Episode 144: 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 133: Reimagining Yamato

September 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Copies of the Nihon Shoki, which has continued to influence the concept of Japan down to the modern day. Photo by author.

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With the end of the Jinshin War, Oama, posthumously known as Temmu Tenno, came to the throne. And though they would need a new Great Council of State, they continued to build up and bolster the Ritsuryo state. They were imagining a new Yamato based on continental models of what a state should look like, but also influenced by tradition. This episode we take a look at that reimagining in broad strokes, asking a few questions--what was Oama's relationship with his brother, and touching on the relationship of Nakatomi no Kamatari and his brother, Nakatomi no Kane. We also take a look at some of the literary propaganda that also helped to codify this new imaginary--the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki. We also touch on other sourcesof information, like the Fudoki and Man'yoshu.

With the end of the Jinshin War, Oama, posthumously known as Temmu Tenno, came to the throne. And though they would need a new Great Council of State, they continued to build up and bolster the Ritsuryo state. They were imagining a new Yamato based on continental models of what a state should look like, but also influenced by tradition. This episode we take a look at that reimagining in broad strokes, asking a few questions--what was Oama's relationship with his brother, and touching on the relationship of Nakatomi no Kamatari and his brother, Nakatomi no Kane. We also take a look at some of the literary propaganda that also helped to codify this new imaginary--the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki. We also touch on other sourcesof information, like the Fudoki and Man'yoshu.
For more information, check out our blog: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-133

Rough Transcript
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 133: Reimagining Yamato
As the bells of Houkouji tolled, Ohoama and his wife, Uno, surveyed the construction on going in the Asuka valley. Hordes of workers had been called up, and now they were working furiously towards the deadline of the new year. Where once stood the later Wokamoto palace of Takara Hime, aka Ohoama’s mother, Saimei Tennou, now the land was being prepared for a palace on a much grander scale. And just as the palace was being remade, Ohoama’s thoughts went beyond the valley, to the entire archipelago. His brother, Naka no Oe, had started something profound. Now here he was, helming the Ship of State, and Ohoama had plans of his own, built upon his brother’s ideas. He would build a new state, ensuring that the reforms that started back in 645 would continue for generations.
Greetings everyone and welcome back. As we dive back in, let’s recap where we are.
The year is now 673, and the fighting from the previous year—the Jinshin war—is over. Prince Ohoama and his Yoshino forces were victorious and he is now poised to ascend the throne in the recently built Palace of Kiyomihara, in Asuka. He will be known to future generations by his posthumous name: Temmu Tennou.
Ohoama would go ahead and continue to centralize the government under the continental model. That said, he also would pay a not insignificant amount of attention to local tradition as well. His reign would lead to the establishment of the first permanent capital city: Fujiwara-kyo. He is also credited with initiating the projects collecting various historical records, which culminated in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, the very chronicles on which this podcast is based – and both of which seem to have been designed specifically to promote the authority of the throne, specifically Ohoama and his descendants.
Those descendants—the Temmu dynasty—would rule for almost a century, including four of the eight official female sovereigns (those eight become ten if you count the unofficial Himiko and Okinaga Tarashi-hime, aka Jingu Tennou). This dynasty would reign from the end of the Asuka period up through to the Nara period, and it would see the evolution of the Yamato state into the kingdom of Nihon—which is to say the kingdom of Japan.
The politics of this period were also quite something. It is during this coming period that we see the rise of the famous Fujiwara family, who would come to dominate the political landscape. We also see the continued contact with the mainland, with numerous trade goods coming over, many of which would be included in the famous Shousouin storehouse of Toudaiji temple, in Nara.
Buddhism would also thrive, with Kokubunji, or provincial temples, being set up in a network around the archipelago. There was also the building of the famous Daibutsu, or Giant Buddha statue, of Toudaiji.
Art would also flourish. The Man’yoshu would be published at this time—a collection of around 4,500 Japanese poems, or waka. Meanwhile, the court would also focus on continental styles as well. From this point on, not only do we have more evidence of what was happening through the written record, but the writing itself changed. Different Sinitic characters were borrowed solely for their sound to help spell out Japanese words. These would eventually be simplified, and known as “kana”. The earliest use of these characters is known as “Man’yo-gana” because so many are traced back to the Man’yoshu itself. They would eventually be standardized and simplified, becoming the hiragana and katakana we know and use today.
But in 673, all of this is still on the horizon. So this is a great time to pause for a bit in our journey through the chronicles and set the stage for this next, incredibly transformative period in the archipelago by going over these larger patterns in some depth, so that, as we start to go through this period we get a better idea of just what was happening, and perhaps why. That’s what we’ll do this episode.
To start with, let’s go back to the relationship between Naka no Oe and Ohoama. As far as we can tell, these brothers were fairly close to one another. Not only was Ohoama married to one of Naka no Oe’s daughters, Princess Uno, he had actually taken as consort at least four of Naka no Oe’s other daughters—all of which were Ohoama’s nieces. In turn, one of Ohoama’s own daughters, Princess Touchi, had been married off to Ohotomo, aka the ill-fated Koubun Tennou. On top of that, Naka no Oe and Ohoama both had taken as consorts daughters of Soga no Akaye, and both Ohotomo and Ohoama had consorts from Nakatomi—or Fujiwara—no Kamatari. This demonstrates just how interrelated everyone was at court, presumably as a means of strengthening the ties between them. Of course, as we’ve seen time and again, those ties were more symbolic than anything else, and certainly did not prevent the occasional use of violence, nor did it protect the fathers of those women from political repercussions when they found themselves on the wrong side.
On the other hand, beyond the initial mention of their births, we don’t see the two brothers together until Naka no Oe came to the throne. Why? Well, to be fair, we don’t see much of anyone but the sovereign in the Chronicles unless there is a specific thing they are called out for—like an embassy, presenting something to the throne, etc. Even Naka no Oe often isn’t mentioned directly, even when he was the Crown Prince and supposedly helping run the government. So that could be it.
There are two apparent counter arguments to the idea that Naka no Oe and his brother, Ohoama, were tight. First is a mention in the Toushi Kaden, the Family History of the Fujiwara Family, about Ohoama thrusting a spear into a board, which rattled Naka no Oe enough that he was apparently wondering if he needed to have his own brother taken out. Then there is Ohoama’s resignation at the time of Naka no Oe’s death, presumably because he was warned that a plot was afoot, and that if he accepted Naka no Oe’s offer to take the reins of the state in his own two hands then something—we aren’t told what—would unfold.
I can’t rule out the idea that neither of those accounts is quite accurate either, however. It is possible that the Toushi Kaden account is embellished to heighten Fujiwara no Kamatari’s own role as peacemaker between the brothers. I also have to wonder if the warning to Ohoama around Naka no Oe’s death wasn’t so much about Naka no Oe, but about his ministers. After all, they seem to have had no problem supporting the much younger—and likely more malleable—Prince Ohotomo. So it seems to me entirely possible that there were other threats that Ohoama was concerned with.
That brings me to one of those ministers: Nakatomi no Kane. We talked about him before and during the war. He first showed up participating in ritual and speaking on kami matters. He would later rise to be one of the Great Ministers of State, and was one of the six ministers who had pledged themselves to Prince Ohotomo. At the end of the Jinshin War, he was put to death and his family was banished.
That said, in period leading up to all of that, we spent a good amount of time with another Nakatomi: Nakatomi no Kamatari. He was the head of the Nakatomi clan and the Naidaijin, the Interior Minister, a special position placing him on par, or even above, the Ministers of the Left and Right, but which did not have a well defined portfolio noted in the literature.
Interestingly, this position also doesn’t seem to have survived Kamatari, at least in the short run. From the time of Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou, to the time of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, it seems that the office of Naidaijin fell out of favor, possibly due, in part, to Prince Ohotomo being raised to a different post, that of Dajou Daijin, placing him in charge of the Great Council of State. The Naidaijin role wouldn’t be revived until 717 for Kamatari’s grandson, Fujiwara no Fusasaki (interestingly, only three years before the completion of the Nihon Shoki).
Nakatomi no Kane was, as far as we can tell, the brother to Kamatari. When Kamatari passed away, Kane seems to have taken on the role as head of the Nakatomi family and he was also made Minister of the Right. This mirrors, in its way, the relationship between Naka no Oe and Ohoama, and the common system of inheritance that would often go brother to brother.
And yet, while Kamatari was a hero of the Taika era, Nakatomi no Kane was executed for his role in the Jinshin War. So in the context of the rise of the Fujiwaras to greater prominence later on in Ohoama’s reign, it is significant that Kamatari’s line would be set apart from the rest of the Nakatomi to the extent of giving it the new Fujiwara name. Although the Chronicles claim that the “Fujiwara” name was actually granted by Naka no Oe, there is a thought that this was granted posthumously, and may have even been retconned by later members of the family, possibly to distance themselves from Nakatomi no Kane and his role on the losing side of the Jinshin War, and tie themselves clearly to Kamatari and his founding role in Naka no Oe’s and Ohoama’s new vision, instead.
This all brings me to my next point: the creation of the national histories. The projects that culminated in what we know today as the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki are said to have been started under Ohoama’s reign, though they wouldn’t be finished until much later, well into the 8th century.
A lot of what went into them was work under Ohoama’s wife Uno, who succeeded him as Jitou Tennou, as well as her successors. Prince Toneri, one of Ohoama’s sons, is said to have overseen the Nihon Shoki’s compilation. Prince Toneri was son of Ohoama and princess Niitabe, one of Naka no Oe’s daughters, and while he never sat the throne, himself, one of his sons would eventually do so. As such, we can see a strong royal hand on the project, even though the actual composition was probably by several teams of Chroniclers—we touched on this briefly back in Episode 131.
The Kojiki, on the other hand, is said to have been written by Oho no Yasumaro based on the oral history that had been maintained by Hieda no Are. We don’t know much about Hieda no Are—there are some that believe they may have been a woman, since a passage in a later work, the Seikyuuki, suggests that they were a member of the Sarume no Kimi family, descended from Ame no Uzume no Mikoto, who is said to have danced and helped lure Amaterasu out of the rock cave. And so they were particularly known for their role as shrine maidens—a particularly female role. That said, Are received the title of “toneri”, which is often assumed to be male, and there is nothing else that explicitly says they were not.
Either way, Hieda no Are is said to have been commanded by the sovereign, Ohoama, to memorize the history of the nation, presumably to then perform it as needed, for the court. Only later was Oho no Yasumaro asked to write it down in what became known as the Kojiki.
Both of these chronicles were attempts to organize the history of the nation and to put together all the stories in a way that would establish a foundation for the new state that was evolving out of ancient Yamato. A large part of that effort was going to be to justify those who were in power at the time—including both the royal family and the various noble houses at the time, including the powerful Fujiwara.
Now, when we talk about how these histories were created to bolster the state, I want to be careful. It may not have necessarily been the case that the chroniclers were actively and consciously promoting a fictional account. From what we can tell, the chroniclers drew from a collection of stories, some written down in diaries and court records, works like the Baekje annals and continental histories, and some that were likely just memorized tales that were part of the general culture.
There were a couple of existing histories—we are told, for example, that there was a Teiki and a Kyuji floating around, both attributed to the legendary Shotoku Taishi, and both supposedly including the royal lineage at least to Toyomike-kashikiya-hime, aka Suikou Tennou. However, the copies that were being passed around were apparently suspect, and we are told that there were inconsistencies. Which probably means that the way they told the story did not conform to the way that Ohoama and the royal family wanted it told, though it could also refer to the fact that different accounts had slight variations on the stories, many of which had probably started as oral traditions that were only later written down. It is also likely that there was only so much detail in those ancient texts, but we can’t know for sure. The Sendai Kuji Hongi purports to be the text of the original Kyuuji, or Kyuujiki, but that claim is dubious, at best, though it may have used an older, no longer extant history to crib its own notes from.
So there were probably some writings, already, but there was also so much more. There were stories from various familial records, stories told by various shrines about their kami and their histories, and stories passed down as local history that had never been captured, previously. All of this was good material for the project of creating an official national history that aimed to tell the whole story.
To get an idea of what the Chroniclers of that time might have been going through, imagine that you have some 2,000 random facts about the United States, or any country of your choice, in no particular order—stories of heroes, presidents, wars, etc. On top of that, only a few of them ever give you any kind reference dates, and when they do, those dates are only in relationship to the presidents in office – the third year of the presidency of Roosevelt, for example - or maybe they reference another event. In addition, some of the facts have been lost, or they come from history books with a slightly different format. Or they come from diaries with different perspectives and takes on the same event. And then, without the aid of the Internet or any other reference material, you are asked to put all of that together into a coherent narrative.
In all likelihood you would be able to generally construct many of the broad strokes. You would leverage what you know to be true and do your best to put things in place, but there is no guarantee that everything would be in the right order. And in places where there wasn’t any clear through line, you may have needed to come up with your best, most plausible explanation and write that down.
Also, imagine you had, in the interests of completeness, thrown in some of the more, shall we say, apocryphal stories. George Washington cutting down a cherry tree, for instance, or the story of Johnny Appleseed, or even the more fantastical stories of Davy Crockett. Without other reference points, would you know where they went, or how true they actually were?
Add to all of that the lack of a referential calendar. The sexagesimal system helps for units of 60 years, but there was nothing comparable to a western calendar in use at the time. Instead, everything was based on the number of years in a given reign. So instead of thinking about it as “did this happen in 584 or 524?” it was more like “Did this happen in the years of the sovereign reigning from X palace or Y palace?”
Now that said, there do appear to have been individuals whose job was to memorize the stories and the histories and recite them. We have, for example, the Kataribe, the guild of storytellers. It may have been out of this tradition that we get the eventual commission of the previously mentioned Hieda no Are, who was to memorize all of the historical events and recite them back, which I can only imagine would have been a kind of performance for the court, helping to reinforce the narrative.
But still, as Are was putting everything together, what were the assumptions and guidelines they were working under? After all, there were no doubt certain truths, whether factual or not, that were pushed by the court. Things like the idea of an unbroken line of sovereigns going all the way back to the mythical founding, just like in continental stories. Or, the idea that worship centered from the beginning around the sun goddess, Amaterasu.
There is plenty of evidence that while the early Wa people practiced various forms of sun worship, with traces found in their language as well as stories, cultural traditions, etc., it was not necessarily Amaterasu who was the primary deity of worship. Back in the Age of the Gods we talked about the creator deities, Izanagi and Izanami, and about the High god of Heaven, Takami Musubi, who seems to at one point been the most prominent central deity, but who had since been eclipsed, if you will, by the likes of Amaterasu.
We also see evidence that there were other sun deities. The language around Sarutahiko no Ohokami suggests that he may have once been worshipped as a sun deity as well. And there is the early primacy of Mt. Miwa as a place of worship, and the spirit of Ohomononushi. This is to say nothing of Ohokuninushi, and all of his stories, up in Izumo.
Furthermore, it seems telling that Amaterasu is not even central to the rituals conducted in the palace itself, which likely went back to an even earlier period. If Amaterasu were central, and the ancestral kami of the royal family since its inception, one would expect that Amaterasu would also be central to the rites carried out by her descendants in the royal palace. And yet most of her worship appears to have continued to be set apart from the palace ritual, and conducted out of Ise shrine (albeit after a certain point ceremonially led by a designated female member of the royal line).
Even Ise shrine itself isn’t the primary shrine in the Ise area—the Ichi-no-miya, or most important shrine, of Ise is actually said to be Tsubaki shrine, worshipping Saruta Hiko no Ohokami and Ame no Uzume.
So how did Amaterasu come to be so central in Ohoama’s vision? There are stories that say that worship at Ise Shrine—and worship of Amaterasu—was specifically conducted by Ohoama’s wife during the Jinshin campaign. This is to say Ohoama’s wife, primary consort, eventual queen and then queen regnant, Uno, later known as Jitou Tennou. Remember, Uno had fled with Ohoama and had been on the trail with him at first, but had stayed behind in Ise. Worship towards Ise seems to have later been counted as foundational to Ohoama and Uno’s victory, and many suspect that they themselves may subsequently have encouraged greater worship of Amaterasu and placed her in the central position of sacral authority amongst the various kami.
If so, that could explain why their histories focus so much on Amaterasu and her Heavenly descendant, from which the royal line claimed direct lineage. It might also be around this time that the story of Iwarebiko, aka Jimmu Tennou, and the conquest of Yamato from Himuka may have been introduced: telling how Iwarebiko justifiably took away the land from the descendants of Nigi Hayahi, and then connecting Iwarebiko, in an extremely loose fashion, to Mimaki Iiribiko no Mikoto, aka Sujin Tennou.
Another influence on all of this was likely the continental concept that time is a circle, and history repeats itself. Chroniclers seeking to place events in a narrative context would have likely seen reflections of more recent events and used that to help order their compilation.
And of course, if there were events that seemed to run counter to the truth as known by the court, well, those could be smoothed over. In this way, co-rulers were probably serialized, inconvenient interim rulers may have been excised altogether, and different dynasties, which may have only had tenuous connections, at best, were written down as direct lineal descendants. It also seems telling that the Chroniclers may have reduced the role of what appears to be matrilineal succession to a more patriarchal and patrilineal determination of legitimacy. Similarly, connections could be made for families to ancient ancestors through whom they were able to claim a certain proximity to the royal family. Likewise, rules for legitimacy could be imposed—or perhaps just assumed—for previous reigns, doing their best to bring them into harmony with the social norms and the cultural imaginaries of the late 7th and early 8th centuries.
So that’s the general context the Chroniclers were working under. But at this point it’s illuminating to take a look at the two histories and how they differ, to see what we can understand about where those differences came from.
The work of Hieda no Are, eventually recorded and written down as the Kojiki, seems to have dealt with history that was far enough back that it was likely hard to argue with—it isn’t like there was anyone alive who could counter with their own facts. And the Kojiki reads as a fairly straightforward narrative, relatively speaking.
The Nihon Shoki, on the other hand, is a different beast. While the Kojiki may have captured the official narrative, the Nihon Shoki seems to have been designed to include more—including some of the competing accounts. Thus you’ll get a lot of things like “another source says…” with a different take on the same event. This is much more prevalent in the Age of the Gods, but still pops up occasionally throughout the rest of the text. Nonetheless, it is still very much focused on the royal line from Amaterasu down to Naka no Oe and Ohoama. Even their posthumous names, Tenji and Temmu, specifically reference Ten, also pronounced Ama, at the start of their names, in what appears to be a bid to further connect them to the sun goddess of Heavenly Brightness--Amaterasu.
Both of these works have their own character, and while the dates they were presented to the throne—713 for the Kojiki and 720 for the Nihon Shoki—suggest that they were published in succession, there are those that argue that the Kojiki is largely a reaction against the Nihon Shoki.
In all likelihood the contents of the Nihon Shoki were known to many people before it was presented. There were groups of Chroniclers involved, after all -- which meant teams of scribes pouring through sources, seeking out myths and legends, and generally trying to bring everything they could to the table. And there is no indication that this was done in secret. So it is quite possible that the writers of the Kojiki had seen some of the early drafts and cribbed from those notes.
Some of the ways that the the history differ are in their portrayal of certain accounts. For example, the Kojiki presents Iwarebiko and the pacification of Yamato and archipelago more generally in terms of that mythical sovereign conversing with the spirits. And so he converses with, for instance, Ohomononushi, the deity of Mt. Miwa, a spirit whose name might be translated as the Great Lord of the Spirits, or “Mono”. This idea places the sovereign as an intercessor between the mortal and the spirit world. It hearkens back to earlier systems of sacral kingship, where power and authority came, at least in part, from supposed power of one’s sacred sites and protective spirits.
The Kojiki is also written in a much more vernacular style, using kanji and what we know of as man’yogana, the kanji used for their sound, rather than meaning, to provide a syllabary with which to write out Japanese words. This may have been done for similar reasons to why it was also used in the Man’yoshu itself—because the Kojiki was meant to be recited aloud, not just read for meaning.
The Nihon Shoki, in contrast, is clearly attempting to emulate the continental style. It relies much more heavily on not just the characters but the grammar of Chinese, though not without its own idiosyncrasies. The Nihon Shoki incorporated classical references that mirrored the references found in the histories of the Tang and earlier dynasties. I suspect, for instance, that this is one of the main reasons that Naka no Oe and Ohoama are given the posthumous names of “Tenji” and “Temmu”. Tenji means something like the Wisdom of Heaven while Temmu is more like the Martial Virtue of Heaven. This immediately brings to mind, for me, the continental concepts of Wen and Wu—Culture and Warefare, or Bunbu in Japanese. This even mirrors the founding Zhou kings, King Wen and King Wu. Later, in the Han dynasty, you have Emperor Wu of Han, the grandson of Emperor Wen of Han, and Wu was considered to be one of the greatest emperors of the Han dynasty. And so I can’t help but think that there was a similar attempt at mythmaking going on here, connecting these two reigns with the reigns of famous emperors of the continent. Of course, “Wu” was a popular name amongst the imperial dynasties from that period onward, with emperors of Jin, Chen, Liang, and others all being given the same name.
This all accords with the way that the sovereign in the Nihon Shoki is less of a sacral king, interceding and speaking with the kami, and more along the continental model of an absolute ruler who ruled by divine right and heavenly mandate.
The lands outside of Yamato are subdued and, except for the occasional uprising, stay subdued—or at least that is what the narrative would seemingly have us believe.
Now, I would argue that these distinctions are not absolute. The Kojiki contains plenty of concepts of imperial trappings, and the Nihon Shoki contains plenty of examples of the sovereign playing a more traditional role. But it is something to consider in the broad strokes of what they are saying, and I would argue that it also speaks to the duality of what was going on in this period. Clearly the Ritsuryo State was built on the continental model, with an absolute ruler who ruled through a Heavenly mandate. And yet at the same time, we see Ohoama patronizing the traditional spiritual sites and kami worship, like the emphasis on Amaterasu and Ise shrine.
Besides the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, we have one more set of official records that were compiled just as the major histories were beginning to be finished. These were the Fudoki. Fudoki were texts about the various provinces, and they include information on the various places, population, soil quality, as well as various local myths and legends attached to such things. Rather than supporting the royal lineage, the Fudoki were more geared towards supporting the process begun under Karu and Naka no Oe with the Ritsuryo system whereby knowledge of the archipelago was being centralized such that the State could know about its territories. Still, there are many times that the various Fudoki refer to different sovereigns, often to help situate a given event roughly within the historical narrative.
The Fudoki were commissioned in 713. At least 48 chronicles were said to have been compiled, but only a handful of them remain extant today. Most are only partial texts, though even those can still contain significant information. We also have purported text from certain fudoki that were reprinted in later histories. The Shaku Nihongi seems to have been one such work, expressly commissioned to try and compile various older records that were likely aging and in danger of being lost altogether. However, there is a concern regarding just how faithful those later transcriptions might have been, meaning that we cannot rely on them, entirely. Still, they are an invaluable addition to our study of the history of this period.
I mention all of this because much of this period seems dedicated to remaking the nation of Yamato into what we know as Japan. This evolution didn’t happen overnight, and it seems clear that it started gradually, but had now come to a head. There is some consideration, though, that many of the things attributed to earlier reigns—the work done by Shotoku Taishi, for example, or even that of Naka no Oe—may have been embellished in this period. After all, consider the difference between Ohoama trying to institute something entirely new versus pointing back to a previous sovereign and claiming that he wasn’t innovating, he was just following tradition.
But there are still unmistakable signs of innovation in the following reigns. The creation of the first permanent capital city, for one. There was also the blending of Buddhist and local kami-based traditions. While Buddhism had been ascendant for a while, now, we see Ohoama seemingly paying equal homage to Amaterasu and the local kami. Even while instituting new fangled continental ideas, he is also hearkening back to traditions that I can only imagine helped assuage some of the fears of any traditionalists who saw the rapid speed at which the archipelago was adopting at least the trappings of continental imperial culture.
Speaking of culture, there was one other work that we should probably mention, and that is the famous Man’yoshu—the collection of 10,000 Leaves. I mentioned this briefly earlier in the episode, but I do want to discuss it a bit, because as much as we may glean from the official histories, as well as the various fudoki texts, the Man’yoshu provides an invaluable view into the minds of the people of the time, and contains some incredibly useful tidbits of information that, when put together, help give us a better idea of what was happening during this period.
The Man’yoshu is a collection of more than 4500 poems attributed to various historical figures, from sovereigns, such as Ohoama and Naka no Oe, to common soldiers. It is remarkable in that the poems are largely in native Japanese and are not using the Sinitic poetry styles that were popular with scholars of the time.
These poems are waka, Japanese verse, which typically follows a pattern of repeating verses of 5-7-5 syllables or morae, ending with two lines of 7-7. The most simple of these are tanka—one top verse of 5-7-5, and one bottom verse of 7-7. However, the poems in the collection can vary quite a bit.
They are also remarkable in that they are written in what we know as Man’yogana. That is to say they use Sinitic characters—kanji—but for their sound rather than their meaning in many cases. This practice allowed for much more nuanced writing, such that the author could be more certain that the correct meaning could be taken away, since Japanese grammar differs greatly from various Chinese languages, and leverages particles and suffixes that are non-existent in Sinitic script. Often times, when reading something like the Nihon Shoki, one has to infer the Japanese word order, particles, and suffixes from the text as a whole. This is common with any kanbun—a very Japanese style of Chinese writing that often requires its own study to fully understand.
Meanwhile, the Man’yogana allowed someone to more easily sound out the letters in the Man’yoshu. This must have been important when morae or syllable count was important to the art form. Furthermore, it gives us tremendous insight into how spoken Japanese may have sounded back in the 8th century.
And of course it is great that we have all of these poems, but almost more important is the other information contained in the collection. Most poems not only are attributed to a particular author, but they often give a brief introduction to lay out the circumstance in which the poem was composed. These poems are, in many ways, more straightforward than many later poetic styles, which relied much more heavily on so-called “pillow words”, poetic allusions, or callbacks to previous poems—not that they were completely devoid of such references, especially to other, often continental, works.
Some poems are actually paired—a type of call and response. A man would often be expected to send a poem to a lady with whom he had recently had assignations, and she would often respond. Through such correspondence, preserved in the poetic record, we can see connections that might not be as clear in the various historical texts.
Now, 4500 is a lot of poems and I’ll be honest, I’m probably not going to be researching all of them for historical tidbits, but it is nonetheless important to understand. One should also be careful—while the poems are often attributed to various artists and famous persons, this may sometimes be misleading. The attribution may have been garbled or forgotten, and recreated.
Most of the poems in the Man’yoshu are presented with at least some amount of framing around them. They are grouped loosely by various themes. We are then told, for each poem, the composer and the occasion for which it was created. Sometimes this may be as simple as “when they were out hunting”, but that still gives us some context on which to go by as for why the author was writing the poem in the first place.
The poems themselves vary in size. There are short poems, or tanka, but also longer form chōka poems, with multiple verses. Some may allude to previous poems, but many of the poems are just about the author’s feelings. Unlike haiku, they were not quite so proscribed in terms of “pillow words” or requisite seasonal descriptions.
And yet these poems, just as much as the histories, were important in capturing some part of the cultural zeitgeist from that time. We can see what was considered popular or important, and it was there for future generations down until today.
Ultimately the Kojiki would largely be overshadowed by the more comprehensive and prestigious seeming history in the Nihon Shoki. The Nihon Shoki would become the official history, inspiring future historical records, such as the Shoku Nihongi, the continuation of the records. The Man’yoshu, likewise, would be emulated, with future compilations like the Kokinshu.
These, in turn, would impact the cultural imaginary of the time. They would shape people’s ideas about the past, about art, and even about the nature of the kami themselves. During this period it is hard to understate just how much they were setting in place a new system. It is even difficult to tell how much of that system had actually been instituted by previous sovereigns, even though it’s hard to tell how much that actually happened as opposed to simple claims by Ohoama and, later, Uno, to justify what they were doing. Up to this point, the Ritsuryou State and the various reforms had been an experiment, but under Ohoama we truly see that the new government upgrades would be fully installed.
At the same time, we also see a shake up in the court. Those who had been loyal to Ohoama during the Jinshin conflict of 672 received various rewards—increased rank and stipend, for one thing. As famous individuals passed away, they were also granted posthumous rank, which might not seem like much, but it increased the family’s prestige and that of the individual’s descendants without actually handing out a higher level stipend that would be a drain on the coffers. All of this also continued to build up the elites’ reliance on not just the court, but on the throne itself for their status, wealth, and position. Thus they had a vested interest in seeing that the project succeeded.
And that is the world that we are about to dive into. Thank you, I know we didn’t get into too much of the immediate history, and some of this is spoilers—after all, this took time and in the moment it could have turned out quite differently. What if Ohoama had gotten sick and died? What if there had been a rebellion? What if Silla or Tang had attacked? While we know what happened from the safety of our vantage point, far in the future, it is important to remember that at the time the people in the court didn’t know what would happen next, so please keep that in mind.
Next episode, we’ll start to get into the actual events of the reign, starting with Ohoama’s ascension to the throne at the newly built Kiyomihara palace in Asuka.
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

Duthie, T. (09 Jan. 2014). Man’yōshū and the Imperial Imagination in Early Japan. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004264540
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Piggott, Joan R. (1997). The Emergence of Japanese Kingship. Stanford, Calif : Stanford University Press. ISBN9780804728324
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1.

Episode 27: 9 Fictional Sovereigns and 1 (Possibly) Real One

October 16, 2020 Joshua Badgley

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Welcome back. This episode we go over sovereign’s 2-9, covering what the chronicles claim to be about 500 years, from only a few centuries after the introduction of rice to the end of the early Yayoi period. And while it is certainly possible that some of the stories in the Chronicles could go back to the Yayoi period, there is no evidence for the kind of state that the chronicles seem to imply.

That said, most of these sovereigns stories do have a connection to the Nara Basin—particularly the area of Shiki. In the below map you can see the modern Shiki district of Nara Prefecture, north of Kashihara but in ancient times it was much larger, and would have included much of Sakurai, Mt. Miwa, Tenri, and many of the areas believed to be associated with the early Yamato state.

Speaking of “Yamato”, one of the things I note in the podcast is that “Yamato” is often written with an old character: 倭. This is the character used in many of the Chinese chronicles, from which we get the term “Wo” or “Wa” for the early Japonic speaking people of the archipelago and the peninsula. Occasionally we find it as 大倭 (Great Yamato), which I suspect is in imitation of the continental practice, where you have the 大唐帝国 (Great Tang) and later the Great Yuan (大元) and the Great Ming (大明), though how it was used and when it started to be used various polity’s names I’m not sure. Interesting side note, there is a “Great Qin” (大秦) used from the time of the Han until the Tang, but it actually refers to Rome and not to the Qin state.

Regardless, the 倭 (Wa) character eventually is swapped out for the less derogatory character for peace (和), which seems to be why Yamato, today, is spelled 大和.

Speaking of imported concepts, the idea of the Heavenly-Stems and Earthly-Branches I mentioned as a time keeping mechanism. Rather than rehashing it here, I recommend you check out this page in the Miscellany. There, we talk about this system and how it applies to time-keeping in general.

This was part of the continental arts that would eventually fall under what became known as the Yin-Yang Bureau, or Onmyō-ryō. It is sometimes associated with Daoism, though this is something of a debate—there are many aspects of continental thought that are found in Daoism that made their way over to the archipelago, but the structures that we would recognize as Daoism (as paradoxical as that statement may seem, to some) really aren’t there. There are thoughts and concepts from traditional practice, and plenty of Sinitic themes show up in the archipelago on imported goods and concepts, but that seems to be it. Still, this system was largely rooted in many of the continent’s scientific concepts, including geomancy and a complex elemental system that is used to describe all sorts of micro and macro interactions in the natural world.

Seimei Shrine in Kyoto, dedicated to perhaps the most famous Yin Yang diviner, or Onmyōji, in Japanese history: Abe no Seimei. Photo by author.

At some point I’ll probably get into this, because it really is fascinating and helps to understand the way that many of the continental thinkers conceived of the natural world around them. There are generative and degenerative cycles, and elements associated with color, direction, and more. It was like a Grand Unified Theory, but going beyond just forces to the very nature of the universe. A common symbol for all of this is the pentagram—a five pointed star, usually in a circle, indicating all the different interactions between the various elements—found at the star’s tips. So no, that is not a satanic symbol on Seimei shrine, thank you very much.

As for the zodiac, it is also found outside of just the temporal realm but also in the spatial. Indeed, if the Rat (子) is North, then Ushitora (丑寅) is northeast, U (卯) is due east, Tatsumi (辰巳) is southeast, etc. Even today, these will sometimes be encountered when discussing directions, rather than the more straight forward North, East, South, West (北東南西) and associated combinations.

Alright, so like any good clickbait article, we need to leave you wanting for more, so next episode we’ll address the possibly real Mimaki Iri-biko, aka Sujin Tennō.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7

Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

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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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