipelago. For one, it was the alliance between the Tang and Silla that would eventually mean the removal of Yamato and its allies from the Korean peninsula. In addition, however, the Tang dynasty’s access to the silk road and its grandiose government would become an exemplar for Yamato and many other polities who wished to demonstrate their political and cultural sophistication. Many of the laws and even court dress would mimic that of the Tang court—with a local flare, of course. In addition, the Tang dynasty brought a relative stability to the continent that would last for over two hundred years. Of course, none of that was known at the outset, and like many previous kingdoms, the Tang dynasty was born out of bloodshed.
We’ve mentioned several times how the Sui Dynasty was growing increasingly unpopular in the late 6th and early 7th centuries. Wars continued to cost money and lives, as did the giant public works projects of the periods - though the Grand Canal would be one of the greatest constructions of any age, uniting the Yangzi and Yellow River basins in myriad ways, powering the regions’ economies for centuries to come.
Into this Sui period came a man of the Li family named Yuan. We mentioned him back in episode 102, but I figured he could do with a little more backstory. Li Yuan’s family originated in the frontier regions. Official biographies had connected him to the founder of the Western Liang dynasty, and his family had served in various roles as the different northern kingdoms rose and fell. The Li family had been providing military service since the time of Yuan’s great-grandfather, and Li Yuan himself had been serving since the early 600s. He was made a general and placed in charge of the Dongguang pass in the Taihang mountains. There, he largely stayed out of the limelight.
At one point, he was summoned to the palace and rather than going he feigned illness, instead. You see, around this time there was a prophecy flying around that someone with the surname of Li would try to take the throne from Sui Emperor, Emperor Yang, so it may have been in Li Yuan’s best interest to avoid the court and anything that could draw Emperor Yang’s suspicions. He continued to do everything in his power to make himself seem unthreatening, even as rebellions were breaking out across the Empire.
In 614, the Sui army was defeated by Goguryeo, and the Sui court was plagued by numerous uprisings. Li Yuan may have sat it out if it weren’t for his son, Li Shimin. Like many youthful individuals, Li Shimin was less than invested in the current administration. He and several of his close acquaintances began to scheme behind his father’s back, with plans to join the other uprisings and hope to take a piece of the pie. Eventually, they blackmailed Li Yuan into marching on the capital of Daxingcheng in 617, threatening to expose several illicit relationships from his time at the court—relationships that would have surely put him at odds with the Emperor. At the same time, Emperor Yang had fled to the southern capital along the banks of the Yangzi River, but his son and heir, Yang You, was still in the capital. Li Yuan marched on imperial city of Daxingcheng, near the ancient capital of Chang’an, claiming that he was coming to protect the young heir.
Taking control of the capital city put Li Yuan at odds with imperial forces, who did not necessarily accept Li Yuan’s altruistic claims. Li Yuan and his sons, including Li Shimin and Li Jiangcheng, were drawn into fighting. Even Li Yuan’s daughter, Pingyang, the wife of general Chai Shao, contributed to the war effort. She personally raised an army and led it into battle, becoming the first female general of what would be known as the Tang dynasty.
In 618, Emperor Yang of Sui was assassinated by another general, Yuwen Huaji, and the throne passed to his son, Yang You, known as Emperor Gong of Sui. However, Li Yuan pressured the newly made Emperor Gong to yield the throne to him. Since Li Yuan had inherited the title “Duke of Tang” from his paternal line, he used that as the name of his new dynasty, and became known as Tang Gaozu—the High Founder of Tang.
It wasn’t enough to simply take the throne, though. There were still many other warlords looking to take his place. After all, unification had only come about some thirty or forty years prior. Up to that point, there had been numerous, often competing kingdoms, especially in the north. It was quite possible that the Sui dynasty was just a fluke, and most people no doubt expected the empire to fall once more into chaos.
Still, although he definitely had to back it up with military might, often led by his sons and close confidants, Li Yuan went about the process of enacting his sovereignty. This included various state rituals, as well as a reform of the administration. For one thing, they renamed the capital. Daxingcheng had been built nearby the ancient capital of Chang’an, and so they renamed Daxingcheng to the ancient name of Chang’an.
In addition, he sought out various supernatural portents. He also enjoyed the support of various Daoists, who believed that the founder of Daoism, Laozi, was from the Li family. There was a belief at the time that a messianic ruler from the Li family would bring about the Daoist millennium. And to better understand that, it may be useful to understand a little bit about Daoism.
Daoism, first and foremost, is one of the more well known religions to come out of China, and often is found side by side what would seem to be its polar opposite, Confucianism. However, the two have more in common than one might at first assume.
The believed founder of Daoism is known as Laozi, though some later sources, including the Qin dynasty “Records of the Grand Historian”, by Sima Chen, would claim for him the name Li Er. Laozi was said to have been a scholar who abandoned the world, and as he was leaving the empire for parts unknown, an astute guard recognized him and requested that before he left that he write down his accumulated wisdom before he would let the old sage leave. That became the work known as the Dao De Jing, or the Classic of the Way and Virtue.
The opening of the Dao De Jing is rather famous:
Dao ke Dao, feichang Dao.
Or, according to one translation: The Dao that can be known is not the eternal Dao.
However, no English translation truly does the original justice.
Traditionally, Laozi is said to have been a contemporary of Confucius, and some of the earliest writings on him, in the Warring States period writings of Zhuangzi, often show Confucius in awe of Laozi. That said, most tend to agree that Laozi himself likely never existed, and that the Dao De Jing was assembled over the years from various poems and sayings that fit with the general theme of formlessness and a general concept of following the Way, a rather ill defined concept of natural order, one which humans are constantly pushing against, often to our detriment.
Truth is that both Confucius and Laozi—or whomever compiled the Dao De Jing—wrote about a thing called the “Dao” or “Way”. Confucius was often talking about the “Way of Heaven”, describing an ordered universe where balance was kept by everyone remaining in their proper place, creating a series of rules around strict, hierarchical relationships, such as those between a father and son, or the ruler and subject. According to Confucian thought, as long as things on Earth were properly ordered, that order would be reflected in the Heavens, and all of creation would be ordered as well.
In Daoism, it is much less about attempting to order the universe, but rather about giving in to your natural place in the universe. This is a much simplified version of both religions, but in general, where Confucianism tended to see serving at court as a virtue, Daoism tended to reject official life. For many court officials, they would embrace Confucian ideals in their official lives, but often seek out Daoist pleasures in their free time.
Religious Daoism, where it became more than simply a philosophical ideal, appears to have coalesced around the Han dynasty. There are Daoist temples, though in this instance it is often intertwined with many other Sinitic philosophies and beliefs. Thus things like the Queen Mother of the West and the Peaches of Immortality could be included in Daoist practice. Things like the Yijing, the Book of Changes, and various divination methods could also be included.
In many cases, “Daoist” seems to be used less to refer to a strict adherent to the philosophy of the supposed Laozi, and more as a general catchall for various folk beliefs. Thus many people see the images of the Queen Mother of the West on Han Dynasty mirrors imported to Japan as evidence of a Daoist influence on the archipelago, while others note the lack of the further panoply of religious accoutrements that we would expect if it was truly a “Daoist” influence, and not just a few folk beliefs that made their way across the straits.
However, by the time that Li Yuan was coming to the throne there was a thriving Daoist community in the Sui and burgeoning Tang dynasties, and if they believed that Li Yuan was an incarnation of Laozi—or at least a messianic descendant—who was he to dissuade them of such a notion?
Li Yuan reached back into the past in other ways as well. For one, he would reinstitute the Northern Wei “equal-field” system of state granted land, along with a system of prefectures and districts to help administer it. This was largely an effort to help fill up the coffers, which had been emptied by the Sui and constant warfare, while also emphasizing state ownership of land, with individuals being mere tenants. It also helped bring back into cultivation lands that had long lain fallow, often due to the constant fighting of the previous centuries.
In 621, Li Yuan ordered the minting of new copper coins to help stabilize the currency. Later Sui currency had been devalued by numerous forgeries as well as official debasement—mixing in less valuable metals to make the coins, while attempting to maintain the same denominations as before. These new coins were meant to restore faith in the currency, but shortages would continue to plague the dynasty throughout its history, leading to the use of cloth as a common medium of exchange and tax payment, something that was also common on the archipelago, along with other goods, in lieu of rice or money.
By 624, Li Yuan also announced a new legal code based on the old Han era code, although this was quickly expanded, since the needs of the code from the 3rd century
Now initially, for all of their claims to the entire geographic area of the Sui dynasty, the newly established Tang dynasty really only had effective control over a small are of Guanzhou—the area around Chang’an itself. Li Yuan hadn’t been the only one to rise up, and just because he had declared himself the new emperor didn’t mean that the other warlords were just giving up. It wasn’t like they had reached the end of a football match and everyone was now just going to go home.
And so he and his sons found themselves campaigning for at least the next five years, and that was against the active threats. Plenty of local elites, especially along the Yellow River basin, simply opted to hole up in their fortified settlements. After all, they had no guarantees that this new Tang dynasty would last longer than any of the others in the past several centuries. Often these local elites came under nominal vassalage of the Tang—and probably any other warlord that showed up—but in reality, based on how we see the Tang administration at work, it seems they were primarily left to their own devices, at least early on. After all, Li Yuan and his sons had plenty of active threats to worry about.
And it was definitely his sons who bore the brunt of the work. Li Jiancheng, the eldest son, who would eventually be named Crown Prince, and Li Shimin each took charge of various troops against the threats to the new Tang empire. And they were, for the most part, successful. They eventually brought a majority of the former Sui territory under their control, such that by 623 internal resistance had begun to wane, and by 624 the situation was largely under control.
At least internally. To the north and west there was another threat: The khaganate of the Göktürks.
Now for many people, if you hear “Turks” you might immediately think of the Ottomans in the region of modern Turkiye. However, that is not where the Turkish people originated from. In fact, the first mention of Turkic people appears to be out of the Altai mountains, in modern Mongolia, from around 545. They appear to have been a nomadic group, as were many of the people of the steppes of central Eurasia. By 551, only a short time after they were first documented by outside groups, they had established the Göktürk, or Celestial Turk, Khaganate, based in the Mongolian plateau. From there they expanded in the 6th century, at one point spanning from the Byzantine and Sassanid Persian empires in the west all the way to the kingdoms and empires of the Yellow River basin in the east.
Many of the ethnic Han kingdoms that clashed with the Göktürks instituted practices of basically paying them off to prevent raids and invasions of their territory. Shortly after the founding of the Sui dynasty, the Turkic Khaganate split in two, after the death of the khagan, and so the Sui and Tang were actually dealing with what we know as the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. They were known to the ethnic Han people as the Thuk-kyat people, a term that today is often transcribed as Tujue, due to the shift in Sinic pronunciation over time. “Tujue” is often how you’ll see it rendered in sources referencing Chinese documents.
The Eastern Turkic Khaganate remained an issue for the Sui and Tang dynasties. Initially, when the uprisings against the Sui began, the Göktürks actually pulled back for a bit, hoping to allow the internal conflicts to weaken their eastern neighbors, but as they saw the direction things were taking, with the Tang dynasty solidifying their power, they began to launch invasions and harass the border, forcing the Tang dynasty to send troops. Initially Li Yuan attempted to by off the Eastern Turks, as previous dynasties had done, but while they were happy to take his money, the invasions did not stop.
Eventually, things got so bad—and the internal conflicts were in a stable enough state—that Li Yuan, decided to send a force against them. A fairly straightforward decision, supposedly, except, well…
Throughout all of this conflict, Li Jiancheng and Li Shimin had been building up their own influence. Li Jiancheng, as the eldest son of Li Yuan, was the Crown Prince, but Li Shimin had built up his own power and influence, to the point that Li Jiancheng and his other brother, Li Yuanji, were starting to look at how they could take care of him before he got so powerful and popular that Li Yuan was tempted to make him Crown Prince instead of Jiancheng. At one point, Li Yuanji proposed inviting Li Shimin over and just having him killed, but Li Jiancheng balked at such direct and obvious fratricide.
Instead, Li Jiancheng reportedly pushed his younger brother into positions that would possibly get him killed, but Li Shimin continued to succeed, thwarting his brother’s plans and growing his own fame and power in the process.
Finally, Li Jiancheng decided to take a different approach, and he suggested to his father that the army to defend the empire against the Turks should be led by none other than Li Yuanji. This would mean moving a large portion of the army out from under Li Shimin’s command to his brother, Li Yuanji, who would also accrue much of the fame and respect if he proved successful. This was a huge blow to Li Shimin, who had heard rumors that his brothers were out to get him.
Before setting out on such a campaign, it would have been expected that Li Shimin and his other brothers turn out to wish Li Yuanji success in his campaign. That would have put Li Shimin in an extremely vulnerable position, where he could be arrested or even killed, without the usual protection of his own forces. And so Li Shimin decided to be proactive.
Before the campaign could set out, Li Shimin submitted accusations against Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji that they were having illicit relations with the concubines of their father, the emperor. This got Li Yuan’s attention, and he called both of his sons back to the palace to investigate what was going on. This is what led to that fateful incident known as the Xuanwu Gate Incident. Unbeknownst to Li Yuan or his other sons, Li Shimin had forces loyal to him take over the Xuanwu gate the night before Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji were to have their audience. Ideally, at least from Li Shimin’s position, they would have both been assassinated at Xuanwu gate, but as I noted at the start of the episode, things did not go exactly to plan. There were several moments where a single stray arrow could have completely changed the course of things, but in the end, Li Shimin was triumphant.
As the fighting was going on, Li Yuan heard the commotion. Apparently he had been out in a boat on the lake in the palace enclosure—and yes, you heard that right, the palace included a lake, or at least a very large pond, such that the emperor could partake in a lazy morning upon the water. When he heard the commotion, he guessed that the tensions between his sons must be at the heart of it, and even surmised that Li Shimin was likely behind it. He got to shore and surrounded himself with courtiers, including known comrades and acquaintances of his son, Li Shimin.
Eventually, a representative of Li Shimin arrived, and he told the court that Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji had risen up in rebellion, but that Li Shimin had had them both put to death. With Li Shimin’s troops literally at the gates of the palace, and Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji not exactly able to defend themselves, the accusation stood. Several days later, no doubt under pressure from Li Shimin, Emperor Tang Gaozu, aka Li Yuan, officially made Li Shimin the Crown Prince. Two months later, he abdicated in favor of Li Shimin, who came to power as Tang Taizong in 626 CE. Li Yuan himself took on the title of Retired Emperor, and continued to live life in the palace, but with a much reduced impact on the political affairs of the empire.
Li Shimin himself took the reins of power immediately, and set about cementing his rule in several different ways. First off, to offset his particularly unfilial method of coming to the throne, Li Shimin engaged in performative Confucian virtue signaling. He played the part of the dutiful son, at least in public, providing for his retired father and attempting to act the part of the sage ruler. This was somewhat impeded by the cold relationship he and his father appear to have maintained after that point—apparently killing your siblings and forcing your father to abdicate are not exactly the kinds of bonding experiences that bring a father and son closer together. Still, that was mostly kept in the confines of the private areas of the palace. Publicly, he gathered accomplished military and civilian officials, and made sure to seek out their opinion.
The era of emperor Tang Taizong is known as the Zhenguan era, lasting from roughly 627 to 649, and it was considered to be synonymous with good governance by later historians and philosophers. Granted, most of the examples of good governance only lasted long enough for Li Shimin to establish himself in his position as emperor. Once he had solidified his power, and felt secure in his position, his rule changed to a more traditional and authoritarian model.
Regarding the threat of invasion from the Eastern Turkic Khaganate, Li Shimin met the Turks at the Wei River, where he accused them of invading Tang territory and demanded restitution. The Turks were impressed enough by his forces that they agreed to settle, offering thousands of horses and other goods, but Li Shimin declined their attempts to make it good. Eventually, Li Shimin supported some of the more disaffected members of the Turkic Khaganate in a coup, and by 630 the Eastern Turkic Khaganate and their gateway to the Silk Road was under Tang dynasty control. The Turks granted Li Shimin the title of Heavenly Khagan, placing him over both the Tang dynasty and the Eastern Turkic Khaganate.
He then went about resettling surrendered Eastern Turks while sending agents to foment rebellions and civil wars in the Western Turkic Khaganate, which controlled the area from Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, west of Dunhuang, all the way to Sassanid Persia. Dunhuang is an oasis city at the western end of the Gansu corridor, and the Jade Gate was considered to be the entry way to the Western Regions.
As Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin placed a puppet Khagan on the throne of the Western Turkic Khaganate in 642, and then sent numerous campaigns against the Western Turks in a series of wars against those who hadn’t simply given in to his will—first against the kingdom of Gaochang, a city cut from the rock of a giant plateau, and then on to the cities Karashr—known today by the Chinese name of Yanqi—and on to Kuqa. The campaigns would outlive Emperor Taizong himself, and the khaganate was completely annexed by 657, giving the Tang dynasty complete mastery over at least one part of the silk road out to Sassanid Persia and the west.
This would be huge, not only for the Tang dynasty, but for all of the cultures on the far eastern end of that silk road. There would be an increase in material and cultural items that traversed the routes. Chinese court dress even came to incorporate Turkic and Sogdian dress and clothing styles, which would eventually make their way to the Japanese archipelago, where they would take the tailored, round-necked collar designs for their own, eventually changing them, by the late Heian era, into their own distinctive garments.
It also opened a route to India for those Buddhist scholars who wished to go and study at the source, such as it was.
As for Emperor Taizong, by the 630s, with his title as Heavenly Khagan, Li Shimin seems to have stopped worrying about performative Confucian virtues. He took more direct control, and more often would quarrel with his ministers on various issues. In 637 he also reworked the Tang legal code, further refining the law.
At the same time, there were family matters he also had to attend to. It seems like father, like son—while Li Shimin’s eldest son, Li Chengqian was the Crown Prince, Shimin appeared to favor another son, Li Tai. As such, these two brothers became bitter rivals. Li Chengqian started to worry about his position as Crown Prince, and he consulted with some of his close advisors and confidants. Their solution was not to take his brother out of the picture, but rather to take his own father out of the picture. And so Li Chengqian reportedly entertained the idea of overthrowing his father, Emperor Taizong, at least as a thought experiment.
And really, at this point, I have some suspicions that Li Shimin might very well have been a bit of an absentee father, because does Chengqian even know whom he is talking about trying to coup?
Sure enough, Li Shimin learned about his sons extracurricular activities in 643 and he was less than happy with all of this. Li Chengqian’s defense, appears to have been that they only discussed it, they never went through with anything. As such, some of Chengqian’s conspirators were put to death, but Chengqian himself was simply reduced in rank to commoner status, stripped of his titles. When he died a few years later, though, Li Shimin had him buried as a Duke, and a later emperor would even posthumously restore his rank as an imperial prince.
Of course, the question came up as to just what to do about the Crown Prince. Li Tai seemed the obvious choice, as he had clearly impressed his father with his apparent talent and skill. However, it was pointed out that Li Tai’s competition with his brother is what had led to Chengqian’s fear and thoughts of rebellion in the first place. He hadn’t exactly been the model of filial virtue. In fact, if he hadn’t been scheming, none of this would have taken place. And so it was decided to pass him over and to create Li Zhi, a younger brother, as Crown Prince. Li Tai himself was demoted, though only down to a minor princely state, and exiled from Chang’an, making it extremely difficult for him to influence politics. Records of the time suggest this was an extremely difficult decision by his father, but one that he considered necessary for the responsible administration of government.
All of this was taking place in the early 640s, but it wasn’t the only thing that Li Shimin had on his mind. With the Turkic threat being handled in the west, the emperor let his ambitions get the better of him, and he turned his eyes towards Goguryeo, to his northeast. Previously, Emperor Yang of Sui had failed in his campaigns against Goguryeo, and that was one of the things that had led to the popular uprisings and rebellion that had taken down the dynasty. Now, Emperor Taizong seemed determined to succeed where the prior dynasty failed.
And so the Tang dynasty allied with the kingdom of Silla, hoping to force Goguryeo into a war on two fronts. Silla was already expanding on the Korean peninsula, and a natural ally for the Tang dynasty. Furthermore, they were far enough away that they weren’t an immediate threat if they decided to go back on their part of the deal.
Unfortunately for the Tang, these campaigns in 645 were not exactly a cake walk, and they handed Li Shimin his first defeat since the attempts to unify everyone under the Tang dynasty. Not exactly a great look. Relations with Goguryeo were normalized for a brief time, but then Emperor Taizong decided to give it another try. They started gathering ships and men for another invasion, no doubt having played out why they had lost the previous go round and hoping that it would be better in round two.
The invasions, however, would come to naught. As it was being prepared, Tang Taizong grew ill. He called off the invasion, and then, in 649, he passed away. His youngest son, the Crown Prince Li Zhi, came to the throne as Emperor Gaozong. The reign of him and his wife, Empress Wu Zetian, would have an enormous impact on the rest of the 7th century.
Through all of this fighting, bloodshed, and politics, this set the stage for the future of the Tang dynasty, which would once again place the area of modern China in the center of what many considered to be the civilized world. Besides being a center for Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist religion, Chang’an became an extremely cosmopolitan city, with Sogdian and Turkic traders visiting the markets and establishing themselves in the city. Many foreign families would adapt over time, integrating into the culture of their new home.
These foreigners brought other ideas with them as well. Zoroastrianism, a Persian religion, may have come eastward much earlier, but in the 6th and 7th centuries, both Manichaeism and Christianity—at least an eastern version of Christianity—had made inroads into the capital of Chang’an. Manichaeism would have its ups and downs, especially in conflict with Buddhism. Christianity, on the other hand, was not necessarily the Christianity of Rome, but typically connected with the Syriac church that existed in the Persian empire, where it was a decidedly minority religion. Later proponents of Rome and the Latin rite would connect it with the supposed heresies of Nestorius, referring to the Church of the East as Nestorian Christianity, but this is not a term they would have used for themselves. These religions kept some of their traditions, but also incorporated some aspects of the culture of their new home, such as the use of rice in place of bread in some rituals.
This was an exciting time, and the court at Chang’an was fascinated with various customs of the Western Regions. Music, clothing, and even pasttimes were influenced by contact with the western lands. This would, in time, be passed on even to the archipelago. For instance, the pipa was an instrument that had origins in the Western regions. It is found in the area of modern China in at least the Northern Wei dynasty, but no doubt it grew more popular over time. A version of this same instrument traveled west to Persia, where it became the oud, and further on to Europe, where it became the famous lute. In the archipelago, the pipa became the Biwa, and while we can never be one hundred percent certain about early music, we have instructions from the Tang dynasty on music for the pipa, and Tang dynasty and early music, along with music from Goguryeo, came over to the Japanese courts in the form of gagaku, traditional Japanese court music, in the early 8th century.
Moving forward in our story about the Japanese archipelago, we are going to see more and more about the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang dynasty, and just what they would bring back. At the same time, we will also see the reaction of the court to the alliance between the Tang and Yamato’s largest competitor on the Korean peninsula, Silla. That alliance, which outlived emperor Taizong and even the king of Silla, would dramatically shift the balance of power on the peninsula and in all of northeast Asia.
But we need to get there, first. For now, let’s move our gaze back across the waters to the archipelago, where Prince Tamura was about to take the throne, later becoming known as Jomei Tennou. Of course, he was dealing with his own politics, especially regarding the Soga house and the powerful hold they had over government. Next episode we will get back to just what was happening over there.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for her 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

Lewis, Mark Edward (2009). China’s Cosmopolitan Empire: The Tang Dynasty. The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts / London, England. ISBN 978-0-674-03306-1
Benn, Charles (2002). China’s Golden Age: Everyday Life in the Tang Dynasty. Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-517665-0

Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2

March 2, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Two weathered stone figures, or saru-ishi, — Two saru-ishi, or monkey stones, sit at the tomb of Kibi Hime, in Asuka.

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This blog post took a bit longer than the episode, so apologies for getting it up late.

Here are photos from Asuka from my various trips there, if you want to look at all of them. Otherwise, check out the gallery, below, for specific highlights:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/tatsushu/albums/72157624920460502/

Ikatsuchi Gion Castle Ruins

Not every earthwork is a kofun (though many are). Here is a part of the old Ikazuchi-Gion Castle, a small fortification north of the ruins of Ikazuchi castle. It is unclear when the castle was built (but not Asuka Period). Also a great example of how people live right next to these old ruins.

Asuka today

Much of Asuka today is this: various rice fields and small clusters of houses at the base of various hills—where it is less conducive to farming. A far cry from the days of the ancient capital.

7th century Asuka

An example of Asuka in the late 7th century, looking south, from Ishigami no Miya to Asukadera and the royal palace beyond. From the Nara Historical Museum.

Entrance to Okayama Castle ruins

Here on Okayama, there are earthworks for the old Okayama castle ruins. Similar to Ikazuchi castle, it is unclear when it was built.

Old houses

Walking through Asuka there are buildings from many different periods, with their own charm.

Genbu (玄武)

The black turtle of the north, one of four directional animals. This is a reproduction from the Kitora Kofun at the Asuka History Museum.

Courtiers

Asuka era painting of courtiers in clothing reminiscent of Goguryeo garb found in Takamatsuzuka kofun. Reproduction at the Asuka History Museum.

Takamatsuzuka

Takamatsuzuka kofun from the outside. Without seeing the inside, it is a relatively unassuming tomb.

Yamadadera Gallery Wall

The preserved gallery wall of Yamadadera. It had collapsed into the ground and apparently been covered up and (mostly) protected from the elements, allowing archaeologists to put it back together again (with some assistance). From the Asuka History Museum.

Yamadaera depiction

A depiction of Yamadadera from the Asuka History Museum, showing how it may have looked back in its heyday.

Yamadera ruins

The Yamadadera site, today. There are earthworks demonstrating where the various buildings sat.

Asuka Exhibition Room of Archaeological Artifacts

A small, one-room museum in an old Meiji era schoolhouse.

Model octagonal kofun

A model of the octagonal kofun of Saimei (aka Kōgyoku) Tennō. This appears to have gained some popularity in the Asuka period before they ditched kofun entirely.

Soga memorial

Memorial to the Soga family outside Asukadera.

Asuka Daibutsu

The “giant” Buddha image of Asukadera in its modern hall.

Asuka palace diagrams

A diagram from the Asuka History Museum showing the layouts of several of the later 7th century palaces based on archaeological findings.

Mizuochi site

Plaque outside the Mizuochi site demonstrating what is known and conjecture about how the “falling water” location may have housed an ancient water clock mentioned in the Nihon Shoki.

Palace excavations

An archaeological dig that was being conducted in the area of the old Asuka palaces.

Palace postholes

A few areas have been preserved with the postholes shown, which give an idea of the size of the building, though often all we have are the holes, perhaps with the base stones that the pillars would have sat upon.

Asuka palace sites

A map demonstrating the various palace sites in Asuka, showing how the palace moved, but not nearly as far as in previous periods. From the Asuka HIstory Museum.

Ishibutai kofun

Possibly the kofun of Soga no Umako. It was a large, square shaped kofun with a horizontal entrance to a stone burial chamber. Much of the upper dirt has been removed, exposing the structure of the stone chamber, making it quite spectacular.

Kameishi (replica)

A replica of the Kame-ishi at the Asuka History Museum. This may have been a border marker between two temples, Kawaradera and Tachibanadera. Or it may have simply been a decorative element, perhaps in a garden.

Kameishi

Here is the actual kameishi, now nestled between modern houses. It is said that when people aren’t watching it occasionally changes directions, and if it faces the wrong way, disaster will soon follow.

Kawaradera

A model of Kawaradera as it may have looked when it was first built. From the Asuka History Museum.

Kawaradera ruins

The ruins of Kawaradera. You can see the size in comparison to the smaller Gufuku-ji that now sits there.

Tachibanadera

Said to be situated on the birthplace of Shotoku Taishi himself, Tachibanadera may have started life as a nunnery. Today it is a Tendai temple

Noguchi no Ō no Haka

The tomb of Temmu Tennō and his wife and successor, JItō Tennō. There are some orchards along the lower slopes, but the upper part of the tomb is fenced off. This is an octagonal shaped kofun—not that you could tell in its modern, overgrown shape.

Oni no Manaita

The “demon’s cutting board”. The bottom of a stone burial chamber.

Oni no Setchin

The “demon’s toilet”. Actually the top of a stone burial chamber that was uncovered and then somehow fell down the adjacent hillside, landing upside down.

Umeyama kofun

A large, keyhole shaped kofun said to be the burial place of Kimmei Tennō.

The grave of Kibi Hime

A small, round kofun outside of Umeyama Kofun is said to be that of Kibi Hime. Whether or not this is actually her tomb is perhaps in question. Today, you can see various saruishi statues that were discovered and moved here in later periods.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan! My name is Joshua and this is Traveling Through the Nara Basin, Part II
This episode, I’d like to pause in our narrative to take you on a journey through the modern landscape of Asuka. This is a continuation from episode I did last year covering travels around the southeastern edge of the Nara Basin, from Tenri down to Miwa. I’m going to skip over some of the sites in Kashihara—we may save that for a discussion of the Fujiwara palace that was there—and head straight to Asuka.
Standing at the southern end of Asuka, at the site of the ruins of the Itabuki palace, looking north, with the hills at your back the view is rather bucolic. Between the hills on either side of the valley, one can see rice fields spreading out. Along the western edge, the narrow Asuka-gawa winds along the base of the hills on its way north, joining with the Yamato river in the heart of the Nara Plain, far from view. Along the eastern hills are various houses, heading out to a cluster around the current precincts of Asukadera.
It is a far cry from the ancient capital it once was. The large mansions and palaces that once filled the landscape are gone, their traces often lying beneath the rice paddies. Amongst the hills, ancient tumuli still look down over the valley below, some with their contents ripped open—whether by man or nature—for all to see. At the end of the Asuka period, the capital would move—first just a short hop away to the plains of Kashihara, to the north, but eventually up to Heijo-kyo, in modern Nara city. A century later the capital would move north, settling in Heian-kyo, aka modern Kyoto city.
Asuka, in turn, remained largely untouched by the urbanization that would take place in many of the large cities. As the capital moved farther away—to Kashihara, then Nara, then Kyoto—Asuka was left behind. The temples and buildings succumbed to time, and no great settlement sprung up in its place. There were castles built on strategic hills by local lords, but much of the land remained rural Asuka would never be quite the same, a fact that would be of some relief to archaeologists and students of history in later centuries. The lack of urbanization meant that traces of those ancient times—at least those underneath the layers of soil overturned by farming—do remain.
Asuka is believed to have been a stronghold for the powerful Soga clan. By rising through the ranks, marrying into the royal family, and supporting the winning side in various succession crises—not to mention their ties to the exotic Buddhist religion—they were able to make themselves into the most powerful family in Yamato, second only to the sovereign, and their stronghold of Asuka became the site of the palace building for at least four sovereigns. It was also the home to some of the first permanent Buddhist temples, so it is the stage for much of what plays out in the late 6th to 7th centuries.
For anyone planning a visit, the first thing you should know is that Asuka is still quite rural. There are a few train lines that you can take nearby—the Kintetsu line Asuka station is probably the closest for most things, but since I was also visiting the Fujiwara palace ruins I rode into Kaguyama station on the JR line early in the morning.
And so I entered Asuka from the north, passing by Kaguyama, one of the three sacred mountains of Kashihara. Near Ikatsuchi, I followed a small road that cut across rice paddies just north of the presumed site of Kashikiya Hime’s Oharida palace. This is the palace she moved to in the latter part of her reign, giving over the site of Toyoura, to the southwest, for a nunnery.
Making my way through the open rice paddies, I reached a small neighborhood on the other side. The buildings were a mix of new and old, but nothing quite as old as what I was looking for. I continued on, making my way to the Asuka Historical Museum. This is an excellent museum for anyone interested in the area, with examinations of various temple ruins, kofun, and more. Outside, there are numerous copies of the various stone figures that dot the landscape here in Asuka, such as the Saruishi, or Monkey stones.
These stones are a bit enigmatic. There is no clear relationship between the origin of most of the stones and any particular event that I could see in the Nihon Shoki or elsewhere. The saruishi were discovered by farmers in their fields in 1702, near Umeyama kofun, and eventually moved to their current location at the site of Kibi Hime’s tomb, outside of the giant keyhole shaped tomb for Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. They are called “monkey” stones, or Saru-ishi, because people thought they resembled monkeys, but in truth they are probably just carvings meant to represent people. Scholars believe that they probably date back to the latter half of the 7th century, and may have been carved by immigrant Baekje artisans, based on their similarity to statues found on the Korean peninsula, but this is all conjecture. The originals are viewable from behind a fence, but at the Asuka Historical Museum you can get up close and personal to them and really see the details—at least what hasn’t eroded away.
There is also the Kameishi, or turtle stone, which you can go see, but which also has a replica at the museum. There are stories about this giant stone, carved to look like a turtle, but its exact purpose is unknown.
There are also reconstructions of various kofun stone chambers, so you can see what is inside some of the large mounds, as well as stone fountains and water works, demonstrating not just the skill of the artisans of that era, but also their ability to harness the flow of water back in that time.
Inside, much of the information in the museum is in Japanese, but there are English descriptions of artifacts and some contextualization, but if you don’t read Japanese and are interested in what they have to say about the palace and temple ruins then a translation app is your friend. In fact, it is generally recommended for any travel where you may be in need of translation, these days.
Inside the museum, they go over the layouts of some of the later palaces, especially the Okamoto, Itabuki, and Kiyomihara palace sites, for which at least the inner court area is fairly well defined. They also take a look at temple structures and the various continental influences, as well as a reconstruction of a water clock described by the Nihon Shoki during the reign of the sovereign known as Saimei Tennou—rest assured we will talk more about that at a later date.
They also have a good look at the inside of the Kitora tomb’s burial chamber, recreated for you. The Kitora kofun and the Takamatsuzuka kofun are two of the most famous kofun in the area, but not necessarily for who was buried there. Both of them have been opened, and inside it wasn’t just grave goods, but they found painted chambers. In the Kitora kofun we find the directional guardian animals. These are four mythical beasts that represented North, South, East, and West, and they were Genbu, the Black Turtle of the North; Suzaku, the Red Bird of the South; Seiryuu, the Blue—or Green—Dragon of the East; and Byakkou, the White Tiger of the West. In this case, since the tomb was opened from the south, only three of the paintings were visible, and the east and west walls were not in great shape, but it was still legible. They are doing their best to preserve these paintings, and the museum only has copies, but it still helps to understand the time period. The burial probably took place in the 7th or 8th century, and has been suggested that it was a high ranking noble or royal prince—or possibly even a high ranking person from the continent.
Takamatsuzuka, on the other hand, has even more detailed murals from the late 7th or early 8th century. The murals include the directional animals, but also pictures of courtiers dressed in the continental fashion. The murals resemble those found in Goguryeo, and again, there are still many questions about just who was buried there. Both the Kitora and Takamatsuzuka kofun are round kofun, and not especially large or prominent compared to some of the giant keyhole shaped kofun or previous eras, but the decoration and grave goods suggest people of status in both cases. Also, since Takamatsuzuka gives us some of our only clothing evidence from this period, and it holds similarities to what we know of Nara and later Heian era clothing, it is often used as a key reference point when looking at the clothing and culture of this time. The Takamatsuzuka kofun is only a short distance from the Asuka train station, but I did not visit this trip as I had been there many years prior, and I do recommend it if you get the chance. Kitora kofun is a little more out of the way, but still doable, especially if you have more than a day to wander around the area.
In addition to the tombs, the museum has a large exhibit on Asuka era temples, including a section of wooden wall from a building at nearby Yamadadera. This section was found in 1980—apparently it had collapsed onto the ground and been covered up, as much of the wood was still preserved. The section is dated to be even older than the oldest extant buildings of Houryuuji, and it gives a great example of the construction techniques of the time. Since they didn’t have glass windows, we see them using vertical wooden bars. You can still see this on old style buildings and galleries, where a pole with a square cross-section will be tilted like a diamond and placed in the windows, creating a series of wooden bars that let in light, but still act as a barrier to entry. This only really works on external walls, unless you have another kind of shutter to put over them, but it is effective. We also have other items from the temple, including the head of a bronze Buddha statue.
From what we can tell, this was another Soga family temple. It is mentioned in the “Joguuki”, the biography of Shotoku Taishi, as well as in the Nihon Shoki.
It is also a short walk from the museum, and an easy visit. Warning, though, there isn’t a lot to see on the site. The outline of the temple and the various buildings is visible, and you can see how they lined up and get a sense of the approach, but it is fairly sparse. There is a modern temple on the site—Yamadaji, or, read another way, Yamadadera. It is not nearly as grand as the original, and is more like a rural, neighborhood temple. During the Asuka period, Yamadadera likely attracted attention from far and wide as one of the chief temples of the capital.
Speaking of temples, I next turned back down the road and headed towards Asukadera. On the way isare the Ishigami site an theand Mizuochi sites, next to the Asuka district Exhibition Room of Archaeological Cultural Assets. The Ishigami site is a section of the stone pathways near an ancient guesthouse. Nearby is the Mizuochi site, which has been speculated to be the site of the water clock I mentioned earlier. There was a moat for catching and holding water, as well as various pipes for getting the water up to the clock. The clock itself contained several different buckets at different levels, so that a hole poked in the top bucket drained into the one below and then the one below that. The idea was that the water would flow at a fairly constant rate, and that could be used to tell the time. At the bottom was a float with an image of an official who held a ruler. The ruler would rise with the float and thus indicate the time. This was a great innovation as it would work even when the sun was not out, but it would need to be reset each day at a specific time to ensure that it was accurate.
As for the nearby Exhibition Room—it is free, and so worth a look around. Much of what is there is the same as the Asuka Historical Museum, but there are a few differences. It is only a single room, so an easy in and out, and you can grab a bite or something to drink before you head on, so worth the stop if you are passing by, but if you are short on time you could easily give it a miss, as well.
Continuing up the valley, to the south, I next stopped at Asukadera. I approached from the west, though the parking lot and main entrance is to the east. At the western edge there was a memorial for the Soga family members—more on that as we get back to the episodes. You can also see where the gates and walls used to be, though now the temple itself is much reduced. You no longer have the original footprint of the temple—when the capital moved to Heijo-kyo, the temple formally moved as well. It was rebuilt in Heijo-kyo as Gankouji, but it wasn’t like they could just move all the buildings—though that was sometimes done. Over time things were dilapidated or destroyed by fire, and Asukadera itself shrank. They did find and preserve the giant Buddha statue believed to have been installed in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, though the statue had been repaired extensively, such that only parts of the statue are thought to be original. You can come into the worship hall for a fee and the monks there will tell you the history of that and other images at the temple—in Japanese, of course—and you are allowed to take pictures.
While the temple is reduced, it is still an incredible experience to stand there and imagine what it once was. In addition, you can look up the valley and picture the ancient palaces that once stood there as well.
And that was my next stop. I headed up the roads towards the ancient palace sites. I noticed that there was some work going on near the Itabuki Palace site, and so I headed over that way. This means I did skip the Nara Prefectural Complex of Man’yo Culture, which looks to have some excellent depictions of life during Asuka and Nara periods, focusing on the period of the Man’yoshu, the book of ten thousand leaves, our earliest collection of Japanese language poetry written with “man’yogana”—sinitic characters used primarily for their sound to represent the Japanese language of that era. This is only one of many reasons that I will be returning to Asuka on a future visit.
Still, I only had so much time in the day, and so I wandered over the old palace sites. There was an excavation underway, and I admit I still need to look into if there was a site report for the work—this was in November of 2022. I don’t know if there were any major changes in our understanding at the time, but always great to see people in the field doing the work that helps us map and understand the past. While Tthere is a small rest area there, but you should be aware that after excavation, the site has largely been covered back up. There is a small display on the eastern side of the valley where you can see some post holes, but largely you have to use your imagination to see the palace and where it was. I still just like to be there and experience the site and get an idea for even just the topography of the place, which I really believe puts things in perspective.
From the Asuka palace site, I headed up the road and a little bit into the hills to see Ishibutai kofun. This is a famous kofun and is extremely impressive in its presentation, despite the fact that it has no grave goods and we don’t really know who was buried there. You see, though it was apparently a square shaped kofun, all of that dirt has been removed—likely by erosion or other factors—but that means that the stone chamber inside has been exposed. With that you can see the enormous stones that people moved into place to create the burial chamber. This was not a simple matter of making a brick enclosure, but rather it was massive boulders that were found and placed in such a way that I’m sure the builders of the pyramids or Stonehenge would have appreciated. As it was open to the elements, anything that was inside was either stolen or rotted away, but it is still impressive to see the construction. It is thought that this may have been the tomb of none other than Soga no Umako, that powerful Oho-omi that lead the Soga family to greatness, and some have suggested that with the Soga’s downfall, that could explain why the earth was removed from the tomb in the first place, to disgrace him and his family.
From Ishibutai, I headed west, taking the road between Tachibana dera and the ruins of Kawara dera. We don’t know exactly when they were founded, but it was likely in the 7th century. Tachibana dera claims to have been founded by Shotoku Taishi, and is said to have been built on the site of his birthplace. What we know is that it was mentioned in the Nihon Shoki by about 680, and it appears to have been a nunnery. To the north is the site of Kawara dera, and you can see the ruins in the field around the current temple of Gufukuji, which was established there after Kawara dera itself had fallen to ruin. Kawara dera and Tachibana dera may have been built as a pair of temples, and rooftiles have been found at each site that appear to be of a similar age.
However, neither temple has any of the original buildings left. There are some ancient stone statues, however: a stone with two people carved into it, facing away from each other, and, nearby, the Kameishi, or turtle stone, which some claim marked a boundary point between the two temples. That isn’t to say that the current temples don’t have anything worth seeing, and if I had more time I would have definitely looked into it, but I had my sights set a bit farther afield, because continuing down the road will take you to several notable kofun.
First off is the kofun of Temmu and his wife Jitou—I’ll stick with the regnal names for now, as they haven’t really come up in our story, but we’ll definitely have a lot to talk about when we get there. This is an octagonal kofun, likely representing Buddhist influence and the importance of the number “eight” at the same time that kofun themselves were starting to fall out of fashion. The shape isn’t easy to make out, given that it is overgrown with trees and other vegetation, and you aren’t allowed on the kofun itself. Still, it is something to visit it and give some thought to history.
Next along the path, following a trail that cuts along the hillside, is the Demon’s Cutting Board and the Demon’s Toilet. Yeah, you heard that right. These are two large stones, one up on the hill, and one a little farther down. A local story tells of an oni—a demon or ogre—that would catch passersby and eat them. The oni would chop them up on their cutting board, the Oni no Manaita, and would then relieve himself in the toilet, the Oni no Setchin. In reality, they appear to be two parts of a stone chamber for a kofun that was likely on top of the hill, but which was dug up or the top eroded away and then the top portion, the “Setchin” stone, fell down, possibly due to some kind of local event—a landslide or earthquake, or something similar. Needless to say, there is nothing left of the grave other than these two giant stones, with any goods having long been taken.
Continuing on along the path past that is the giant keyhole shaped kofun designated as that of Kinmei Tennou, aka Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa. The tomb is large, and impressive, and a good example of the kind of royal tomb that was the norm up to that point. Perhaps more intriguing is something I mentioned, earlier, because there are satellite kofun nearby. Satellite kofun are often assumed to be people related to the main kofun in some way—it could be family members, consorts, or even special courtiers who served them well. In this case, the tomb has been identified as that of Kibi Hime, and, unrelated to that as far as we can tell, it has become the home of the saruishi, the monkey stones I mentioned earlier. They are behind a barrier, so you can’t get too close, but it is neat to see them there, bearing silent witness to an age long past.
At that point, the sun was setting behind the mountains. I followed the road back to the Asuka train station and from there headed on to my next destination. I left nearby Takamatsuzuka, which, as I said, I had seen on a previous trip, as well as many other sights. After all, just to the west is Katsuraki, and to the north is Kashihara, which is not only home to Temmu’s Fujiwara capital, but also to the three sacred mountains and numerous other kofun dotting the landscape. Farther north still and you can visit Houryuuji Temple, and the nearby Chuuguuji temple, both of which have treasures from the Asuka and Nara periods, including the oldest extant wooden buildings in the world. I highly recommend it.
There is also more to explore. There are old castle ruins—mostly just earthworks—and other temples and buildings from ages to come after the Asuka period. While it was never exactly built up, that doesn’t mean that Asuka remained completely untouched throughout the centuries.
I’ll put up some photos on the podcast webpage so that you can see things for yourself, and I hope that one day you all get a chance to visit Asuka. It truly is a beautiful place, nestled amongst the hills and looking out into the Nara Basin. There is a feeling as if, despite the roads and modern vehicles, time still moves a bit slower there. And though the ancient buildings that once marked the capital of Yamato are no longer there, the traces and their presence can still be felt.
Next episode we’ll get back into the narrative. I want to dive a little deeper into what was going on over on the continent before we start to unravel everything happening in Yamato, as the Tang dynasty had come to power, and it was just beginning a period that would come to be known as its golden age.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for her 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.

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References

Tsukushi Dazai (筑紫太宰)

Kibi Dazai (吉備太宰)

Settsu-shiki no Daibu (攝津職大夫)

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The Temmu-Jitō Historiographical Project

The Fujiwara Capital

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Asukadera, aka Hōkōji (飛鳥寺・法興寺)

Kudara Ōdera, aka Takechi Ōdera, aka Daikandaiji (百済大寺・高市大寺・大官大寺)

Kawaradera (川原寺)

Yakushiji (薬師寺)

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On the Archery Tournament of the New Year

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Who’s Who

Li Yuan

Li Er

Li Shimin

Li Jiancheng

Li Yuanji

Princess Pingyang

Li Chengqian

Li Tai

Li Zhi

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