Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan is a Japanese history podcast where we will be going through a chronological history of Japan. We will start with prehistory and continue up through the Meiji period. Episodes are released as soon as they are available--working on a monthly release schedule.

Game of Thrones - Asuka Style 04/16/2024

Onsen and Uprisings 04/01/2024

Onsen and Uprisings This episode we look at the reign of Tamura, aka Jomei Tenno. For references and more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-105 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings The general paced back and forth behind the walls of the fortress. Glancing around, he couldn’t help but notice how empty it now seemed. The palisades were holding, but most of the soldiers had gone, disappearing in the night. Outside the walls of the fortress, he could hear the Emishi laughing and singing. They were in good spirits—and why wouldn’t they be? The great army of Yamato sent to chastise them had been routed, and they had besieged them in their fortress, built in these still wild lands of northeastern Honshu, on the edge of an area known to many as Michi no Oku, roughly: the end of the road. And for the general, it looked like this might be the end of the road for him. His options were limited, and he was clearly outnumbered. It was beginning to look like his troops had the right idea. Of course, it meant leaving his wife and other women to fend for themselves, but fear can do a lot to motivate someone. The general eyed the walls and the trees beyond. If he could slip past the besieging forces in the darkness, perhaps he could escape. It wouldn’t be the most honorable way out of this situation, but it would at least leave him with his head. And so, as night fell, he decided to make his move… Greetings everyone, and welcome back! Before I get into it, a quick shout out an thank you to YamiRaven for supporting us on Patreon, and thanks to Johnny for a supporting us on Ko-Fi.com. If you’d like to join them, and help us keep this thing going, we’ll have more info at the end of the episode. Speaking of: This episode we are going to be talking about events during the reign of Prince Tamura, also known as Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hiro-nuka, or by the name given to him by the 8th century chroniclers: Jomei Tennou. As we discussed back in episode 103, Prince Tamura came to power in an interesting turn of fate. The grandson of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tenno, his father, Prince Hikobito no Ohoye was killed during the tumultuous period following Nunakura’s death. After several short-lived reigns, it was Kashikiya Hime, wife to Nunakura, who took the throne, known to us as Suiko Tennou. Kashikiya Hime had named an heir, Crown Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, but he died before she did and by the time that Kashikiya Hime passed away, there was nobody clearly set up to take the throne, though two candidates did stand out. There was Prince Yamashiro no Ohoye, the son of Crown Prince Umayado, whom a strict lineal succession might seem to indicate was next up to inherit, but Yamato inheritance tradition was not so cut and dried. Soga no Emishi, the son of Soga no Umako, the powerful Oho-omi who helped run the government during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, campaigned to put Prince Tamura on the throne, rather than Yamashiro no Ohoye, despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that Yamashiro no Ohoye was actually a close relative to Emishi. Now Prince Tamura was on the throne and Soga no Emishi was the Oho-omi, taking his father’s place. And yet, despite the chaotic start to the reign in 629, the majority of it was almost tame and nondescript. Don’t get me wrong, Tamura, as I’ll keep referring to him, was on the throne for a respectable thirteen years, and during that time there were certainly events that move our narrative forward in many ways. However, much of the years of his reign are filled with discussions of things like rain storms and celestial phenomena. In fact, the only thing that apparently happened in all of 634 was that they saw a comet in the sky. The year before that, in 633, the only entry was the return of envoys from the Tang. For two years, then, there is hardly a mention of politics and anything else going on. And yet, this is a period that would set the stage for what was coming next. Shortly after Tamura was appointed sovereign, he appointed his consort, Princess Takara, as his queen. Takara was, herself, a great-great grand-daughter of Nunakura Futodamashiki, a granddaughter of Prince Hikobito and daughter of Prince Chinu—presumably niece to Tamura, then, which is basically par for the course. She was also a royal descendant on her mother’s side, tracing back to Nunakura’s father, Ame Kuniyoshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. In fact, her mother, Kibitsu Hime, is said to have been buried in her own kofun at the head of Ame Kuniyoshi’s kofun—and today it is the site of the 7th century saruishi figures that I mentioned in the talk about traveling around Asuka. Takara would give birth to three children of note. The first was her eldest son, Prince Katsuraki, who would, spoiler alert, later be known as Crown Prince Naka no Ohoye. He was around three years old when his father took the throne. He had a sister by Takara, named Hashibito, and a brother, whose name you may have heard me mention previously: Oho-ama. Yes, Naka no Ohoye and Oho-ama are the future sovereigns Tenji and Temmu, but for now they are still relatively young. In fact, Oho-ama wouldn’t be born until several years into his father’s reign, in 631. Some of the early events of the reign were carryover from Kashikiya Hime’s time on the throne. In 629, for instance, Tanabe no Muraji went to Yakushima, returning the following year, and with people coming to Yamato from Yakushima the year after that. There were also a fair number of foreign embassies, including an Embassy from Goguryeo and Baekje. These may have been missions of condolences and congratulations—typical international diplomacy at the time when a neighboring ruler passed away and a new one ascended the throne, it would seem. They arrived in the third month of 630 and departed in the 9th month of that same year—a 6 month visit, all told. We also have the first actual account of ambassadors sent off to the Tang dynasty: Inugami no Mitasuki and Yakushi no E’nichi, each of Dainin rank. These are some of the first true kentoushi, or Ambassadors to the Tang court, that were sent, but over time their influence would be felt across Yamato and the archipelago. These ambassadors—or at least Mitasuki—would return in 632 with a Tang ambassador, Gao Biaoren, along with student-priests Ryou’un and Soumin, as well as Suguri no Torikahi. Perhaps most tellingly, they would arrive with Silla escort envoys, which would seem to indicate that passage to the Tang court was not done without Silla’s assistance. As you may recall, Silla had entered into a nominal alliance with the Tang against Goguryeo. The Tang Ambassadors eventually reached Naniwa, where they were met with boats decked out with drums, flutes, and flags, and where they exchanged formal greetings before being escorted into the official residence. The Nihon Shoki takes pains to note the different individuals involved in the duties, from the initial greeting, guiding them to the residence, and then preparing them in the residence, along with a welcome drink of sake brewed on temple rice land. And then, three months later, they depart once more. Nothing else is said of their visit. Meanwhile, in the time between when Mitasuki went to the Tang court and when he returned with Gao Biaoren and company, a few things had happened. For one we get a note about Tamura moving to a new palace complex known as Okamoto no miya, supposedly at the foot of Asuka hill, hence the name, which means “foot of the hill”. This would not have been much of a change from Kashikiya Hime’s palace, still within the sacred area defined by the Soga temple of Asukadera as well as various other temples being stood up in that area as well. A move was to be expected, though in this case it is interesting that he didn’t go very far. There is also mention, still in 630, of the repairing the official residences in Naniwa where ambassadors from the continent would be quartered during their trips to Yamato 631 opens with something of a treat – so it would seem, anyway. We are told that in the third month of Tamura’s third year on the throne, Prince Pung—named Pungjang in the Chronicles—was sent to the Yamato court by his father, King Wicha of Baekje. On the one hand, the Korean sources do agree that Prince Pung was, indeed, sent to Yamato, where he would live as a guest and diplomatic hostage. We’ve talked about this practice in the past, which seems to have strengthened bonds between nations, although we rarely hear of Yamato returning the favor by sending hostages to the continent. It may have also helped keep a potential heir out of harm’s way in case of a coup or other such politics. Several times, heirs returned to Baekje to be enthroned with Yamato assistance, if the Chronicles are to be believed. Except that this entry is probably not quite right. You see, Wicha wouldn’t even come to the throne until 641—he wasn’t even made Crown Prince until 632—so why would he send his son as a diplomatic hostage in 631? Johnathan Best, translating the Baekje records of the Samguk Sagi, suggests that perhaps the Chroniclers were off by a factor of 10 or 12 years. You see, as we mentioned earlier, the East Asian calendrical system was based on a series of ten stems and twelve branches. The stems represented the elemental forces, and the branches were identified with the twelve signs of the zodiac. Incrementing each one each year led to a series of 60 years before it started repeating, and based on the way that the records for this reign are dated, it looks like the records the Chroniclers were drawing from used this system for their dates. However, if you misread—or even miswrite—one of these characters it can change your date by ten or even twelve years. It would make much more sense for Prince Pung to have arrived twelve years later, in 643. Similarly, we find other records, particularly having to do with Baekje, which may be a bit jumbled, possibly indicating they came from a similar source that either had things in the wrong chronological order or was simply vague or poorly scribed so that the Chroniclers had to figure out exactly what was happening when—which they may have made mistakes with, from time to time. So Prince Pung arriving as a hostage is probably misplaced, and likely didn’t happen during Tamura’s reign. Which means that other than people from Yakushima showing up in 631 the only other major event of the year was Tamura going to the hot springs of Arima, in Settsu, where he stayed for about three months. Now I know I’ve mentioned hot springs, or onsen, before in the narrative. After all, the volcanic islands that make up the Japanese archipelago are full of them, and it isn’t like they were suddenly discovered during this reign, but it does look like this might be the first formal mention of them in the Nihon Shoki—which gives Arima, in the mountains north of Kobe, some serious bona fides to be considered the oldest known hot spring town in Japan. And that would be a cool side note in most reigns, but for Tamura it seems to have been a habit. He apparently went for a dip at least three times in his reign—the second time, in 638, he apparently went to the “Arima no Miya”, or the Arima Palace, which suggests that he had something built specifically for his visits. And then, in 639, he headed to the hot springs in Iyo. The country of Iyo is better known today as Ehime prefecture, on the western edge of the island of Shikoku. The largest city in Ehime is Matsuyama, home to the famous Dougou Onsen, which also lays a claim to being the oldest operating hot springs in the archipelago. Dougou Onsen is not only the traditional place in Iyo where Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, took the waters, as they might say in the west, but in the Iyo Fudoki it is said that its fame goes back even further. As we mentioned back in Chapter 18, it is said that the legendary figures Ohonamuchi and Sukuna Bikona met there, back in ancient times. In more recent times, relatively speaking, Dougou Onsen was the inspiration behind the fantastical bathhouse created by Hayao Miyazaki in the Studio Ghibli film, Spirited Away. For all that these visits to the hot springs are somewhat interesting, they don’t exactly tell us a lot about what was happening with government, and in fact tend to make it seem almost as though Tamura was skipping out, at least in the fall to early winter. And to be honest, can you blame him? Winter is one of the best times to go take advantage of the volcanic springs. Many of the other records appear to be natural phenomena, mostly having to do with the heavens: rain, storms, lightning, and more. Some of the more intriguing are comets—stars with “long tails” that appeared in the skies. There are also mentions of eclipse and what may have been a meteor—a star in 636 “floated east to west, with a noise like thunder.” The Priest Soumin, from the Tang, said it was the sound of the Celestial Dog, a creature from the ancient Han or possibly pre-Qin text, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, a fantastical account of mythical geography and various animals, including the nine tailed fox and the celestial dog, whose bark was said to be like Thunder. This book was considered to be a true account up through the Tang dynasty. One could probably track the celestial phenomena and see if there is any correlation with known sightings, but it is also just as likely that some of it was taken from continental records and inserted into the Chronicles as appropriate. Besides such phenomena, there were accounts of more missions, especially from Baekje. Yamato was still using the cap rank system attributed to Prince Umayado during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, and some of the envoys were given cap rank, or granted a promotion—a gesture that was likely pure diplomacy, as the rank wouldn’t necessarily convey any special rights back in their home country. There are a few more things of note. First, in 636, we are told that all those who had affairs with the uneme at court were put on trial and punished—which likely means they were put to death. The uneme, as you may recall, were women sent to serve at the court, and as such they were apparently off-limits, at least while they were serving. That clearly didn’t stop people from having some late night escapades, though. The main reason it likely comes up, though, is that we are told that one of the accused was a man named Miwa no Kimi no Osazaki, and that he took his own life by stabbing himself in the throat because the examination—by which I’m sure they meant torture—was too much to bear. And here I have to wonder how similar Yamato’s sense of justice was to that of their neighbor, the Tang dynasty. In the case of the latter, there was often a suspicion that any person accused of a crime must be guilty of at least something—after all, why would they have been accused if they didn’t do something to upset the peace, even if it was just that they didn’t get along with their neighbors. It was considered de rigeur to submit suspected criminals to torturous ordeals with the idea that this would elicit a confession. Unfortunately, this idea that harsh and torturous examinations can be used to uncover the truth often still persists, despite evidence that, under enough duress, most people will say anything. In this case, it drove Osazaki to take his own life. Later in that same year, the Okamoto palace caught fire and burned down, and so Tamura moved to a new palace, called the Tanaka palace, or the Palace in the Middle of the Rice Fields. We also have a little more court action, as Prince Ohomata, a son of Nunakura Futodamashiki by one of his consorts, reached out to Soga no Emishi—called in this record the Toyoura no Oho-omi, likely because his mansion was in or near Toyoura, in Asuka. Prince Ohomata suggested to Soga no Emishi that the ministers had not been attending court properly. He suggested that they should be there by roughly 5 or 6 AM—an hour before daybreak—and they should stay until 10 or 11 AM. Specifically he mentioned the hour of the hare and the hour of the serpent, as each ancient hour was actually two, with twelve hours making up the day, each named for one of the twelve signs of the Asian zodiac. To enforce all of this, Ohomata also recommended having a bell rung that would let people know that it was time to start or end work. This was all common practice in the continental courts of the day, and it wasn’t like they were asking for a modern 40 hour work week, even: the court ministers would literally be serving for maybe 5 to 6 hours at court, with the rest of the time to handle their own affairs. Still, Soga no Emishi apparently didn’t think much of the idea and so was not inclined to support it. All of this is kind of an odd mention. First, Ohomata is an obscure Prince—he’s only mentioned three times in the Chronicles, and once just in a list of Nunakura’s children. Second, the idea doesn’t go anywhere. Third, they don’t call Soga no Emishi by the name they used in both the previous or the next reign, but use Toyora no Ohoomi, for whatever reason. It just sticks out as odd, and I wonder if it was added to show that Soga no Emishi was resistant to change and new ideas. At the same time, it does give us a clue that Soga no Emishi was still running things. His name may not have been on a lot, but then again, neither was Tamura’s, so we can only infer what was actually going on during this period. It’s almost a lacuna in the history. There were a few other events worth noting, however, one of which took more than a bit of the Chroniclers’ ink, and this was a rebellion by the Emishi people. First off, because it can be confusing: There is no apparent link between Soga no Emishi and the Emishi people that I’m aware of. Emishi, of course, is the name given to the people living outside of the Yamato cultural sphere in the northeast, from modern Ibaraki prefecture north. They were apparently expected to pay tribute at court, and are clearly treated differently from other outside groups, like Baekje and Silla. Some of them were likely members of the groups that had lived in the region since the Jomon period, who never fully adopted the Yayoi and later Kofun lifeways, and they may be related to the Ainu people who still live in modern Hokkaido, though there is also evidence that some of the Emishi may have been ethnic Wa people who had gone to live outside the Yamato court’s reach—though that is more evident in later centuries than in the current narrative. I would also note that “Emishi” is an exonym—that is a name given by outsiders, in this case, by the Wa people of Yamato. In fact, other than what we can see in the archaeological record, what we know of the Emishi comes from Yamato sources, which are almost entirely biased. We don’t really have any good telling of their story from their own perspective. For instance,did they feel oppressed by Yamato in general, and not think they should have to keep bringing tribute? Or was there a more specific event that occurred, much like the conflicts we see later... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/30611538

A Bloody Start to a Golden Age 03/16/2024

A Bloody Start to a Golden Age Apologies for any degradation of the sound quality. This was recorded while we were traveling, and the room setup was not ideal, so if sounds like I'm in a cave, you know why ;) This episode we head over to the continent to kick off the Tang dynasty. The Tang dynasty was extremely influential on Yamato and later Japan, as well as the rest of East Asia. And so we'll take a look at how it got its start and how it expanded along the silk road, while at the same time talking about the literally cutthroat politics of the period. Especially in the royal house. Nobody fights like family. For more information, check out the podcast webpage: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-104 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 104: A Bloody Start to a Golden Age It was early in the morning on the fourth day of the sixth month of the ninth year of Wu De. Brothers Li Jiancheng, Crown Prince, and his younger brother, Li Yuanji, were more than a bit annoyed--Their brother had apparently slandered them to their father, the Emperor, claiming that they had had illicit relationships with his concubines. Although the accusations were false, they still had to come to the palace to clear their names. So they left the crown prince’s residence at the Eastern Palace and were traveling on horseback with a retinue of men through the private, forested royal park north of the city towards the Xuanwu Gate—the northern gate to the palace and to the great city of Chang’an. As they approached Linhu Hall, they noticed something was afoot: there were soldiers in the park, headed their way. It was immediately apparent that the accusations had been a ruse, and their brother meant for more than just to tarnish their honor. As they fled eastward, back towards the Eastern palace, their brother, Li Shimin, came galloping towards them and called out to them. Li Yuanji tried to draw his bow, but couldn’t get to it in time, and Li Shimin shot and killed Li Jiancheng, their older brother and the crown prince. Li Yuanji himself fell from his horse as he dodged arrows from the attacking troops, but Li Shimin also became entangled in the brush of the park and had to dismount. Li Yuanji ran up to his brother and tried to strangle him with his bow string, but soon he was chased off by reinforcements. Li Yuanji fled on foot to Wude Hall, where he was finally caught and struck down with arrows. Li Shimin’s forces struck off the heads of the two murdered princes, and took them to the Xuanwu gate, where opposing forces were still fighting. Seeing the heads of the two princes, it was clear that Li Shimin’s ambush was victorious, and the princes’ forces quickly dispersed. Three days later, the victorious Li Shimin was instated as the new crown prince. Two months later, his father, Li Yuan, known to history as emperor Tang Gaozu, abdicated in favor of his son, who came to power as Emperor Taizong. This was the start of the Zhenguan era, which would come to be seen as a golden age in the history of the various Chinese empires. --------------- Alright, so as may be apparent, we are deviating a bit from our discussion of Yamato to look at some of the events on the continent. This is because the rise of the Tang dynasty would have an incredible impact on the Japanese archipelago. For one, it was the alliance between the Tang and Silla that would eventually mean the removal of Yamato and its allies from the Korean peninsula. In addition, however, the Tang dynasty’s access to the silk road and its grandiose government would become an exemplar for Yamato and many other polities who wished to demonstrate their political and cultural sophistication. Many of the laws and even court dress would mimic that of the Tang court—with a local flare, of course. In addition, the Tang dynasty brought a relative stability to the continent that would last for over two hundred years. Of course, none of that was known at the outset, and like many previous kingdoms, the Tang dynasty was born out of bloodshed. We’ve mentioned several times how the Sui Dynasty was growing increasingly unpopular in the late 6th and early 7th centuries. Wars continued to cost money and lives, as did the giant public works projects of the periods - though the Grand Canal would be one of the greatest constructions of any age, uniting the Yangzi and Yellow River basins in myriad ways, powering the regions’ economies for centuries to come. Into this Sui period came a man of the Li family named Yuan. We mentioned him back in episode 102, but I figured he could do with a little more backstory. Li Yuan’s family originated in the frontier regions. Official biographies had connected him to the founder of the Western Liang dynasty, and his family had served in various roles as the different northern kingdoms rose and fell. The Li family had been providing military service since the time of Yuan’s great-grandfather, and Li Yuan himself had been serving since the early 600s. He was made a general and placed in charge of the Dongguang pass in the Taihang mountains. There, he largely stayed out of the limelight. At one point, he was summoned to the palace and rather than going he feigned illness, instead. You see, around this time there was a prophecy flying around that someone with the surname of Li would try to take the throne from Sui Emperor, Emperor Yang, so it may have been in Li Yuan’s best interest to avoid the court and anything that could draw Emperor Yang’s suspicions. He continued to do everything in his power to make himself seem unthreatening, even as rebellions were breaking out across the Empire. In 614, the Sui army was defeated by Goguryeo, and the Sui court was plagued by numerous uprisings. Li Yuan may have sat it out if it weren’t for his son, Li Shimin. Like many youthful individuals, Li Shimin was less than invested in the current administration. He and several of his close acquaintances began to scheme behind his father’s back, with plans to join the other uprisings and hope to take a piece of the pie. Eventually, they blackmailed Li Yuan into marching on the capital of Daxingcheng in 617, threatening to expose several illicit relationships from his time at the court—relationships that would have surely put him at odds with the Emperor. At the same time, Emperor Yang had fled to the southern capital along the banks of the Yangzi River, but his son and heir, Yang You, was still in the capital. Li Yuan marched on imperial city of Daxingcheng, near the ancient capital of Chang’an, claiming that he was coming to protect the young heir. Taking control of the capital city put Li Yuan at odds with imperial forces, who did not necessarily accept Li Yuan’s altruistic claims. Li Yuan and his sons, including Li Shimin and Li Jiangcheng, were drawn into fighting. Even Li Yuan’s daughter, Pingyang, the wife of general Chai Shao, contributed to the war effort. She personally raised an army and led it into battle, becoming the first female general of what would be known as the Tang dynasty. In 618, Emperor Yang of Sui was assassinated by another general, Yuwen Huaji, and the throne passed to his son, Yang You, known as Emperor Gong of Sui. However, Li Yuan pressured the newly made Emperor Gong to yield the throne to him. Since Li Yuan had inherited the title “Duke of Tang” from his paternal line, he used that as the name of his new dynasty, and became known as Tang Gaozu—the High Founder of Tang. It wasn’t enough to simply take the throne, though. There were still many other warlords looking to take his place. After all, unification had only come about some thirty or forty years prior. Up to that point, there had been numerous, often competing kingdoms, especially in the north. It was quite possible that the Sui dynasty was just a fluke, and most people no doubt expected the empire to fall once more into chaos. Still, although he definitely had to back it up with military might, often led by his sons and close confidants, Li Yuan went about the process of enacting his sovereignty. This included various state rituals, as well as a reform of the administration. For one thing, they renamed the capital. Daxingcheng had been built nearby the ancient capital of Chang’an, and so they renamed Daxingcheng to the ancient name of Chang’an. In addition, he sought out various supernatural portents. He also enjoyed the support of various Daoists, who believed that the founder of Daoism, Laozi, was from the Li family. There was a belief at the time that a messianic ruler from the Li family would bring about the Daoist millennium. And to better understand that, it may be useful to understand a little bit about Daoism. Daoism, first and foremost, is one of the more well known religions to come out of China, and often is found side by side what would seem to be its polar opposite, Confucianism. However, the two have more in common than one might at first assume. The believed founder of Daoism is known as Laozi, though some later sources, including the Qin dynasty “Records of the Grand Historian”, by Sima Chen, would claim for him the name Li Er. Laozi was said to have been a scholar who abandoned the world, and as he was leaving the empire for parts unknown, an astute guard recognized him and requested that before he left that he write down his accumulated wisdom before he would let the old sage leave. That became the work known as the Dao De Jing, or the Classic of the Way and Virtue. The opening of the Dao De Jing is rather famous: Dao ke Dao, feichang Dao. Or, according to one translation: The Dao that can be known is not the eternal Dao. However, no English translation truly does the original justice. Traditionally, Laozi is said to have been a contemporary of Confucius, and some of the earliest writings on him, in the Warring States period writings of Zhuangzi, often show Confucius in awe of Laozi. That said, most tend to agree that Laozi himself likely never existed, and that the Dao De Jing was assembled over the years from various poems and sayings that fit with the general theme of formlessness and a general concept of following the Way, a rather ill defined concept of natural order, one which humans are constantly pushing against, often to our detriment. Truth is that both Confucius and Laozi—or whomever compiled the Dao De Jing—wrote about a thing called the “Dao” or “Way”. Confucius was often talking about the “Way of Heaven”, describing an ordered universe where balance was kept by everyone remaining in their proper place, creating a series of rules around strict, hierarchical relationships, such as those between a father and son, or the ruler and subject. According to Confucian thought, as long as things on Earth were properly ordered, that order would be reflected in the Heavens, and all of creation would be ordered as well. In Daoism, it is much less about attempting to order the universe, but rather about giving in to your natural place in the universe. This is a much simplified version of both religions, but in general, where Confucianism tended to see serving at court as a virtue, Daoism tended to reject official life. For many court officials, they would embrace Confucian ideals in their official lives, but often seek out Daoist pleasures in their free time. Religious Daoism, where it became more than simply a philosophical ideal, appears to have coalesced around the Han dynasty. There are Daoist temples, though in this instance it is often intertwined with many other Sinitic philosophies and beliefs. Thus things like the Queen Mother of the West and the Peaches of Immortality could be included in Daoist practice. Things like the Yijing, the Book of Changes, and various divination methods could also be included. In many cases, “Daoist” seems to be used less to refer to a strict adherent to the philosophy of the supposed Laozi, and more as a general catchall for various folk beliefs. Thus many people see the images of the Queen Mother of the West on Han Dynasty mirrors imported to Japan as evidence of a Daoist influence on the archipelago, while others note the lack of the further panoply of religious accoutrements that we would expect if it was truly a “Daoist” influence, and not just a few folk beliefs that made their way across the straits. However, by the time that Li Yuan was coming to the throne there was a thriving Daoist community in the Sui and burgeoning Tang dynasties, and if they believed that Li Yuan was an incarnation of Laozi—or at least a messianic descendant—who was he to dissuade them of such a notion? Li Yuan reached back into the past in other ways as well. For one, he would reinstitute the Northern Wei “equal-field” system of state granted land, along with a system of prefectures and districts to help administer it. This was largely an effort to help fill up the coffers, which had been emptied by the Sui and constant warfare, while also emphasizing state ownership of land, with individuals being mere tenants. It also helped bring back into cultivation lands that had long lain fallow, often due to the constant fighting of the previous centuries. In 621, Li Yuan ordered the minting of new copper coins to help stabilize the currency. Later Sui currency had been devalued by numerous forgeries as well as official debasement—mixing in less valuable metals to make the coins, while attempting to maintain the same denominations as before. These new coins were meant to restore faith in the currency, but shortages would continue to plague the dynasty throughout its history, leading to the use of cloth as a common medium of exchange and tax payment, something that was also common on the archipelago, along with other goods, in lieu of rice or money. By 624, Li Yuan also announced a new legal code based on the old Han era code, although this was quickly expanded, since the needs of the code from the 3rd century Now initially, for all of their claims to the entire geographic area of the Sui dynasty, the newly established Tang dynasty really only had effective control over a small are of Guanzhou—the area around Chang’an itself. Li Yuan hadn’t been the only one to rise up, and just because he had declared himself the new emperor didn’t mean that the other warlords were just giving up. It wasn’t like they had reached the end of a football match and everyone was now just going to go home. And so he and his sons found themselves campaigning for at least the next five years, and that was against the active threats. Plenty of local elites, especially along the Yellow River basin, simply opted to hole up in their fortified settlements. After all, they had no guarantees that this new Tang dynasty would last longer than any of the others in the past several centuries. Often these local elites came under nominal vassalage of the Tang—and probably any other warlord that showed up—but in reality, based on how we see the Tang administration at work, it seems they were primarily left to their own devices, at least early on. After all, Li Yuan and his sons had plenty of active threats to worry about. And it was definitely his sons who bore the brunt of the work. Li Jiancheng, the eldest son, who would eventually be named Crown Prince, and Li Shimin each took charge of various troops against the threats to the new Tang empire. And they were, for the most part, successful. They eventually brought a majority of the former Sui territory under their control, such that by 623 internal resistance had begun to wane, and by 624 the situation was largely under control. At least internally. To the north and west there was another threat: The khaganate of the Göktürks. Now for many people, if you hear “Turks” you might immediately think of the Ottomans in the region of modern Turkiye. However, that is not where the Turkish people originated from. In fact, the first mention of Turkic people appears to be out of the Altai mountains, in modern Mongolia, from around 545. They appear to have been a nomadic group, as were many of the people of the steppes of central Eurasia. By 551, only a short time after they were first documented by outside groups, they had established the Göktürk, or Celestial Turk, Khaganate, based in the Mongolian plateau. From there they expanded in the 6th century, at one point spanning from the Byzantine and Sassanid Persian empires in the west all the way to the kingdoms and empires of the Yellow River basin in the east. Many of the ethnic Han kingdoms that clashed with the Göktürks instituted practices of basically paying them off to prevent raids and invasions of their territory. Shortly after the founding of the Sui dynasty, the Turkic Khaganate split in two, after the death of the khagan, and so the Sui and Tang were actually dealing with what we know as the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. They were known to the ethnic Han people as the Thuk-kyat people, a term that today is often transcribed as Tujue, due to the shift in Sinic pronunciation over time. “Tujue” is often how you’ll see it rendered in sources referencing Chinese documents. The Eastern Turkic Khaganate remained an issue for the Sui and Tang dynasties. Initially, when the uprisings against the Sui began, the Göktürks actually pulled back for a bit, hoping to allow the internal conflicts to weaken their eastern neighbors, but as they saw the direction things were taking, with the Tang dynasty solidifying their power, they began to launch invasions and harass the border, forcing the Tang dynasty to send troops. Initially Li Yuan attempted to by off the Eastern Turks, as previous dynasties had done, but while they were happy to take his money, the invasions did not stop. Eventually, things got so bad—and the internal conflicts were in a stable enough state—that Li Yuan, decided to send a force against them. A fairly straightforward decision, supposedly, except, well… Throughout all of this conflict, Li Jiancheng and Li Shimin had been building up their own influence. Li Jiancheng, as the eldest son of Li Yuan, was the Crown Prince, but Li Shimin had built up his own power and influence, to the point that Li Jiancheng and his other brother, Li Yuanji, were starting to look at how they could take care of him before he got so powerful and popular that Li Yuan was tempted to make him Crown Prince instead of Jiancheng. At one point, Li Yuanji proposed inviting Li Shimin over and just having him killed, but Li Jiancheng balked at such direct and obvious fratricide. Instead, Li Jiancheng reportedly pushed his younger brother into positions that would possibly get him killed, but Li Shimin continued to succeed, thwarting his brother’s plans and growing his own fame and power in the process. Finally, Li Jiancheng decided to take a different approach, and he suggested to his father that the army to defend the empire against the Turks should be led by none other than Li Yuanji. This would mean moving a large portion of the army out from under Li Shimin’s command to his brother, Li Yuanji, who would also accrue much of the fame and respect if he proved successful. This was a huge blow to Li Shimin, who had heard rumors that his brothers were out to get him. Before... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/30300238

Travelling Through the Ancient Nara Basin: Part II 03/01/2024

Travelling Through the Ancient Nara Basin: Part II Welcome to another bonus episode, where we take a break from the main narrative and discuss some of the modern locations where this happened. In this case, I'm talking about a trip I took around the Nara Basin, specifically focusing on the area of Asuka, where the Asuka Period gets its name. We will have some photos of the places and things I mention this episode up on the podcast website: Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan! My name is Joshua and this is Traveling Through the Nara Basin, Part II This episode, I’d like to pause in our narrative to take you on a journey through the modern landscape of Asuka. This is a continuation from episode I did last year covering travels around the southeastern edge of the Nara Basin, from Tenri down to Miwa. I’m going to skip over some of the sites in Kashihara—we may save that for a discussion of the Fujiwara palace that was there—and head straight to Asuka. Standing at the southern end of Asuka, at the site of the ruins of the Itabuki palace, looking north, with the hills at your back the view is rather bucolic. Between the hills on either side of the valley, one can see rice fields spreading out. Along the western edge, the narrow Asuka-gawa winds along the base of the hills on its way north, joining with the Yamato river in the heart of the Nara Plain, far from view. Along the eastern hills are various houses, heading out to a cluster around the current precincts of Asukadera. It is a far cry from the ancient capital it once was. The large mansions and palaces that once filled the landscape are gone, their traces often lying beneath the rice paddies. Amongst the hills, ancient tumuli still look down over the valley below, some with their contents ripped open—whether by man or nature—for all to see. At the end of the Asuka period, the capital would move—first just a short hop away to the plains of Kashihara, to the north, but eventually up to Heijo-kyo, in modern Nara city. A century later the capital would move north, settling in Heian-kyo, aka modern Kyoto city. Asuka, in turn, remained largely untouched by the urbanization that would take place in many of the large cities. As the capital moved farther away—to Kashihara, then Nara, then Kyoto—Asuka was left behind. The temples and buildings succumbed to time, and no great settlement sprung up in its place. There were castles built on strategic hills by local lords, but much of the land remained rural Asuka would never be quite the same, a fact that would be of some relief to archaeologists and students of history in later centuries. The lack of urbanization meant that traces of those ancient times—at least those underneath the layers of soil overturned by farming—do remain. Asuka is believed to have been a stronghold for the powerful Soga clan. By rising through the ranks, marrying into the royal family, and supporting the winning side in various succession crises—not to mention their ties to the exotic Buddhist religion—they were able to make themselves into the most powerful family in Yamato, second only to the sovereign, and their stronghold of Asuka became the site of the palace building for at least four sovereigns. It was also the home to some of the first permanent Buddhist temples, so it is the stage for much of what plays out in the late 6th to 7th centuries. For anyone planning a visit, the first thing you should know is that Asuka is still quite rural. There are a few train lines that you can take nearby—the Kintetsu line Asuka station is probably the closest for most things, but since I was also visiting the Fujiwara palace ruins I rode into Kaguyama station on the JR line early in the morning. And so I entered Asuka from the north, passing by Kaguyama, one of the three sacred mountains of Kashihara. Near Ikatsuchi, I followed a small road that cut across rice paddies just north of the presumed site of Kashikiya Hime’s Oharida palace. This is the palace she moved to in the latter part of her reign, giving over the site of Toyoura, to the southwest, for a nunnery. Making my way through the open rice paddies, I reached a small neighborhood on the other side. The buildings were a mix of new and old, but nothing quite as old as what I was looking for. I continued on, making my way to the Asuka Historical Museum. This is an excellent museum for anyone interested in the area, with examinations of various temple ruins, kofun, and more. Outside, there are numerous copies of the various stone figures that dot the landscape here in Asuka, such as the Saruishi, or Monkey stones. These stones are a bit enigmatic. There is no clear relationship between the origin of most of the stones and any particular event that I could see in the Nihon Shoki or elsewhere. The saruishi were discovered by farmers in their fields in 1702, near Umeyama kofun, and eventually moved to their current location at the site of Kibi Hime’s tomb, outside of the giant keyhole shaped tomb for Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. They are called “monkey” stones, or Saru-ishi, because people thought they resembled monkeys, but in truth they are probably just carvings meant to represent people. Scholars believe that they probably date back to the latter half of the 7th century, and may have been carved by immigrant Baekje artisans, based on their similarity to statues found on the Korean peninsula, but this is all conjecture. The originals are viewable from behind a fence, but at the Asuka Historical Museum you can get up close and personal to them and really see the details—at least what hasn’t eroded away. There is also the Kameishi, or turtle stone, which you can go see, but which also has a replica at the museum. There are stories about this giant stone, carved to look like a turtle, but its exact purpose is unknown. There are also reconstructions of various kofun stone chambers, so you can see what is inside some of the large mounds, as well as stone fountains and water works, demonstrating not just the skill of the artisans of that era, but also their ability to harness the flow of water back in that time. Inside, much of the information in the museum is in Japanese, but there are English descriptions of artifacts and some contextualization, but if you don’t read Japanese and are interested in what they have to say about the palace and temple ruins then a translation app is your friend. In fact, it is generally recommended for any travel where you may be in need of translation, these days. Inside the museum, they go over the layouts of some of the later palaces, especially the Okamoto, Itabuki, and Kiyomihara palace sites, for which at least the inner court area is fairly well defined. They also take a look at temple structures and the various continental influences, as well as a reconstruction of a water clock described by the Nihon Shoki during the reign of the sovereign known as Saimei Tennou—rest assured we will talk more about that at a later date. They also have a good look at the inside of the Kitora tomb’s burial chamber, recreated for you. The Kitora kofun and the Takamatsuzuka kofun are two of the most famous kofun in the area, but not necessarily for who was buried there. Both of them have been opened, and inside it wasn’t just grave goods, but they found painted chambers. In the Kitora kofun we find the directional guardian animals. These are four mythical beasts that represented North, South, East, and West, and they were Genbu, the Black Turtle of the North; Suzaku, the Red Bird of the South; Seiryuu, the Blue—or Green—Dragon of the East; and Byakkou, the White Tiger of the West. In this case, since the tomb was opened from the south, only three of the paintings were visible, and the east and west walls were not in great shape, but it was still legible. They are doing their best to preserve these paintings, and the museum only has copies, but it still helps to understand the time period. The burial probably took place in the 7th or 8th century, and has been suggested that it was a high ranking noble or royal prince—or possibly even a high ranking person from the continent. Takamatsuzuka, on the other hand, has even more detailed murals from the late 7th or early 8th century. The murals include the directional animals, but also pictures of courtiers dressed in the continental fashion. The murals resemble those found in Goguryeo, and again, there are still many questions about just who was buried there. Both the Kitora and Takamatsuzuka kofun are round kofun, and not especially large or prominent compared to some of the giant keyhole shaped kofun or previous eras, but the decoration and grave goods suggest people of status in both cases. Also, since Takamatsuzuka gives us some of our only clothing evidence from this period, and it holds similarities to what we know of Nara and later Heian era clothing, it is often used as a key reference point when looking at the clothing and culture of this time. The Takamatsuzuka kofun is only a short distance from the Asuka train station, but I did not visit this trip as I had been there many years prior, and I do recommend it if you get the chance. Kitora kofun is a little more out of the way, but still doable, especially if you have more than a day to wander around the area. In addition to the tombs, the museum has a large exhibit on Asuka era temples, including a section of wooden wall from a building at nearby Yamadadera. This section was found in 1980—apparently it had collapsed onto the ground and been covered up, as much of the wood was still preserved. The section is dated to be even older than the oldest extant buildings of Houryuuji, and it gives a great example of the construction techniques of the time. Since they didn’t have glass windows, we see them using vertical wooden bars. You can still see this on old style buildings and galleries, where a pole with a square cross-section will be tilted like a diamond and placed in the windows, creating a series of wooden bars that let in light, but still act as a barrier to entry. This only really works on external walls, unless you have another kind of shutter to put over them, but it is effective. We also have other items from the temple, including the head of a bronze Buddha statue. From what we can tell, this was another Soga family temple. It is mentioned in the “Joguuki”, the biography of Shotoku Taishi, as well as in the Nihon Shoki. It is also a short walk from the museum, and an easy visit. Warning, though, there isn’t a lot to see on the site. The outline of the temple and the various buildings is visible, and you can see how they lined up and get a sense of the approach, but it is fairly sparse. There is a modern temple on the site—Yamadaji, or, read another way, Yamadadera. It is not nearly as grand as the original, and is more like a rural, neighborhood temple. During the Asuka period, Yamadadera likely attracted attention from far and wide as one of the chief temples of the capital. Speaking of temples, I next turned back down the road and headed towards Asukadera. On the way isare the Ishigami site an theand Mizuochi sites, next to the Asuka district Exhibition Room of Archaeological Cultural Assets. The Ishigami site is a section of the stone pathways near an ancient guesthouse. Nearby is the Mizuochi site, which has been speculated to be the site of the water clock I mentioned earlier. There was a moat for catching and holding water, as well as various pipes for getting the water up to the clock. The clock itself contained several different buckets at different levels, so that a hole poked in the top bucket drained into the one below and then the one below that. The idea was that the water would flow at a fairly constant rate, and that could be used to tell the time. At the bottom was a float with an image of an official who held a ruler. The ruler would rise with the float and thus indicate the time. This was a great innovation as it would work even when the sun was not out, but it would need to be reset each day at a specific time to ensure that it was accurate. As for the nearby Exhibition Room—it is free, and so worth a look around. Much of what is there is the same as the Asuka Historical Museum, but there are a few differences. It is only a single room, so an easy in and out, and you can grab a bite or something to drink before you head on, so worth the stop if you are passing by, but if you are short on time you could easily give it a miss, as well. Continuing up the valley, to the south, I next stopped at Asukadera. I approached from the west, though the parking lot and main entrance is to the east. At the western edge there was a memorial for the Soga family members—more on that as we get back to the episodes. You can also see where the gates and walls used to be, though now the temple itself is much reduced. You no longer have the original footprint of the temple—when the capital moved to Heijo-kyo, the temple formally moved as well. It was rebuilt in Heijo-kyo as Gankouji, but it wasn’t like they could just move all the buildings—though that was sometimes done. Over time things were dilapidated or destroyed by fire, and Asukadera itself shrank. They did find and preserve the giant Buddha statue believed to have been installed in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, though the statue had been repaired extensively, such that only parts of the statue are thought to be original. You can come into the worship hall for a fee and the monks there will tell you the history of that and other images at the temple—in Japanese, of course—and you are allowed to take pictures. While the temple is reduced, it is still an incredible experience to stand there and imagine what it once was. In addition, you can look up the valley and picture the ancient palaces that once stood there as well. And that was my next stop. I headed up the roads towards the ancient palace sites. I noticed that there was some work going on near the Itabuki Palace site, and so I headed over that way. This means I did skip the Nara Prefectural Complex of Man’yo Culture, which looks to have some excellent depictions of life during Asuka and Nara periods, focusing on the period of the Man’yoshu, the book of ten thousand leaves, our earliest collection of Japanese language poetry written with “man’yogana”—sinitic characters used primarily for their sound to represent the Japanese language of that era. This is only one of many reasons that I will be returning to Asuka on a future visit. Still, I only had so much time in the day, and so I wandered over the old palace sites. There was an excavation underway, and I admit I still need to look into if there was a site report for the work—this was in November of 2022. I don’t know if there were any major changes in our understanding at the time, but always great to see people in the field doing the work that helps us map and understand the past. While Tthere is a small rest area there, but you should be aware that after excavation, the site has largely been covered back up. There is a small display on the eastern side of the valley where you can see some post holes, but largely you have to use your imagination to see the palace and where it was. I still just like to be there and experience the site and get an idea for even just the topography of the place, which I really believe puts things in perspective. From the Asuka palace site, I headed up the road and a little bit into the hills to see Ishibutai kofun. This is a famous kofun and is extremely impressive in its presentation, despite the fact that it has no grave goods and we don’t really know who was buried there. You see, though it was apparently a square shaped kofun, all of that dirt has been removed—likely by erosion or other factors—but that means that the stone chamber inside has been exposed. With that you can see the enormous stones that people moved into place to create the burial chamber. This was not a simple matter of making a brick enclosure, but rather it was massive boulders that were found and placed in such a way that I’m sure the builders of the pyramids or Stonehenge would have appreciated. As it was open to the elements, anything that was inside was either stolen or rotted away, but it is still impressive to see the construction. It is thought that this may have been the tomb of none other than Soga no Umako, that powerful Oho-omi that lead the Soga family to greatness, and some have suggested that with the Soga’s downfall, that could explain why the earth was removed from the tomb in the first place, to disgrace him and his family. From Ishibutai, I headed west, taking the road between Tachibana dera and the ruins of Kawara dera. We don’t know exactly when they were founded, but it was likely in the 7th century. Tachibana dera claims to have been founded by Shotoku Taishi, and is said to have been built on the site of his birthplace. What we know is that it was mentioned in the Nihon Shoki by about 680, and it appears to have been a nunnery. To the north is the site of Kawara dera, and you can see the ruins in the field around the current temple of Gufukuji, which was established there after Kawara dera itself had fallen to ruin. Kawara dera and Tachibana dera may have been built as a pair of temples, and rooftiles have been found at each site that appear to be of a similar age. However, neither temple has any of the original buildings left. There are some ancient stone statues, however: a stone with two people carved into it, facing away from each other, and, nearby, the Kameishi, or turtle stone, which some claim marked a boundary point between the two temples. That isn’t to say that the current temples don’t have anything worth seeing, and if I had more time I would have definitely looked into it, but I had my sights set a bit farther afield, because continuing down the road will take you to several notable kofun. First off is the kofun of Temmu and his wife Jitou—I’ll stick with the regnal names for now, as they haven’t really come up in our story, but we’ll definitely have a lot to talk about when we get there. This is an octagonal kofun, likely representing Buddhist influence and the importance of the number “eight” at the same time that kofun themselves were starting to fall out of fashion. The shape isn’t easy to make out, given that it is overgrown with trees and other vegetation, and you aren’t allowed on the kofun itself. Still, it is something to visit it and give some thought to history. Next along the path, following a trail that cuts along the hillside, is the Demon’s Cutting Board and the Demon’s Toilet. Yeah, you heard that right. These are two large stones, one up on the hill, and one a little farther down. A local story tells of an oni—a demon or ogre—that would catch passersby and eat them. The oni would chop them up on their cutting board, the Oni no Manaita, and would then relieve himself in the toilet, the Oni no Setchin. In reality, they appear to be two parts of a stone chamber for a kofun that was likely on top of the hill, but which was dug up or the top eroded away and then the top portion,... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/30166228

The Queen is Dead 02/16/2024

Temples and Tribute 02/01/2024

Temples and Tribute Here we are, almost at the end of the reign of Kashikiya Hime, with a couple of items, today. First is the reform going on with Buddhism, and, in particular, the state's involvement in selecting a "Head" of Buddhism to make sure that the religion is accountable to the State. Then there are the dealings with the growing power of Silla, amidst the backdrop of a change on the continent from the Sui to the Tang dynasty. For more, check out our podcast website: Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 102: Temples and Tribute Iwakane and Kuranoshita stood on the deck of their ship, looking out over the waves and back towards their Yamato home. Travel across the sea was always risky, but it was worth it. Locals at the port on the southern tip of the peninsula were loading all sorts of goods into the hold of their ships, and when the two envoys returned home, they could only imagine how they would be greeted as heroes. It had been a long journey, but they’d made it across the strait and upheld the interests of the Yamato court, and now they had a deal that could bring some measure of peace. Not bad for a treacherous trek across the sea. Next they just had to wait for fair winds and they could start the journey back to the archipelago. Looking out at the ocean, hoping to see some signs of the winds turning back from whence they came, it was then that they spied them—small dots that seemed to disappear and reappear on the horizon. First just a handful, and then more and more. As they came more into focus, their hearts no doubt sank. It was an armada, fitted for war, and it was headed their way. ---- As we finish up the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, I want to deal with several events from about 614 to the year 624. During this decade a lot happened. Last episode we dealt with some of the smaller things, but two major things from this period were the further development of the Buddhist clergy—including bringing the institution under state control—and the reported invasions of Silla. I say “reported”, because only the Japanese sources talk about them, but we’ll talk about just why that might be. Meanwhile, there were plenty of changes happening as the Sui dynasty transitioned into the Tang dynasty, and more. We’re actually going to start with the changes to the Buddhist clergy. This actually happened some time later than the rest of our narrative, but it makes sense to start here and finish up some of the things happening in Yamato, before expanding our view to the wider world. As we’ve seen, Buddhism officially arrived in Yamato by 538 according to our earliest record, though possibly it had been around in some form in the immigrant communities before then. By the start of the 7th century, Buddhist temples were being built by some of the noble families of the court, including Soga no Umako, Prince Umayado, and others. Originally, the Buddha was worshipped much as any other kami, but as nuns and monks were sent abroad to learn more about the religion, and as foreign monks were consulted on how things should be, they began to develop their own sangha, their own community, in the archipelago. Those with interest or who took vows to enter the religion studied the sutras and other texts that had been brought over, and with the building of full-scale, continental style temples there would have been little doubt that this was something new and different. The tenets of Buddhism were those of non-materialism. Adherents were supposed to work on loosening the bonds that kept them tethered to this mortal plane, including concepts of the self. Monks were expected to be the ultimate examples of these teachings, especially seeing as how they dedicated themselves to learning the Buddhist Law. Above all, Buddhist monks were expected to rise above base emotions such as anger, hatred, and lust. However, let’s remember that these Buddhsit monks were only human, and it is also unclear how many had joined the monkhood entirely of their own volition. For instance, back in 614, when Soga no Umako fell ill, we are told that a thousand persons entered religion for his sake. Now besides the fact that the number of individuals is likely way off base—at most we see maybe 1400 monks and nuns across all of the temples only nine years later—this was not an uncommon thing to see in records of the time. In Baekje, we similarly see large numbers of people taking orders on the behalf of a monarch or other person of importance. The implication is that by having people enter religion—to take orders as a monk or nun—on your behalf would accrue to that person some measure of good karma. This was seen as particularly important for the elite because they, of course, couldn’t just become monks themselves—after all, if they did, who would be left to rule the country? And so, they would have people do it for them, kind of like a version of “karma offsets”, where you get to continue to enjoy all the benefits of your worldly position by offsetting it with other people’s devotion to religion. But one has to wonder how many people were just waiting around for some special royal or noble person to need some karma before taking orders. After all, if someone was truly interested in taking orders, no doubt they could find a monastery and ask to join. More likely, these were individuals who were impressed -slash- strongly encouraged to take orders on behalf of someone else. This isn’t to say that there were no true converts, nor that those who took orders in such a way never came to appreciate the Buddha’s teachings. However, it does, perhaps, make it a little more understandable when we learn that in 623 there was a major scandal in the Buddhist sangha when an ordained Buddhist monk apparently took an axe and struck his paternal grandfather. Murder was, of course, generally frowned upon—unless, of course, you were a member of the aristocracy and able to convict the person of something like rebelling against the court. However, it was especially frowned upon by Buddhist monks, as it really didn’t go well with the whole vibe that the Buddhist religion was trying to establish in the archipelago. Anyone who entered Buddhism was supposed to be devoting themselves to the Three Treasures, not geriatricide. And we don’t know why this monk did it, either. Maybe he just chanted too many sutras and finally snapped, or maybe his paternal grandfather did something heinous and he thought it was his only solution. Either way, this event sparked a major investigation of the Buddhist religion as a whole. The court assembled all of the various monks and nuns and investigated just what had been going on in those temples, anyway. Where they found wrong-doing, the courts decided to issue punishments. And apparently they found quite a bit of wrong-doing. It isn’t clear exactly what was going on, but there was enough that the Baekje monk Kanroku, or Gwalleuk in modern Korean, issued a memorial to the throne before the punishments were carried out. In his memorial he detailed the history of Buddhism: how it came from the West to the Han, and then 300 years after that to Baekje, and then how it had been transmitted to Yamato only 100 years after that—less than a century ago, really. He noted how young Buddhism was in Yamato, and how the monks and nuns hadn’t fully learned the Teachings of the Buddha. As such, he begged for leniency for all of the monks other than the man who had killed his own grandfather—that was a punishment even Kanroku could not argue against. By the way, if the name Kanroku is familiar, we talked about him back in episode 94. He was said to have been one of the teachers of Shotoku Taishi, and when he first arrived in Yamato we are told that he brought numerous books on various sciences with him, helping to kickstart a number of studies in Yamato. He was clearly well respected by the court. And so the court heard this petition, and Kashikiya Hime granted Kanroku’s request for leniency. The monks and nuns were spared, except for the one, but that was not the end of the court’s involvement. Ten days later, they issued another ruling. The court set up two official positions: The Soujou and the Soudzu. These two positions were created to oversee the monks and nuns. Kanroku was made Soujou, or High Priest, and Kurabe no Tokuseki was appointed as Soudzu. We are also told of another position, possibly one that already existed, as a member of the Adzumi no Muraji family was appointed as Houzu, the Head of the Law. These positions would help tie the practice of Buddhism to the court. The temples were no longer simply autonomous units that could operate on their own. Neither were they solely bound to the wealthy families that patronized them and helped pay for their upkeep. The court positions provided a means of state accountability and oversight concerning the activities of Buddhism in the country. After all, Buddhism, at this time, was largely seen as serving the state and the state elites. While Buddhist doctrine might encourage the salvation of all sentient beings, to many of those sponsoring and setting up these temples, it was still a very transactional relationship. The power of Buddhism was not simply in the siren’s call of possibly throwing off the shackles of the material world, but also in the belief that Buddhist gods and Boddhisatvas could actively provide protection—both tangible and intangible—to the state and to the members of the court. It is unlikely that farmers, living in their pit houses and working in the rice paddies, were thinking so much about going to the temple and what the Buddhist Law meant for them. The nature of religion at the time was still one where the elites controlled the mysteries, and thus used that to justify their rarified positions. The idea of the position of High Priest may have been transmitted from the Buddhist traditions of the Yangzi river region and the southern courts. Originally, in Yamato, it seems to have been intended as the chief priest of the country, as there was only one official sect of Buddhism. This would change in later years as the position—and the Buddhist temples’ relationship with the government—changed over time. Kanroku’s time in this position seems to have been limited. Less than a year later, in the first month of 624, a new priest arrived from Goguryeo, named Ekan, or Hyegwan in modern Korean, and he was made Sojo, or high priest. Does this mean that Kanroku retired from the position? Or perhaps he passed away. Unfortunately, we aren’t quite sure. Tradition holds that both Kanroku and his successor, Ekan, both were installed at Houkouji, aka Gangouji or Asukadera, the temple of Soga no Umako, demonstrating the power and influence that Soga no Umako’s temple had at the time. Ekan is also said to have been the founding patriarch of the Japanese Sanron school of Buddhism. The Sanron sect comes from the Sanlun school of the mainland, also known as East Asian Madhyamaka, and was based on three texts—the “Sanron”—said to have been translated by Kumarajiva in the 4th and early 5th centuries. That both of these High Priests were installed at Houkouji definitely says something at the time. It is possible that their dominion was simply over Houkouji, but an earlier entry suggests that was not the case, as in the ninth month of 623, some five months after the whole axe-monk incident, the Court ordered an inspection of temples of monks and nuns. We are told that they made an accurate record of the circumstances of the building of the temples, and also the circumstances under which the various ordained individuals had embraced—forcefully or otherwise—the Buddhist religion. They recorded information down to the year, month, and day that they took orders. Based on that record we are told that there were forty-six temples in 623, and 815 monks and 569 nuns, for a total of one thousand three hundred and eighty five persons altogether. That doesn’t count the individuals working the rice land and otherwise helping provide for the upkeep of the temples themselves. As far as I’m aware, we don’t have this actual record of the temple inspection, other than its summary here in the Nihon Shoki, but assuming it is true, it tells us some rather incredible things. First, if we assume that Asukadera and Shitennouji were really the first two permanent temples to be built in Yamato, then all of this- the building of 46 temples, and the ordination of so many people- happened in the span of about thirty years. That’s an average of three temples being built every two years, and it probably wasn’t that steady a pace. It is entirely possible, of course, that many of the temples mentioned were still under construction. After all, we saw how long it took to build Houkouji temple, or Asukadera, which we discussed back in episode 97. Regardless, it goes back to what we mentioned about the temple building boom that took off, which also removed much of the labor force that would have otherwise been put to work building things like massive kofun. Also, assuming an even distribution, we are looking at an average of thirty monks or nuns per temple. It was likely not quite so even, and with temples like Asukadera, or even Toyouradera, having many more monks and nuns given their importance. Furthermore, when Soga no Umako grew ill and supposedly had a thousand persons enter religion—which, as we’ve mentioned, likely wasn’t quite that many—I suspect that many of those would have gone to Soga temples, such as Houkouji. By the way, on that one thousand people: I would note that it is possible that some people only entered Buddhist orders temporarily, for a time, and that is why the numbers aren’t larger. Still, I think that Occam’s razor suggests the simpler answer is that the numbers were simply exaggerated for effect by the Chroniclers, assuming that it even happened in the first place. So that was the story of Yamato expanding its state administration over the spiritual realm. However, there was plenty of expansion they were doing in the physical realm as well. They had expanded control to the island of Tsukushi, modern Kyushu, and were even dealing with the inhabitants of Yakushima, but they knew there was a much larger world out there. And so we see that in 613, two new ambassadors were sent to the Sui court. They were Inugami no Kimi no Mitasuki and Yatabe no Miyatsuko. We don’t know much about the embassy that went though we know that they came back through Baekje the following year, bringing a Baekje envoy with them, because why not? Baekje records talk about the Wa—that is the people of the Japanese archipelago—traversing their country on their way to the Sui court at various times, so this is all within the realm of what has been pretty standard, so far. The following year, we see that Silla sent a Buddha image to the Yamato court. As per usual, our ever so faithful Chroniclers note that this is an item of “tribute” from Silla, as though they were some kind of vassal state of Yamato. Which brings me to a point I’ve made before and I’ll probably make again: All history is political. The writing of history is an inherently political act, in that it attempts to capture some form of truth as the authors of history believe it to be. What they choose to include—and what they choose to ignore—is all a choice. This should not be confused with facts: what actually happened and was observed. But even the facts of the past are all experienced through human senses and interpreted by human brains. We can often only see them through what others have written or created, and what physical evidence remains, today, whether that is archaeological evidence, or even things like DNA or linguistic clues, passed down through the generations. Keep this in mind the next time you hear someone talk about “historical revisionism”. The stories we tell ourselves change as we better understand the world and the past from which we came. To get upset about people providing a new vision of that past assumes that our previous understanding was somehow complete. We might not agree with someone’s take on it, but as long as we can agree on the facts, it isn’t as if they are changing what actually happened, just providing a different understanding. This of course gets much more difficult and convoluted when we realize that what we think of as facts might instead be suppositions, inferred from how we believe the world works. I mention this because looking across our various records we can see just how incomplete our understanding is of this time in Silla-Yamato relations. We have to “pick sides” as it were, if we want to tell a story, or we could just throw our hands up in the air and say “who knows?”So let’s talk about just what is missing from both the Nihon Shoki and the Samguk Sagi, two of our better historical sources from this time. Clearly the Nihon Shoki has a pro-Yamato and pro-royal lineage bias, such that it is going to elevate the status of Yamato and the sovereign, almost completely ignoring any other powerful polities that may have once existed in the archipelago and placing Yamato on equal footing with the Sui dynasty, and above the countries of Silla and their ally, Baekje. It is not exactly nuanced in its depiction. On the other side we have the Samguk Sagi. Here we have a huge period in the 6th and 7th centuries with little to no mention of Wa or the Japanese archipelago. This is especially true in the Silla annals, which only mention their interactions with Baekje, for the most part, and leave talk of Wa to the earlier years, before Silla grew into one of the three most powerful kingdoms on the peninsula. Where we do find mention is in the Baekje annals, but even that is often sparse. This is likely for several reasons. First off is the fact that the Samguk Sagi was written in the 12th century, over four hundred years after the Nihon Shoki was published. This was the Goryeo period on the Korean peninsula, and so one might expect to see a greater focus on the former Goryeo, known to us as Goguryeo. However, its author was Kim Busik, and the Kim family traced their roots to the royal lineage of Silla. So he likely was plenty incentivized to prop up the Silla kingdom. Furthermore, it seems that the Samguk Sagi was pulled together from a variety of sources, often with second or thirdhand accounts. For instance, they writers appear to have used Sui and Tang records to reconstruct what happened at various periods, especially in Baekje. The “Record of Baekje” that the Nihon Shoki often cites appears to have no longer been extant for Kim Busik to peruse. And so it is hard to tell what was left out for political reasons and what simply wasn’t mentioned at all. However, there is a note in the late 7th century, where the Silla kingdom complains about the constant raids and invasions by the Wa—raids and invasions that are otherwise not mentioned—that makes me think that perhaps there is something more to the records of Yamato and Baekje then might first appear. It would... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/29713518

Ponds, Peaches, and Thunder-gods 01/16/2024

Ponds, Peaches, and Thunder-gods This episode we will finish up with many of the smaller episodes in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno. Most of these are mentions of various public works projects, omens, expansion of the realm, and a couple of other stories, some more believable than others. As usual, more information can be found at Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 101: Ponds, Peaches, and Thunder-gods. First off, a big thanks to Red and Ryan for helping to support the site and our show. If you would like to join them, we’ll have more information at the end of the episode, or check out our website at sengokudaimyo.com. When we last left off, we were going through some of the more random events that happened in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou. and we’re going to continue with that this episode, touching on some of the things that happened in the latter part of her reign, starting in about 613 and going from there—and some of this is more exciting than others. I’ll try to hit the high points, but some of this will be familiar if you’ve been listening along. For example, one of the THRILLING things we’ll start with (at least if you are a frog) is the building of ponds. In the winter of 613, we are told that the ponds of Waki no Kami, Unebi, and Wani were constructed. We’ve seen the construction of ponds since at least the time of Mimaki Iribiko, aka Sujin Tennou, the purported “first” sovereign, from around the probable time of Queen Himiko. The exact nature of these ponds doesn’t seem to be known, but one theory is that they are for irrigation of rice paddies in places where the water wasn’t consistently sufficient for everyone’s needs—a pond would allow for water to be gathered up throughout the year and then released when it was needed for the rice paddies. More ponds may have indicated the opening of more fields, indicating continued growth.Ponds also had other uses, however, including breeding fish, and they were a habitat for birds, so this would also help encourage hunting and fishing. Finally, the ponds were public utilities, and part of the way the Court flexed their power as they raised levies for the ponds’ construction. We might also say something about the way they indicated a certain amount of control over the land – but of course, most of these ponds are in the Nara basin and Kawachi regions, and so it doesn’t tell us a whole lot more than what we already know about the centralized control there. They were important enough, however, that by the 8th century the creation of these ponds was still being tracked and attributed to specific rulers. If you’re wondering what it might have been like to travel around in this period of Japan, you might be more interested in the fact that in the same line about the ponds, we are also told that a Highway was built from Asuka to Naniwa. This is believed to be the path of the ancient Takeuchi Kaidou in Kawachi, which some of the literature claims is the “oldest official road” in Japan. This road connects to the Yoko-ohoji in Nara, which links the modern city of Sakai, near Ohosaka, with the city of Katsuraki, and presumably it then connected with other paths down to Asuka. I suspect that the “official” qualifier is in there is because we have evidence of when it was made, whereas other roads and highways, such as the old highway along the foot of the mountains on the eastern edge of the Nara Basin, are perhaps even more ancient, but are simply mentioned, without evidence of how or when they were created—they may have been more organic footpaths that came to be heavily traveled, or just created with no record of who and when. This new highway was notable for connecting the port at Naniwa to the current capital and to the newly built temples in the Asuka area, as well. These temples were new institutions, but they were also fairly permanent structures, unlike even the palace buildings, which were still expected to be rebuilt each reign. Of course, they could be moved—and were, in later periods—but it was going to take some doing. That said, there were other permanent structures and religious sites—heck, many of the kami were associated with mountains, and you couldn’t exactly move those, though they did have the ability to build sacred spaces elsewhere and bring the kami to them, so you weren’t exactly tied to the physical geography. And there were the giant kofun, but I’m not sure how often people were going to the kofun to worship the ancient kings and other elites, other than perhaps family members paying their respects. The building of a highway to the capital alone would probably be an interesting flex, since the next sovereign could move somewhere else entirely. But the temples were intended to be relatively permanent institutions, as far as I can tell, so even if the capital did move, the fact that there was a road there was probably going to be a big boon to the area. Of course it probably didn’t hurt that this area was also a Soga stronghold, and so at least the Soga family would continue to benefit, which may have gone into *some* of the political calculus, there. It was also going to help with envoys to and from the continent. And that leads us along to the next item of note about Kashikiya-hime’s reign: sure enough, in the sixth month of the following year, Inugami no Kimi no Mitasuki and Yatabe no Miyatsuko were sent on a new embassy to the Sui court. By the way, quick note on these two. Inugami no Mitatsuki is given the kabane of “kimi”. If you recall, the sovereign is “Oho-kimi”, or “Great Kimi”, and so “Kimi” is thought to be an important title, possibly referring to a high-ranking family that held sway outside of the immediate lands of Yamato, and Yatabe is given to us as “Miyatsuko”, also generally referring to one of the higher ranks of nobility under the kabane system—though not necessarily the inner court families of the Omi and the Muraji. It is unclear whether those kabane were in use at the time, but it does indicate that the families were important. An ancestor of the Inugami first shows up in the reign of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingu Kougou, which is interesting as there are some who claim that the stories of that reign really solidified around the time of Kashikiya Hime, which is to say the current reign. We’ll get more into that in a future episode, but for now we can note that the Inugami family doesn’t really seem to show up after that until this reign, and from here on out we see them as one of the regular interlocutors with the continent, whether the Sui, Tang, or on the Korean peninsula. The Yatabe are much more enigmatic. Other than this entry, we don’t have a lot. There is an ancestor, Takemorosumi, mentioned in the reign of Mimaki Iribiko, aka Sujin Tennou, and there is some reasonable thought that they may have been set up for the maintenance of Princess Yata, the wife of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou, but I don’t see any clear indication one way or the other. They aren’t really mentioned again except as a family during the late 7th century. These two, Inugami no Mitatsuki and the unnamed envoy of the Yatabe family, would return a year later, bringing with them an envoy from Baekje. Later in the year they would throw the envoy an elaborate feast. We aren’t given much else, but seems like relations were good. Shortly after the feast for the Baekje envoy, however, the monk Hyeja—or Eiji, in the Japanese reading—returned to his home in Goguryeo. Hyeja had been one of the teachers of none other than Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi himself, and the two are said to have shared a special bond. Shotoku Taishi eventually became Hyeja’s equal, and it is said that they both discussed Buddhist teachings and philosophy together, with Hyeja appreciating Shotoku Taishi’s unique insights. When Prince Umayado eventually passed at an all too early age, the news reached Hyeja on the peninsula and he held a special feast in his student-turned-peer’s honor. They say that he then predicted his own death, one year later, on the anniversary of Shotoku Taishi’s own passing. But that was still to come. For now, you could say that everything was peachy—and so they did… sort of, in the next item of note. What they actually said was that in the first month of 616, at the beginning of Spring, the Peach and Plum trees bore fruit, which may seem an odd thing to comment on. However, Peach and Plum tress flowering or fruiting would be something that the Chroniclers commented on for at least the next two reigns, as well as in the reign of Oho-ama, aka Temmu Tennou, in the 7th century. It is possible that they were commenting on how they were fruiting out of season—the peach, or momo, in Japanese, blossoms between late March and mid-April. This is around the same time as the plum, in this case the Sumomo, rather than the “ume” plum, sometimes called a Japanese apricot. Momo and Sumomo would blossom towards the start of spring, and so it might be possible for them to blossom around the first month of the New Year, especially if that was a little later than it might be today, but highly unlikely that they would be fruiting. Assuming they were talking about the blossoms—and some later accounts explicitly call out the flowers instead—it may have indicated a particularly warm winter or early spring season that year. It is also possible that the Chroniclers were off on the dates at times, and so may have made some mistakes. It is also possible that they were recounting an odd event—having the peach trees and plum trees fruit or blossom at the obviously wrong time would likely have generated some concern, and thus be worthy of noting down as an omen. It is also possible that this is part of a stock phrase that was used to indicate something else, like the start of Spring or a good or bad omen. Peaches were thought to keep away evil spirits and it was said that they were the fruit of immortality in the western paradise of the Queen Mother of the West. Peaches are often common decorations on Buddhist temples, as well—going back to the same stories about warding off evil and longevity. Whatever the reason, the blooming and fruiting of peach and plum trees was particularly important to the Chroniclers for this period—for whatever reason. Beyond the talk of peaches, in 616 there was something else, something fairly simple, but apparently important: Men from the island of Yaku arrived as immigrants. This is the first mention of Yaku Island, and if you haven’t heard of it I wouldn’t blame you. It is an island south of modern Kagoshima, off the southern tip of Kyuushuu, and just west of another famous island, that of Tanegashima. Yakushima, today, is known for its status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site—so classified for its incredible natural beauty. It is the home to some truly ancient cedars, with some thought to date back as far as 2300 years ago, well into the Yayoi era. It is mentioned in the Nihon Shoki as well as Sui dynasty records, and in numerous other travel accounts since. We have evidence of human activity going back at least 17,000 years ago, so before even the Jomon era, though the earliest evidence of habitation on the island is more like 6,000 years ago—about 500 to a thousand years after the famous Akahoya eruption, which devastated Kyushu and which we discussed back in episode 4. Yakushima would also have been devastated, situated as it is just south of the Kikai caldera, and it was likely devastated by pyroclastic flows along with its neighboring islands. Since then, it was populated by people that were now, in the 7th century, making contact with the people of Yamato—perhaps indicating that Yamato had even further expanded its reach. Over the course of the year 616 the Chronicles note several groups of immigrants from Yaku Shima. First was a group of three men who came as immigrants in the third month. Then seven more arrived two months later. Two months after that, you had a group of twenty show up. They were all settled together in a place called Eno’i. It isn’t exactly clear where this is. Some sources suggest that they came to the Dazaifu in Kyushuu, and so were settled somewhere on Kyuushuu, possibly in the south of the island. There is also a connection with the name “Enoi” coming out of Mino, in the form of the Enoi family, which the Sendai Kuji Hongi says was an offshoot of the Mononobe family. Wherever they ended up, they stayed there for the rest of their lives. We aren’t done with Yaku Island, though. Four years later, we are told that two men of Yaku were “cast away”—which I suspect means banished—to the island of Izu, Izu-no-shima. Once again, we are left wondering exactly where that is, though it may refer not to an island, at least not entirely, but to Izu no Kuni, the land of Izu, on the Izu Peninsula. Aston suggests that perhaps at this time “shima” didn’t mean just an island, but any place that was mostly surrounded by water, including a peninsula like Izu. It could also mean one of the nearby islands, such as Ooshima, the largest of the islands to the east of the Izu peninsula. Nine years later, in the reign of the succeeding sovereign, Yamato sent an envoy, Tanabe no Muraji, to the island of Yaku. I suspect that this was part of making the island an official part of the country. Records of the island fall off for a bit, but it does get mentioned, along with neighboring Tanegashima, in the reign of Temmu Tennou, in the latter part of the 7th century. To be fair, the Nihon Shoki only continues until 696, but we continue to see them in the Shoku Nihongi, the continuation of the court historical records. Sure, Yakushima was probably never going to be a huge story from a political perspective, but it does give us some insight into just how far Yamato’s influence reached at this point. Going back to the record, we have another fruit related account. This time it is about an enormous gourd coming out of Izumo—one as big as a, well… we aren’t exactly sure. The character they use is read “kan”, and today often refers to aluminum cans and the like, but that is a relatively recent meaning, if you’d believe it. In the 7th and 8th century it was probably something more like “pou” and may have meant an earthenware pot for storing alcohol, like the Greek amphorae, or it may have been in reference to a kind of musical instrument. Either way, we are talking a pretty good sized gourd. Not sure if it would take a ribbon in some of today’s largest pumpkin contests, but still, impressive for the time. Moving beyond the State Fair category of entries, we come to one of my favorite events. It takes place, we are told, in 618, when Kawabe no Omi was sent to the land of Aki to build ships. He went with his crews up into the mountains to fell timber when he met with something extraordinary, which was still being depicted in paintings centuries later, although most people probably haven’t heard the story. Now the name Kawabe first shows up as the location of one of the Miyake, or royal granaries and administrative centers set up in the land of Ki, south of Yamato on the peninsula, in 535. The first record of a person by the name, however, is less than auspicious: It was the assistant general Kawabe no Nihi, who is panned by the Chroniclers for his actions during the reign of Amekunioshi. As we discussed in Episode 82, Kawabe snatched defeat from the jaws of victory due to his lack of military expertise. This next mention of a Kawabe family member is coming a good many years later, but the family does seem to have recovered somewhat. Kawabe no Omi no Nezu would be appointed a general several years later—and that could be the same Kawabe no Omi from this story, as there was only about seven or so years between events. Furthermore, members of the family would find themselves in the middle of some of the most impactful events of the court, indicating their high status. Multiple family members would be remembered and memorialized in the histories over the rest of the century, whether for better or for ill. Which makes it a little interesting to me that the story of this Kawabe family ship builder does not give us a personal name of any kind. Now, later interpretations of this particular story would say that this Kawabe no Omi was out building ships on the orders of Prince Shotoku Taishi himself, though the Nihon Shoki would seem to indicate that he was out there, instead, at the behest of the sovereign herself, Kashikiya Hime. Of course, given what the Nihon Shoki has to say about Shotoku Taishi’s contributions to running the government, it could be either one. Regardless, he had a job to do. He searched through the forest and he found suitable trees for the timber he needed: in all likelihood he was looking for large, straight trees, which would have a good grain and not so many knots to cause problems. I suspect that older trees were likely preferable for the task. Having found what he was looking for he marked it and they began to chop down the marked trees. Suddenly a man appeared—a stranger, or perhaps just a local coming to see what all the fuss was about. He warned Kawabe no Omi and his men that the tree they had marked was a “thunder tree” and it shouldn’t be cut. To this Kawabe no Omi asked: “Shall even the thunder-god disobey the royal commands?” However, he didn’t just barrel on with the task. Instead, he and his men started by offering mitegura, offerings of cloth. This was likely done to appease any spirits before the crew got started, and I wonder if this was something exceptional, or perhaps something that people regularly did, especially when you were taking large, older trees. It isn’t clear, but an 8th century crowd no doubt understood the significance. Once they had finished providing recompense to the kami, they went about their task. Suddenly, out of nowhere, it began to rain. As the water poured down from the sky, thunder and lightning came crashing down. Apparently the offering had *not* been accepted, and the kami was now quite angry. While his men sought shelter, Kawabe no Omi drew out his iron sword and held it aloft, crying out to the angry kami: “O Kami of Thunder, do not harm these men! I am the one that you want!” So saying, sword held aloft in the midst of this unexpected thunderstorm, he stood there, watching the roiling clouds, and waiting. Ten times the lightning flashed and crashed around them, the thunder rolling each time. One can only imagine the sight as Kawabe no Omi stood there, wind whipping his hair and clothes as he challenged the storm. And yet, try as it might, the thunderous lightning did not strike Kawabe no Omi. Finally, the lightning stopped, and Kawabe no Omi was still unharmed. As the men came out of hiding, they noticed a disturbance. Above them, there was movement, and the men saw the strangest thing: Up in the branches of the tree was a small fish. Near as anyone could reckon, the god had turned visible, taking the form of a fish, and so Kawabe no Omi caught the fish and burnt it. ... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/29485633

New Year's Recap 2024 01/01/2024

New Year's Recap 2024 Happy New Year! This episode we take a look back at where we've come and talk about some of the broad themes and changes that we've experienced over the episodes in the past year. For a little more, including references for the year, check out: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-newyear2024 Rough Transcript Shinnen Akemashite! Happy New Year and Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is the New Year’s Recap episode for 2024 Every year I try to take a moment and look back at the material we covered. In part, this is to remind us of the journey we’ve been on, but it is also to help look at some of the larger themes that we might otherwise miss when we are looking at more discreet topics. This year we have not necessarily progressed through as much of the archipelago’s history as in previous years—we started in the early 530s and have probably covered about 80 or 90 years, in contrast to 2022 and before where we covered multiple centuries in a year. But there’s a good reason for that: it has been an eventful period, or at least more of the events are getting written down. However, there is a lot of important stuff going on. We are seeing, more than anywhere else, the rise of powerful families, not just individuals, a process that began as a way to expand the power of the state, but which then took on a life of its own under what is known as the uji-kabane system—the system of families and family rank. This is happening alongside of a reimagining of the state and of the royal family in particular. Many of the 8th century cultural norms are starting to be set in this period. In many ways, the people of Yamato are revising their cultural imaginary of themselves, often in reference to new ideas, concepts, and philosophies being imported from the continent. This includes the arrival of Buddhism and its shake up of the way that the people of the archipelago viewed the world and their place in it. And so we’re going to start with a recap of the various sovereigns, then go into some of the more particular aspects of what was going on, and try to cover some of those more overarching themes. Hopefully this gives us a good base to move on into 2024. Now over the past year we’ve gone through seven sovereigns. First was the short reign of Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennou, around 531 to 536, back in episode 79, when we talked about the glass bowl attributed to his tomb. He was followed by his brother Takewo Hirokunioshi Tate, or Senka Tennou, who reigned until his death in 539. That was Episode 80, where we also kind of kicked off the Asuka period, which many see as starting around 538. Next, in Episodes 81 through 86, was their half-brother, Amekunioshi Hiraki Hironiwa, or Kinmei Tennou, who ruled until about 571. Amekunioshi was followed by his son, Nunakura Futodamashiki, known as Bidatsu Tennou, who ruled until 585—Episodes 88 and 89. Bidatsu was followed, in episode 90, by our fifth sovereign in this year’s line up, Tachibana no Toyohi, or Youmei Tennou, father of Prince Umayado, aka the famous Shotoku Taishi, who we talked quite a bit about for his legendary and historical importance. Youmei Tennou passed away in 587, and after some conflict, Hasebe no Wakasasaki came to the throne, remembered as Sushun Tennou. He was assasinated in 592, as we covered in Episode 92, and succeeded by Toyomike Kashikiya Hime, daughter of Amekunioshi, wife to Nunakura Futodamashiki, and known to most as Suiko Tennou. That’s where we are at present. We also have seen a succession of high officials. We started off with Ohotomo no Kanamura and Mononobe no Arakahi as the two Ohomuraji, but we quickly saw the addition of Soga no Iname as Oho-omi. This foreshadowed the fading of the Ohotomo family appear to have lost their status with their failures in peninsular dealings, while the Mononobe and Soga continued to help lead the country. Mononobe no Arakahi was succeeded in the position of Ohomuraji by Mononobe no Okoshi, and then Mononobe no Yugehi no Moriya. Soga no Iname was succeeded to the position of Oho-omi by his son, Soga no Umako. Taken together with Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, these are perhaps some of the main names in the Chronicles. Let’s recap what was most important about each of them. We started this year talking about the reign of Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennou. The official account says that he was the son of Wohodo, aka Keitai Tenno, and one of two of Wohodo’s sons that were basically just keeping the seat warm for their half-brother, Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. In other words, they were kind of regents. This story quickly falls apart, however, when you look at several factors. First, based on some of the dates given for his birth, Amekunioshi would have been around 22 years old when their father, Wohodo, passed away—young, but old enough to take the throne without requiring any kind of regent. In addition, neither of his two brothers gave up the throne to him when he finally came of age—whatever age that might have been. Instead, each one died in the position. That doesn’t exactly scream that they were giving up power. Why this discrepancy? The best explanation is that the Chroniclers were trying to keep things nice and tidy, and we are told that the tradition was for sovereigns to only come from lineages where both the male and female lines were considered royal—one sovereign and one royal princess, typically, who would be raised up as the Queen, and whose offspring would be eligible for the throne. However, that was slightly disrupted by Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, who seems to have taken the throne despite the fact that his two half-brothers and their offspring may have had the stronger claim. Still, he was able to point to his mother’s royal status. In fact, she was even of the previous dynasty, sister to the last sovereign from that line, Wohatsuse Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennou. Or so we are told by the Chroniclers. . And so only Amekunioshi’s mother is considered to be the truly legitimate queen, while Magari no Ohine and the other so-called “regent” brother - Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennou - must have been from a consort other than the Wohodo’s main wife. Their mother, Menoko, was instead linked to a prominent family, that of the Owari no Muraji, but it is unclear if they had the royal connections on her side—though I have little doubt that they could have been invented if they didn’t already exist. I would point out that even given this explanation, both of the brothers were given the posthumous honors of “Tenno”, rather than being referred to as a regent, whereas the sovereign Okinaga no Tarashi Hime, aka Jingu Kougou, also ostensibly a regent, was never granted that honor, at least by the Chroniclers. We discussed this a bit in Episodes 41 and 42, and how that may have been due to the Chroniclers’ misogynistic tendencies as much as anything. There is a suggestion that in reality, these two brothers may have been rival claimants, and there may have even been competing courts, as different family members rallied support to their side.And all of that perfectly helps illustrate just how we think things might have looked around this time. Succession to the royal throne hardly appears to have been cut and dry. Even before this period, we saw times where there were multiple claimants , regents, etc. There is no clear pattern by which we can deduce who would succeed any given sovereign: it might be a brother, or any of their sons, or even a daughter. And without a clear system of succession, every time the sovereign passed away, there was a competition for the throne. You might recall that the mutual father of these three sovereigns, Wohodo, was himself said to have been the first in a new dynasty-- the previous dynasty died out with Wohodo’s predecessor, Wohatsuse no Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennou. There are a lot of questions around this transition, but even the Chroniclers couldn’t immediately connect Wohodo to the previous lineage without having to go all the way back to Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, on his father’s side, and to Ikume Iribiko, aka Suinin Tennou, on his mother’s side, but there are still plenty of questions about those ties and how real they were. When it comes to the complications of succession, one thing to factor in is that this was still in the time when every sovereign moved into a new palace. There are various thoughts on why this was —one of them being that the move prevented spiritual pollution associated with a dead body. I also wonder if it wasn’t practical as the new sovereign may have already had their own base of power, or perhaps by building new it was a way to ensure that the buildings were always fresh and free of any problems, as I believe these early buildings were largely built of fresh, untreated wood. Whatever the reason, moving to a new palace each time also means that there wasn’t an actual, physical throne to fight over. Rival sovereigns could set themselves up in different areas in and around the Nara basin, Kawachi, et cetera, and gather supporters to their court. Those supporters, no doubt individuals with some power and clout in their region who saw benefit in allying themselves with an even bigger name, would eventually become the heads of various corporate families, further extending their power and influence. There is plenty of reason to believe that the family systems we see on the archipelago were not necessarily indigenous creations. Early on people were associated with a place, perhaps, and of course you would know your line of descent, possibly even going back into myth and legend. The concept of “family” as simply a matter of descent and relationship no doubt existed—after all, everyone has a mother and a father. However, the idea of families with wide ranging control over a particular industry, administrative function, or even court ritual were likely imported from the continent as a way to group people together. In fact, these are often referred to more as “clans”—groups of individuals who claimed shared descent, whether real or imagined, often from some legendary figure. The new concept of these families not only grouped people based on things like their occupation or common ethnicity, if they came from the peninsula, but it also added a layer of administration that was then tied into the concept of the Yamato court, making it an extension of the government. In turn, the government classified these families through a system of rank and titles—the kabane. This system had people being known as much or even more by their family name as they were by the common name they went by as individuals. Originally we see individuals working in similar professions organized into groups that used the term “-Be” in the name, but later we get the “uji”, or familial clans, that were more like administrators and extensions of the court. Of note, there would continue to be many people who were not formally part of a particular -Be or Uji or even Ie, or “house”. These were mostly individuals of the common agricultural class or similar, and long lineages might have no actual family name until the Meiji period, when everyone was expected to take on a family name as part of the efforts to modernize the country. Until then, having a family name meant that you actually were already a part of the upper crust of society, even if you were only on the bottommost rung of that particular social ladder. In addition, a family name allowed someone to take on the family kabane, or title. While there were some titles that appear to be given to the individual, these kabane titles, such as Suguri, Kishi, Atahe, Kimi, Muraji, and Omi, designated entire families. These terms themselves appear to come from earlier job positions, indicating different types of leadership, from a local headmaster up to rulers of countries, and high ministers of the court. For example, the title of “Omi” was originally a job description, indicating one of the many functionaries that made the court run, but as a kabane, any member of a given family would be able to use the term, whether they were actually in a ministerial position or not. At this point, these important families were essentially an extension of the state—a way to decentralize control so that the Yamato state could function at an expanded level. Some families appear to have been set up around local administration, including making local chieftains and the like part of their own family unit that was then granted control of the area by the court. During the period we’ve covered this past year, we see that approach of absorbing regional families mature and grow, and those families taking on greater roles: initially with stories of the Ohotomo and Mononobe families, culminating in the powerful Soga family. For the Ohotomo and the Mononobe, the family name likely tells us part of what and who they were. The Ohotomo were the Great Tomo, or the Great Tomo no Miyatsuko. These Tomo no Miyatsuko are some of the earliest court nobles, and it would make sense that the Ohotomo were at their head—which would also explain their position as the Oho-omi in the 5th and early 6th centuries. Next to this family were the Mononobe, the Be (occupational group) of the Warriors, or Mononofu. Together these families represented the early concepts of administration and military might. However, as the families continued to evolve, they became independent from the roles they were originally created to hold. The Ohotomo would eventually fall from power, and in their place would rise up the Mononobe. However, the Mononobe would also find themselves on the outs, especially in the tumultuous period following Amekunioshi’s death. It was at this time that a new family would rise up to take their place: the Soga, which we’ve heard a lot about this year. The head of the Soga, Soga no Iname, had positioned his family in part through carefully marrying his daughters into the royal line. While this had been done in the past, it wasn’t to the extent or success that the Soga were able to achieve: In only a single generation, Iname saw Soga descended sovereigns on the throne. This took place, of course, with not a small amount of maneuvering and the eradication of rival lineages. It was their own Game of Thrones playing out, with the families created to serve the state and the royal family grabbing for themselves more power. This would seem to be an unexpected consequence of a concept that had initially helped expand the royal authority, and we’ll only continue to see more of it in the coming decades and centuries. At the same time that all of this was playing out on the archipelago, things on the continent were also changing. First and foremost, in that it was closest to home for Yamato, was the rising power of Silla on the Korean peninsula. Up to this point, most of the Korean peninsula appears to have been a collection of small, regional polities, with occasional alliances between them. There were two or three kingdoms of note. In the north was Goryeo, a shortened version of the original name, Goguryeo, which is how we generally refer to it today to distinguish it from the 10th century state of the same name. It was the oldest of the various kingdoms, and claimed descent from the northern Buyeo kingdom, centered in modern Manchuria. In the southwest of the peninsula was the kingdom of Baekje. They, too, claimed descent from the nobility of Buyeo, and they were made up of many of the various polities collectively referred to as Mahan. While Goguryeo was ruling up in the north, Baekje was one of the first kingdoms to set up shop in the southern end of the peninsula. Then there was Silla. Originally a confederation of six polities in the area known as the Jinhan, they eventually became a kingdom and started pushing against the other polities in the region. This includes the fledgling kingdom of Kara, mostly known as a confederation of smaller polities from the old Byeonhan region. There are royal style tombs in the area, but before they could really get going Kara and the other polities fell under the control of the kingdom of Silla. This included groups like Ara and the controversial polity of Nimna. This set Baekje and Silla in direct confrontation, as Silla’s land grab eliminated much of the buffer territory between the two of them. Nimna appears to have been of particular concern to Yamato, and appears to have been one of Yamato’s allies, along with Baekje. While Baekje appears to have been the stronger of the two, Nimna may have had a special place for Yamato, especially as it may have been an important port for Yamato ships traveling to trade with the rest of the continent. Nimna being under Silla rule would have made this trade much more risky, as the Silla-Yamato relationship was often a rocky one. Yamato attempted to move Nimna out from under Silla control, both through an alliance with Baekje, in concert with some of the other polities, as well as through attempts to take the country by force—most of which excursions were called off for one reason or another. At the same time, Baekje had been in decline, generally speaking. They moved their capital farther south after being defeated by Goguryeo. They were rebuilding, and still a powerful force, but not quite at the height of their power. Farther on the mainland, between the Yellow and Yangzi rivers, the period of the Northern and Southern Courts was coming to a close, and the Sui dynasty would eventually rule much of the Middle Kingdom, what is today modern China. They would bring a stability to the region and embark on public works projects that would forever change the face of East Asia. As all of this was happening, influences were coming from the west. We mentioned the Sassanian glass bowl and similar wares that made their way from the Middle East all the way to Japan—though whether as part of a sovereign’s burial or not might still be up for debate. Nonetheless, we know that the overland trade routes were booming, even if the occasional instability might disrupt them now and again. The whole of Asia was more connected than we often give it credit for. Along this road came not only material goods, but new ideas. Greek culture had reached at least as far as Gandhara, modern Pakistan and Afghanistan, and from east of the Indus came a new religion: Buddhism. It spread along the silk road, eventually finding a home in China, where it flourished, and continued to spread to the Korean peninsula and then, in the 6th century, to the archipelago of Japan. Buddhism came hand in hand with other mainland texts, exploring a variety of science and philosophy. We discussed how the mainstream story of the introduction of Buddhism is likely not entirely correct. That story sets up a conflict between the foreign religion of Buddhism and the worship of local kami—the practices that would become Shinto. So, resistance to Buddhism is initially depicted as a resistance to foreign influence and the need to continue to support indigenous... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/29287453

Sacred Tetris and Other Tidbits 12/16/2023

Sacred Tetris and Other Tidbits It's the last episode of 2023, and our 100th episode! But despite that, we keep on moving through the period, hitting a bunch of smaller stories from the Nihon Shoki about this period. We talk about Zentoku no Omi, the temple commissioner of Hokoji, as well as the trouble they went through to get the Asukadera Daibutsu in place to begin with. We have the first instance of the Dazai--as in the Dazaifu of Kyushu--as well as the first instance of the holiday that would eventually become Children's Day, Kodomo no Hi. There are various immigrants, bringing painting, handmills, and even a new kind of musical dance theater known as gigaku. And that's just some of what we'll cover. For more, check out our website at Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 100: Sacred Tetris and Other Tidbits First off: woohoo! One hundred episodes! Thank you to everyone who has been listening and following along on this journey so far. When I started this I had no idea how long I would be able to keep up with it, but I appreciate everyone who has encouraged me along the way. This all started in September of 2019, and we are now four years in and we have a ways to go. While I’m thanking people, I’d also like to give a big thank you to my wife, Ellen, who has been helping me behind the scenes. She’s the one who typically helps read through what I’m going to say and helps edit out a lot of things, and provides reminders of things that I sometimes forget. She really helps to keep me on track, and I always appreciate the time she puts into helping to edit the scripts and the questions she asks. Now, we are still talking about the 6th and early 7th centuries during the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno. We’ve talked about a lot of different aspects of this period—about the conflicts over Nimna on the peninsula, about the rise of the Sui dynasty on the continent, and the importation of various continental goods, including animals, immigrants, and knowledge. That knowledge included new ideas about governance as well as religious practices such as Buddhism—and possibly other religious practices as well, as many of the stories that we saw in the Age of the Gods may have analogs on the continent and may just as easily have been coming over with the current crop of immigrants, though it is hard to say for certain. At the heart of these changes are three individuals. Obviously there is Kashikiya Hime, on the throne through a rather intricate and bloody series of events. Then there is Soga no Umako, her maternal uncle, who has been helping to keep the Soga family on top. And of course, the subject of our last couple episodes, Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi. He, of course, is credited with the very founding of the Japanese state through the 17 article constitution and the promulgation of Buddhism. This episode, I’d like to tackle some of the little things. Some of the stories that maybe didn’t make it into other episodes up to this point. For this, we’ll mostly look at it in a chronological fashion, more or less. As you may recall, Kashikiya Hime came to the throne in about 593, ruling in the palace of Toyoura. This was around the time that the pagoda was erected at Houkouji temple—and about the time that we are told that Shitennouji temple was erected as well. Kashikiya Home made Umayado the Crown Prince, despite having a son of her own, as we’d mentioned previously, and then, in 594, she told Umayado and Umako to start to promulgate Buddhism, kicking off a temple building craze that would sweep the nation—or at least the areas ruled by the elites of Yamato. By 596, Houkouji was finished and, in a detail I don’t think we touched on when talking about Asukadera back in episode 97, they appointed as commissioner one Zentoku no Omi—or possibly Zentoko, in one reading I found. This is a curious name, since “Zentoku” comes across as a decidedly Buddhist name, and they really liked to use the character “Zen”, it feels like, at this time. In fact, it is the same name that the nun, the daughter of Ohotomo no Sadehiko no Muraji, took, though the narrative is very clear about gender in both instances, despite them having the exact same Buddhist names. This name isn’t exactly unique, however, and it is also the name recorded for the Silla ruler, Queen Seondeok, whose name uses the same two characters, so it is possible that at this time it was a popular name—or perhaps people just weren’t in the mood to get too creative, yet. However, what is particularly interesting to me, is that the name “Zentoku” is then followed by the kabane of “Omi”. As you may recall from Episode XX, a kabane is a level of rank, but associated with an entire family or lineage group rather than an individual. So while there are times where we have seen “personal name” + “kabane” in the past, there is usually a surname somewhere in there. In this case, we aren’t told the surname, but we know it because we are given the name of Zentoku’s father: we are told that he was the son of none other than the “Oho-omi”, the Great Omi, aka Soga no Umako. So, in summary, one of Soga no Umako’s sons took the tonsure and became a monk. I bring this little tidbit up because there is something that seems very odd to me and, at the same time, very aristocratic, about taking vows, retiring from the world, and yet still being known by your family’s title of rank. Often monks are depicted as outside of the civil rank and status system—though there were certainly ranks and titles within the priesthood. I wonder if it read as strange to the 8th century readers, looking back on this period. It certainly seems to illustrate quite clearly how Buddhism at this point was a tool of the elite families, and not a grass-roots movements among the common people. This also further strengthens the idea that Houkouji was the temple of the Soga—and specifically Soga no Umako. Sure, as a Soga descendant, Prince Umayado may have had some hand in it, but in the end it was the head of the Soga family who was running the show, and so he appoints one of his own sons as the chief commissioner of the temple. They aren’t even trying to hide the connection. In fact, having one of his sons “retire” and start making merit through Buddhist practice was probably a great PR move, overall. We don’t hear much more from Zentoku after this point, and we really know very little about him. We do know something about the Soga family, and we know that Soga no Umako has at least one other son. While we’ve yet to see him in the narrative—children in the Nihon Shoki are often meant to be neither seen nor heard, it would seem—Umako’s other son is known to us as Soga no Emishi. Based on when we believe Soga no Emishi was born, however, he would have been a child, still, when all this was happening, and so Zentoku may have actually been his father’s eldest son, taking the reins at Houkouji temple, likely setting him up to claim a role of spiritual leadership in the new religion of Buddhism. Compare this to what we see later, and also in other places, such as Europe, where it is often the second son that is sent into religious life, while the eldest son—the heir—is kept at hand to succeed the father in case anything happens. On the other hand, I am unsure if the monks of this time had any sort of celibacy that was expected of them, and I suspect that even as the temple commissioner, the tera no Tsukasa, Zentoku was keeping his hand in. After all, the Soga family head appears to have been staying near the temple as well, so it isn’t like they were packing him off to the high mountains. Moving on, in 601 we are told that Kashikiya Hime was in a temporary palace at a place called Miminashi, when heavy rains came and flooded the palace site. This seems to be referring to flooding of Toyoura palace, which was, we believe, next to the Asuka river. I wonder, then, if that wasn’t the impetus for, two years later, in 603, moving the palace to Woharida, and leaving the old palace buildings to become a nunnery. That Woharida palace is not thought to have been very far away—traditionally just a little ways north or possibly across the river. In 604, with the court operating out of the new Woharida palace, we see the institution of more continental style traditions. It includes the idea of bowing when you entered or left the palace grounds—going so far as to get on your hands and knees for the bow. Even today, it is customary to bow when entering a room—particularly a traditional room like in a dojo or similar—and it is also customary to bow when passing through a torii gate, entering into a sacred space. Of course, that is often just a standing bow from the waist, and not a full bow from a seated position. In 605, with more continental culture being imported, we see it affecting fashion. In fact, in this year we are told that Prince Umayado commanded all the ministers to wear the “hirami”. The kanji simply translates to “pleats”, but in clothing terms this refers to a pleated skirt or apron. We see examples of this in courtly clothing going back to at least the Han dynasty, if not earlier, typically tied high above the waist and falling all the way down so that only the tips of the shoes are poking out from underneath. We have a bit more on this in the historical clothing section of the Sengoku Daimyo website, sengokudaimyo.com. I wonder if these wrapped skirts aren’t some of what we see in the embroidered Tenjukoku mandala of Chuuguuji. Court women would continue to wear some kind of pleated skirt-like garment, which would become the mo, though for men they would largely abandon the fashion, except for some very specific ritual outfits. That said, there is still an outfit used for some imperial ceremonies. It is red, with many continental and what some might consider Taoist symbols, such as dragons, the sun and moon, etc.. That continuation of tradition gives us some idea of what this was and what it may have looked like back in the day. It is also very neat that we are starting to get specific pieces of potentially identifiable clothing information, even if it is only for the court nobles. The year following that, 606, we get the giant Buddha image being installed at Houkouji, aka Asukadera. Or at least, we think that is the one they are talking about, as we can’t be one hundred percent certain. However, it is traditionally thought to be one and the same. The copper and gold image was commissioned a year prior, along with an embroidered image as well, but when they went to install it they ran into a slight problem: The statue was too large to fit through the doors of the kondo, the golden image hall. No doubt that caused some embarrassment—it is like ordering furniture that won’t fit through the doorway, no matter how you and your friends try to maneuver it around. They were thinking they would have to cut through the doors of the kondo to create more room, and then fix it afterwards. Nobody really wanted to do that thought—whether because they thought it would damage the structural integrity of the building or they just didn’t want to have to put up with an unsightly scar, it isn’t clear. Finally, before they took such extreme measures, they called on the original artist, Kuratsukuri no Tori. He is said to be the son of the famous Shiba Tattou, and so his family was quite close with the Soga, and he seems to have had quite the eye for geometry as we are told that he, “by way of skill”, was able to get it through the doors and into the hall. I don’t know if that meant he had to some how turn it on its side and walk it through, or something else, but whatever it was, it worked. Tori’s mad Tetris skills worked, and they were able to install the giant Buddha in the hall without cutting through the doorways. For his efforts, Tori was rewarded, and he was raised up to the rank of Dainin, one of the 12 new ranks of the court. He was also given 20 cho worth of “water fields”—likely meaning rice paddies. With the income from those fields, we are told that he invested in a temple of his own: Kongoji, later known as the nunnery of Sakata in Minabuchi. For all that Buddhism was on the rise, the worship of the kami was still going strong as well. In 607 we are told that there was an edict that everyone should worship the kami of heaven and earth, and we are told that all of the noble families complied. I would note that Aston wonders about this entry, as the phrasing looks like something you could have taken right out of continental records, but at the same time, it likely reflects reality to some extent. It is hard to see the court just completely giving up on the traditional kami worship, which would continue to be an important part of court ritual. In fact, it is still unclear just how the new religion of Buddhism was viewed, and how much people understood the Buddha to be anything more than just another type of kami. Later in that same year was the mission to the Sui court, which we discussed in Episode 96. The year after, the mission returned to Yamato with Sui ambassadors, and then, in 609, those ambassadors returned to the Sui court. These were the missions of that infamous letter, where the Yamato court addressed the Sui Emperor as an equal. “From the child of heaven in the land where the sun rises to the child of heaven in the land where the sun sets.” It is still one of my favorite little pieces of history, and I constantly wonder if Yamato didn’t understand the difference in scale or if they just didn’t care. Either way, some really powerful vibes coming off that whole thing. That same year that the Sui ambassadors were going back to their court there was another engagement with foreigners. In this case the official on the island of Tsukushi, aka Kyuushuu, reported to the Yamato court that 2 priests from Baekje, along with 10 other priests and 75 laypersons had anchored in the harbor of Ashigita, in the land of Higo, which is to say the land of Hi that was farther from Yamato, on the western side of Kyuushuu. Ashigita, you may recall, came up in Episode 89 in reference to the Baekje monk—and I use that term loosely—Nichira, aka Illa. There, Nichira was said to descend from the lord of Ashigita, who was said to be Arisateung, a name which appears to be a Korean—possibly Baekje—title. So now we have a Baekje ship harboring in a land that once was ruled by a family identified, at least in their names or titles, as having come from or at least having ties with Baekje. This isn’t entirely surprising, as it wouldn’t have taken all that much effort for people to cross from one side to the other, and particularly during the period before there was a truly strong central government it is easy to see that there may have been lands in the archipelago that had ties to Baekje, just as we believe there were some lands on the peninsula that had ties to Yamato. One more note before get to the heart of the matter is the title of the person who reported all these Baekje goings-on. Aston translates the title as the Viceroy of Tsukushi, and the kanji read “Dazai”, as in the “Dazaifu”, or government of the “Dazai”. There is kana that translates the title as Oho-mikoto-Mochi—the Great August Thing Holder, per Aston, who takes this as a translation, rather than a strict transliteration. This is the first time that this term, “Dazai” has popped up in the history, and it will appear more and more in the future. We know that, at least later, the Dazaifu was the Yamato court’s representative government in Kyuushuu. The position wasn’t new - it goes back to the various military governors sent there in previous reigns - but this is the first time that specific phrasing is used—and unfortunately we don’t even know much about who it was referring to. The position, however, would become an important part of the Yamato governing apparatus, as it provided an extension of the court’s power over Kyuushuu, which could otherwise have easily fallen under the sway of others, much as Iwai tried to do when he tried to ally with Silla and take Tsukushi by force. Given the importance of Kyuushuu as the entrypoint to the archipelago, it was in the Court’s best interest to keep it under their control. Getting back to the ship with the Baekje priests on it: the passengers claimed they were on their way to Wu, or Kure—presumably headed to the Yangzi river region. Given the number of Buddhist monasteries in the hills around the Yangzi river, it is quite believable, though of course by this time the Wu dynasty was long gone. What they had not prepared for was the new Sui dynasty, as they said there was a civil war of some kind going on, and so they couldn’t land and were subsequently blown off course in a storm, eventually limping along to Ashigita harbor, where they presumably undertook rest and a chance to repair their vessels. It is unclear to me exactly what civil war they were referring to, and it may have just been a local conflict. There would be rebellions south of the Yangzi river a few years later, but no indication that it was this, just a bit out of context. We know that the Sui dynasty suffered—it wouldn’t last another decade before being dismantled and replaced by the Tang dynasty in about 618. There were also ongoing conflicts with Goguryeo and even the area of modern Vietnam, which were draining the Sui’s resources and could be related to all of these issues. If so, though, it is hard to see an exact correlation to the “civil war” mentioned in the text. Given all this, two court nobles: Naniwa no Kishi no Tokomaro and Fumibito no Tatsu were sent to Kyuushuu to see what had happened, and, once they learned the truth, help send the visitors on their way. However, ten of the priests asked to stay in Yamato, and they were sent to be housed at the Soga family temple of Houkouji. As you may recall, 10 monks was the necessary number to hold a proper ordination ceremony, funnily enough. In 610, another couple of monks showed up—this time from Goguryeo. They were actually sent, we are told, as “tribute”. We are told that one of them was well read—specifically that he knew the Five Classics—but also that he understood how to prepare various paints and pigments. A lot of paint and pigments were based on available materials as well as what was known at the time, and so it is understandable, to me, why you might have that as a noted and remarkable skill. We are also told that he made mills—likely a type of handmill. These can be easily used for helping to crush and blend medicines, but I suspect it could just as easily be used to crush the various ingredients for different pigments. A type of handmill, where you roll a wheel in a narrow channel, forward and back, is still in use today throughout Asia. In 611, on the 5th day of the 5th month, the court went out to gather herbs. They assembled at the pond of Fujiwara—the pond of the wisteria field—and set out at sunrise. We are told that their clothing matched their official cap... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/29097308

The Prince of the Upper Palace 12/01/2023

The Prince of the Upper Palace This episode we continue to try to pull apart the figure known as Shotoku Taishi, aka Prince Umayado, aka Prince Kamitsumiya, aka Toyotomimi no Mikoto. We'll take a look a little more at what we know and talk about just what we might or might not know about the actual figure behind the legend that has been built up. For more, check out the podcast website at Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 99: The Prince of the Upper Palace. This is the second episode focused on the famous Prince known as Prince Shōtoku Taishi. Last episode we went over the various stories that are told about this Prince in the various histories as well as some of the temple records. Of course, it is generally agreed that most, if perhaps not all, of the information on Prince Shōtoku Taishi, which is to say, the Crown Prince of Great Virtue, is at best exaggerated, and at worst is completely made up at a later time by people deliberately trying to appropriate his story. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to tell what is pure fiction and what might be some semblance of reality, but we’ll give it a try as best we can. I will say that there is a *lot* that has been written about Shōtoku Taishi and his alter egos, Prince Umayado, aka Prince Kamitsumiya, aka Toyotomimi no Mikoto. A lot more than I have time to truly delve into. Besides various sources in Japanese, one of, if not the, most extensive look at sources mentioning the Prince is probably by Dr. Hermann Bohner in the 1930s and 1940s—however, his work, which I am told is over a thousand pages in length, is also entirely in German. I’m not sure anything quite that extensive has been written in English. Furthermore, other works out there, like Michael Como’s own work, “Shōtoku: Ethnicity, Ritual, and Violence in the Japanese Buddhist Tradition”, often speak more to what the stories of Shōtoku Taishi say about developments in Japanese culture over time, focusing on the Cult of Shōtoku and what it said about Japan in general rather than focusing on the individual. I am not going to have time to read all of the sources and condense them down for you, but I’m not sure that is exactly necessary. Just be aware that there is a lot of ink that has been spilled over Shōtoku Taishi in one way or another. As for theories on the actual prince, they vary widely. Some say that there was, indeed, a powerful figure at court known as Prince Umayado or, alternatively, as the Prince of the Upper Chamber, and he may have even been the Crown Prince, in line to inherit the throne had he not tragically passed away before the death of the current sovereign, Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō. Others suggest that the portrait we have is actually a composite—the work of many different individuals, all wrapped up in the guise of a single, powerful individual who instituted sweeping changes across the archipelago and single-handedly gave birth to the Japanese state. Of course, there are also those who accept the story as true—or at least as true as the rest of that period of history. For my part, I believe I’m closer to the ideas proposed in 1999 by Ōyama Seichirō, in his book ‘Shōtoku Taishi no Tanjō’, who suggested that there likely was an actual Prince Umayado, but that his story was exaggerated by the compilers of the Nihon Shoki and by later groups promoting the Shōtoku cult. By the way, when I mention the Shōtoku “cult” I want to be clear what I mean—cult in this instance is more like a cult of personality. It encompasses the various ideas that people held about the Prince, true or otherwise. However, it should be noted that until more recently it is unlikely that anyone would have claimed to have been a part of any kind of “cult” or group with specific, Shōtoku Taishi related beliefs. Rather, the Prince’s story was, to many of them, simply a fact, even as they consciously or unconsciously embellished the story. In fact, we often blame the compilers of the Nihon Shoki for adding to the Prince’s story, but it is just as likely that they were simply going off of other sources that also recorded these same things. Given all of that, who was the real Prince Umayado? We are told that Umayado’s name comes because his pregnant mother gave birth to him as she was wandering around during her pregnancy and suddenly delivered him in front of the office of the horse stables—the Umayado. He is also known as Prince Kamitsumiya, or the Prince of the Upper Palace. This was because, we are told, before he was made Crown Prince and given the Crown Prince’s quarters as his own, his father had installed him in the “Upper Hall” of the South Palace, in his own complex. The name Toyotomimi no Mikoto is less obvious, but more similar to the types of names we had seen in previous generations of sovereigns, and likely a kind of titular name, combining various accolades and titles together. That last one gets to a tricky bit about Prince Umayado: Was he actually of Royal birth, and was he the son of a previous sovereign? As noted last episode, we are told that Umayado’s father was Tachibana no Toyohi, himself the son of Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Niwa no Ohokimi, aka Kinmei Tennō, and Kitashi Hime, daughter of Soga no Iname. We’ve already noted how the Soga family really wormed their way into the royal line. Theoretically, sovereigns were supposed to come from a queen that was, herself, of royal blood. The previous exception to this was Iwa no Hime, daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko and wife to Ohosazaki no Ohokmi, aka Nintoku Tennō. However, that seems to have stopped being an issue since about the time of Ame Kunioshi’s father Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennō. After all, the first two of his sons to succeed him to the throne were the sons of Menoko, herself a daughter of Owari no Muraji no Kusaka—not exactly a name boasting of royal lineage. To be fair, the Nihon Shoki only claimed that they were holding the throne for their more properly titled brother, Amekunioshi, so take that as you will. Amekunioshi, married three of his own nieces—daughters of his brother, which may have been an attempt to smooth out some of the kinks in the royal line. He also married at least two—possibly three—daughters of Soga no Iname, and they produced several sovereigns. One of these, of course, is Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennō, but there was also Hatsusebe no Wakasazaki, aka Sushun Tennō. Finally there was Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō, though one could argue that she held her place as much because she had been the consort—or even queen—to her step-brother, Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennō. It should also be noted, though, that both Hatsusebe no Wakasazaki and Kashikiya Hime came to the throne during a period of political violence. There was the Soga and Mononobe conflict, a genuine fight for the throne which spilled out into the general public. This all reads as the results of Soga no Iname—and then, later, Soga no Umako—maneuvering to put the Soga family in power to rule the country. That they succeeded in getting two Soga relatives on the throne—even if Umako then assassinated Hatsusebe when he proved too difficult to control—would seem to indicate that the Soga gambit had been effective, and they had overcome the traditions that previously had been designed to limit who had direct access to the power of the throne. Of course, there are questions of just how old and how accurate that tradition was—for all we know, the previous “queens” had simply had their lineages updated to ensure that they were of proper royal birth—but I still think it is telling. But how does this relate to Umayado? Well, as I mentioned, his father was Tachibana no Toyohi. Just like Kashikiya Hime and Hatsusebe, he was also a son of Ame Kunioshi no Ohokimi and one of his Soga wives. In fact, it wouldn’t be surprising had Toyohi taken the throne, given who else did. However, I wonder if that ever actually happened. The Nihon Shoki only places him on the throne briefly—about two years—and during that time, there was still a lot of conflict going on. The idea that there had been a consensus and that Tachibana no Toyohi was chosen as the next Ohokimi already seems a bit questionable. Then there is also his supposed misasagi, or tomb. We are told that he was buried at Shinaga, and this tomb has been identified and is still known today, presumably. Given the records from then until now, while it is possible that the tomb was mistaken at some point over the intervening centuries, I would propose that its identification is probably fairly reliable, especially as it is also said to be the tomb of Prince Umayado, as well. However, there is a problem, and that is that the tomb is not a round keyhole shaped tomb as would be expected of a royal tomb up to that time. Instead, it is a square shaped tomb. Why is this notable? Because the "imperial” tombs up through Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennō, and his son, Nunakura no Ohokimi, aka Bidatsu Tennō, are all round, keyhole shaped tombs; the zenpō-kōen, or flat font and round-backed kofun. Even through different dynasties, the shape and size of the kofun seem to hold true. However, that stops with Tachibana no Toyohi. His tomb is square shaped, which is much more similar to individuals other than the royal family. However, complicating matters somewhat, it isn’t just his tomb where we see this change. Suddenly we see a bunch of square tombs that are designated as royal tombs. These include the tombs of Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Yōmei Tennō; Hasebe no Wakasazaki, aka Sushun Tennō; and Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō. All of their identified tombs seem to be square tombs, similar to the tomb identified with Soga no Umako, Ishi-butai kofun. So why the sudden switch? It is not directly stated, but this may have been a part of all of the other changes in court and ritual that were happening. In succeeding generations we see eight-sided kofun, and even round kofun—and all for verified sovereigns. So it is entirely possible that it is at Youmei where the tradition of keyhole-shaped royal kofun ended. But I am still rather skeptical about all of this. I wonder if the shape of Tachibana no Toyohi’s kofun indicates it was just the kofun for a powerful member of the Soga lineage, just like Umako’s kofun. However, I must admit, it doesn’t directly contradict the sources that say he was Tennō, since the following sovereigns are also recorded as having square-shaped tombs. Then again, there is a bit of a question on just about all of them as far as how much they reigned and what power they held, vice what power was in the hands of Soga no Umako. As for the succeeding generations, well, there are other shapes as well. For instance, there is an octagonal kofun, and an eight sided kofun would actually match up well with a growing belief in Buddhism, where eight is an extremely auspicious number—enough that people in some Asian countries will actually pay more for license plates or phone numbers with multiple 8s in the number, along with other auspicious digits. And there’s another factor that might explain why they moved to a less complex kofun shape: I’ve mentioned in past episodes that the temple building craze of the early 600s really killed off kofun construction. We see resources that would have gone to venerating important figures, and building their tombs, the likely center of their ritual veneration, instead go to the building of temples. In many ways, temples became the better and more lasting memorial for any wealthy individual, especially since temples themselves could grow and change with the times, where as a giant mound of earth, cool as it is, was a bit hard to modify, let alone relocate. I also suspect that the change in various rituals also meant that the previous shape of the kofun, that round keyhole shape, may not have been as important in later periods. If we assume that shape had something to do with the focus of conducting regular rituals at the site, for which purpose certain families were actually employed in hereditary positions, then moving away from that shape would suggest, to me, that there was a change in the rituals as well. However, that change was coming much earlier than the temples, should we choose to believe the chronology given to us in the Nihon Shoki. So it while it explains, in broad strokes, the move away from kofun practice, it doesn’t satisfactorily explain everything that we are seeing at this period. And that brings me back to my hesitation to say that Tachibana no Toyohi was ever a sovereign of Yamato. And the main thing about Tachibana no Toyohi’s ascension that gets to me is it all feels rather contrived, and there really isn’t much said about him. I can only think that this was done in order to make sure that Prince Umayado had the necessary pedigree for everything else that people were going to be saying about him. As awesome as he was, he wasn’t going to be nearly so incredible if he didn’t have a lineage which put him in line to inherit the throne. BUT, I could very easily be wrong, especially if some of our sources aren’t exactly in order. We’ve certainly seen other places where it appears that individuals were either raised up as sovereigns or possibly co-sovereigns, individuals who reigned at the same time, may have had their reigns massaged to conform with the desired narrative.. Which brings up another question: Was Umayado ever actually named as the Crown Prince? Was he truly in line to succeed Kashikiya Hime? I’m not sure that is as black and white. As I’ve noted before, why would Kashikiya Hime have chosen him over other potential candidates? Even if his father wasn’t sovereign, he was still a royal prince of Soga lineage, but Kashikiya Hime also had her own children, at least according to the Chronicles. Where were they? I’m not sure, but I am inclined to believe that Prince Umayado may have, indeed, been either the Crown Prince or in a position so close that it didn’t warrant a distinction. That said, it might be interesting to look through some of the early records, such as the Gankōji Garan Engi, and see just how he is referred to, there. There are plenty of the stories about Prince Umayado that I believe we can take as true, even if only in part. I have no reason not to believe that he was an avid supporter of continental learning, including Buddhism and other teachings. That was all new and exciting, and with the direction that the Yamato state was tacking at the time it would have been useful and provided the Prince some clout and notoriety. It is also quite possible that he penned one or more commentaries on various sutras, though how good or insightful it would have been I have no idea, and whether it was his own words or if he perhaps patronized a temple to help write them for him, I couldn’t say. I don’t know that there is anything definitive, one way or the other. I might even go so far as to suggest that he played a role in helping to lay out the seventeen article constitution and championed a version of the continental rank system, but I doubt he just made it up himself out of whole-cloth. There were no doubt more than a few scribes by this point who had read various works from the continent and were able to help pull the various concepts of good government together. I doubt he was the one putting pen to paper for all of it, but who knows. Perhaps, though, the most likely case for his existence comes in the form of the temple, Hōryūji, said to have been built on the site of his former estate, and the woven mandala said to have been commissioned by one of his own consorts. These are compelling to me because they both physically exist, even if in a diminished state. For Hōryūji we can look at the archaeological evidence, as well as any extant buildings or images. For the Tenjukoku Shūchō Mandala, though, we only have some of the original fragments, along with some fragments of a later copy, but we also have copies of the inscription that was on the mandala. It is possible that the transcription we have is somehow not correct, but that would be odd since the object was on display for people to see and remained intact through at least the Kamakura period, one assumes, since that’s when they made a copy of it. Let’s examine both of these a little more in depth. Hōryūji temple is said to have been built by Prince Umayado, on his estate, but it was supposedly built for his father, Tachibana no Toyohi. In fact, Hōryūji was apparently supposed to be *his* temple. Tachibana no Toyohi, suffering from illness, is said to have vowed to build a temple, but he died before he could complete it. Prince Umayado’s eventual work to build Hōryūji is said to have been an act of filial piety as much as it was one of Buddhist piety, as it was dedicated, originally to Yakushi Nyōrai, a Buddha associated with healing illness, and it was built for his father, the Great King, Tachibana no Toyohi. We see several times the idea of building a temple on a noble family’s personal compound. Soga no Iname is the first to convert his house, or some portion, and Soga no Umako eventually succeeds with Hōkōji, aka Asukadera. It makes sense that Hōryūji was also built on land donated by an elite member of Society, and everything points to it being Prince Umayado. In fact, it would be rather odd to build it on land that wasn’t already built up in some way. Even Shitennōji was built, we are told, on a compound that formerly belonged to the Mononobe—a rather large middle finger, or perhaps an inverted V, extended by the Soga to those whom history labelled as the anti-Buddhist faction of the early court. Nearby Chūgūji, literally the “Middle Palace Temple” was, we are told, built on the site of Prince Umayado’s mother’s home. I’m not sure if we can verify that entirely, but the fact that it is known as the “Middle Palace Temple” suggests some connection to an elite’s compound and “palace”—the Naka tsu Miya to Umayado’s Kami tsu Miya, perhaps. The two were close and became only closer with time, though they did retain their own characteristics. And so Hōryūji was quite likely built on the site of someone’s palace, and if it wasn’t the Prince we know as Umayado, then who was it? At the very least we have some person that may be at least a part of the legion that makes up the legend of Shōtoku Taishi. As for the Tenjukoku Shūchō Mandala, for that we have the inscription from the mandala itself. We are told that Tachibana no Iratsume asked Kashikiya Hime to commission it for her departed husband, Prince Toyotomimi. As far as I can tell, this inscription, found in the Jōgū-Shōtoku Ho’o Teisetsu, a biography of Shōtoku Taishi, is considered an accurate transcription of the four hundred or so characters that were on the original curtain. If that is the case, then we have an inscription from shortly after his death attesting to the existence of a Prince Toyotomimi, and it even gives part of his lineage, including mention of Tachibana no Toyohi, whom we are told was, indeed, a sovereign, though we don’t know when or... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/28866618

The Legend of Shotoku Taishi 11/16/2023

Asukadera and Shitennoji 11/01/2023

Asukadera and Shitennoji This episode we are looking at some of the earliest temples to be built in Japan. Namely: Asukadera and Shitennoji. These have pretty good claims to be some of the earliest temples, and they are mentioned in this reign, both in relation to the Soga-Mononobe War. For photos and more, check out Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 97: Asukadera and Shitennouji. First off, quick shout out to Craig for supporting us on Ko-Fi.com. We’ll have more information on how you can help support the show at the end of the episode. To recap so far, we are still in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, in the 6th and early 7th centuries—though for this episode we are going to step back a little bit as much of this has origins in the 6th century, looking at the early spread of Buddhism and the founding of some of the first permanent temple complexes—specifically Asukadera in, well, Asuka, and Shitennouji in the area of modern Ohosaka. As we’ve seen, Yamato was in the process of importing various things from the mainland—both material culture and immaterial things as well, including philosophy and religion. By religion, of course, we are talking about Buddhism, which we’ve already covered to some extent in Episodes 85 and 88, but let’s go over a little bit of the history, shall we, and catch up with what has been happening since. Buddhism had likely been coming over to the archipelago since the arrival of Buddhist immigrants from Baekje and elsewhere, though their religion is not much discussed. After all, the Nihon Shoki is focused largely on the Yamato royal family and the court, and so other than groups of immigrants beings settled and possibly organized into family groups, there wasn’t much call to look into their day to day practices. It is also difficult to know just how far Buddhism had penetrated into the lower ranks of society on the continent, as well. Certainly the courts had adopted Buddhism, but to what extent it was part of the daily lives of the common person, I don’t know that I could say with any certainty. Still, we can imagine that there were likely those who came over to the archipelago with an extant belief in the Buddha and some inkling of the rites and other aspects of Buddhist worship. Did they set up small temples in their villages? Or convert a house into a shrine? Or did they just keep private practice and worship? We don’t know, and as far as I’ve come across we don’t seem to have any conclusive evidence via the archaeological record, either. And so we are left with the written record and what it has to say on the subject. The Nihon Shoki notes the first official mention of Buddhism in the archipelago as the arrival of a Buddhist statue from Baekje. The official record puts this in the year 552, in the reign of Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, and credits Soga no Iname with taking and building the first temple and setting up the first temple by repurposing his own house—or at least some part of his property. Other families, however, opposed the Soga’s attempts at bringing in and establishing this new religion and ultimately ended up destroying that first temple, tossing the image into the river. This whole thing repeated itself in 584, about 32 years later—Silla had given Yamato a Buddhist image in 579, and then an image of Miroku, aka Maitreya, and an image of the Buddha, aka Shakyamuni, were both found. Soga no Umako, Iname’s son and successor to his role as Oho-omi, took the two images and had a temple once again built, importing specialists and setting up three nuns to attend to the appropriate rituals. Once again, the Soga’s opponents, led by the powerful Mononobe family, cried foul and had the temple destroyed and the nuns stripped of their robes. There are a few things about this account that are more than a bit sus, however. First, there is mention of that first Buddha image in both the Joguki, the record of the life of Prince Shotoku Taishi, as well as a record from Gangoji Garan Engi, a record from Gangoji temple—which is to say Asukadera, one of the temples we’ll be talking about, today. In those records we find a different date for the first Buddha image, with its arrival coming in 538, not 552. That would have put its arrival a year before Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, took the throne. It is also rather interesting at just how much the two stories parallel each other, and one has to wonder if they were really two separate stories or if they were one story that got attributed to different members of the Soga family, for some reason. It is also possible that they are different stories, but with similar elements that got conflated across each other. Or it really was a matter of déjà vu, with the experience of Soga no Umako paralleling that of his father, Iname. We also cannot discount some massaging of the text. For one thing, they put it in the reign of Amekunioshi, who had a different maternal line than his previous two successors and elder half-brothers. There may have been political reasons to keep the stories as they were and, hopefully, keep the story relatively tidy. Regardless of why, the implication seems clear that by 585 there were people in Yamato with some knowledge of Buddhism, as well as the necessary artisans and craftspeople to create a continental style temple complex. In the following years, the fight between the Soga and the Mononobe escalated with the death of sovereign and the ensuing succession dispute. The Mononobe and their candidate, Prince Anahobe, were destroyed by forces in league with the Soga family. During that conflict, which we covered in Episodes 90 and 91, there was a point where both Soga no Umako and his nephew, the young Prince Umayado, each prayed to the Buddha for victory, promising to erect a temple if they succeeded. Indeed, they did succeed, and based on their vows, two temples were eventually created. The first temple is known as Asukadera, or the Temple of Asuka, although it also is known by its official name of Hokoji, and later Gangoji. Construction of Hokoji started in 588, and is attributed to Soga no Umako. The second temple is Shitennoji, or the Temple of the Four Heavenly Kings. We’ll talk about them a bit more, later, but the Four Heavenly Kings are four gods, who appear to pre-date Buddhism, who were co-opted into the Buddhist pantheon as protectors of Buddhism, each one representing a cardinal direction. Shitennouji’s traditional founding is given to us as 593. Both of these temples still exist, in one form or another. If you go to Asuka, today, you can find a small Asukadera on the site of the previous temple, but it is much reduced from its original form. When it was built, Asukadera would have been at the center of the political heartland of Yamato. It was the land of the Soga, but also the location of the palace of Kashikiya Hime, and it likely rivaled her palace for pride of place in Asuka. However, when the capital eventually moved away from Asuka—first to nearby Kashihara, but then across the Nara basin to Heijo-kyo, modern Nara city—the temple buildings were removed to Nara, to modern day Gankouji, though the site of Houkouji continued to be used as a small, local temple. The modern temple in Asuka does have a Buddha statue, however, that they believe to have been the original Daibutsu, or Giant Buddha, known as the Asuka Daibutsu. It changed hands many times over the centuries, but has since come back to Asuka, though a little worse for wear. Shitennouji, on the other hand, is in the heart of modern Ohosaka, in the Tennoji ward. The buildings of Shitennouji have been rebuilt numerous times, although supposedly by the same construction company, one of the oldest businesses in the world, and they remain in their original configuration. Since they’ve been rebuilt, however, this is why you will often hear of another temple, Horyuji, also associated with Prince Shotoku Taishi, as being the oldest temple in Japan, as it has the oldest extant buildings. Make no mistake, however—Asukadera and Shitennouji were founded first, and both still survive in some manner. These two temples do a lot to help us better understand Buddhism and its influence, but also helps us understand more than that. They help us look into the politics of the time, and even illuminate some of the apparent tensions between different immigrant groups from Baekje and Silla that were becoming more and more prominent in Yamato. Of the various early temples that were built, Asukadera is perhaps one of the most well-documented, both in the historic record as well as the archaeological evidence. Donald McCallum, in his book, “The Four Great Temples”, notes that serious study of Asukadera began around the Meiji and into the Taisho era, in particular calling out the work of Fukuyama Toshio, published in 1934. Up to that point, it was mostly looking at the histories—both the Nihon Shoki and also works like the Gangouji Engi, the record of Gangouji, the later name for Asukadera. He determined that much of the record, though it claimed to have been written by Shotoku Taishi himself, was actually written later than the Nihon Shoki, based on linguistic analysis. However, there were some sections that appear to be earlier or contemporaneous with the Nihon Shoki, likely pulled from other works, which the Nihon Shoki may have been pulling from as well, including inscriptions on the extant temple buildings at the time. This was determined by things like the grammar and Sinitic characters used, as well as the lack of terms like “Tennou”, which still were not in use until later periods. It is also interesting to note that Shotoku Taishi is referred to in the document by the name “Prince Umayado no Toyotomimi” Based on that analysis, it seems fairly certain that Soga no Umako was, indeed, largely responsible for donations to build Asukadera, although the Nihon Shoki gives credit to Kashikiya Hime as well. That and certain other features of the Nihon Shoki account were probably added later, possibly at the urging of the Gangouji priests themselves, to stress a stronger connection with the Yamato royal family rather than just Soga no Umako. The text gives a brief history of Buddhism, which is where we see Buddhism being introduced as early as 538, though it seems to suggest this was still in the reign of Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, rather than his predecessors. Soga no Iname is still given much of the credit, though there is a note about Kashikiya Hime also installing a Buddhist icon in her own quarters at one point—something not mentioned in the Nihon Shoki. It does mention the various pro- and anti-Buddhist arguments and steps that the various sides took, including Umako having three nuns ordained and them being eventually defrocked—though without mention of them being whipped, which may have been too much or could be sensationalist additions to the Nihon Shoki text. One thing that is notably missing in the Gangouji Engi, at least as McCallum summarizes it, is mention of the Mononobe and Soga conflict, and so there is no mention of any special vow that was made to build Asukadera if they were victorious—let alone anything about the vow to build Shitennouji. Instead, it is instigated by the three nuns, who request both a nunnery and a monastery, each with at least 10 ordained nuns or priests, as that was the number required for many of the rites and to ensure proper ordination could take place in the future, thus allowing them to grow the religion. These two temples would need to be close enough so that they could each hear the bells from the other. Although priests were requested from Baekje, too few came over in response, which is why the nuns themselves were sent over to get a proper ordination. They return in 590 and urge the completion of the two temples—Asukadera and Toyouradera, the latter using the land that was previously Kashikiya Hime’s palace prior to her moving to the Oharida palace site, nearby. All of that was based on the extant texts, but there were also archaeological excavations that took place in 1956 to 1957, as well as later investigations in and around Asuka Temple and the general area. Even today, excavations in the regions are ongoing, and in a recent visit I saw them excavating nearby palace ruins. Fortunately, the area has not seen the kind of heavy urban development, whether in the modern or pre-modern period, that many other areas have gone through, with much of the land having been returned to farmland, and the importance of the area, today, is well understood. The initial excavations were a bit surprising. Based on extant temples such as Shitennoji, it was expected that Asukadera would have been planned out in such a way that there was a straight line from the central gate, to the pagoda and the kondou, or golden hall, sometimes called an image hall, with the koudou, or lecture hall, in back. Often there is some separation of the lecture hall from the other two. These buildings are both connected and separated by gates, walls, and pathways, including covered cloisters along the wall, which conforms to the pattern of temples on the Korean peninsula as well. This is very reminiscent of the Baekje layout for temples, and may include other elements such as belfries or similar. The three main buildings each serve a purpose. As we noted back in Episode 84, the Pagoda had replaced the Stupa, and was often a reliquary, holding relics of some kind. Then there is the Kondou—literally golden halls, as many of the statues and other artwork would be gilded and designed to reflect light, often shining out from the darkness with the goal of leading more people to consider enlightenment. These are the halls where images are placed—hence the other term, “image hall”—whether metal, wood, stone, et cetera. The pagoda and the kondou may be areas of personal worship, with believers coming to visit them, perhaps to venerate a particular aspect of the Buddha or contemplate something, and images or particular relics are often ascribed particular spiritual power. Often these are included together or near one another. On the other hand the koudou, or Lecture Hall, also known as the Ordination Hall, would be the place for sermons and various ceremonies. In many ways these are the “working” areas of a temple, and while they often have images and are ornately adorned, they have, in some ways, a more utilitarian function, and in many early temple layouts they are often held apart from the pagoda and kondou in some way. At Asukadera, the excavations revealed that it was not planned out in the standard three building model, all lined up, as had been expected. Instead, there was a walled courtyard, with cloisters around the sides and a central gate that led to a pagoda in the middle of the area. Then there were three buildings, identified as individual kondou, or image halls, spaced equally to the left, right, and behind the pagoda. A larger building was then found behind the walled courtyard area, determined to be the temple’s lecture hall. All of this was enclosed in another wall, which seems to have defined the larger area of the temple. This layout is fairly unique. It doesn’t exactly fit anything we’ve seen in Baekje or Silla temples of the period, and most closely resembles something out of Goguryeo. It may be worth noting that there are records that claim the King of Goguryeo provided funds to help build temples in Japan, and that some of the monks involved, including the monk Eben, or Hyephyeon, who helped initially ordain the Zenshin and her fellow nuns, was said to be a man from Goguryeo, and so may have had some influence on the design. On the other hand, the rooftiles found at the Asukadera site are very much in the Baekje tradition. Up to this point, there is no indication that the Japanese were using rooftiles in their construction, and were likely using thatching, much as many Shinto shrines continue to use to this day. The use of rooftiles is thought to have started with Buddhist temples, and occurred much earlier than their use in other buildings, including palace buildings. Since rooftiles were ceramic, they required different construction techniques so that the roof could support the weight, which would further explain the need to import craftsmen from the continent to help build these structures. Rooftiles are not necessarily the most exciting thing for people wandering through a museum. Often one is looking at weapons, jewelry, or haniwa statues, and suddenly you come across a plethora of tiles from different buildings, and it can be easy to just glance past. Without understanding what you are looking at, the rooftiles often seem the same—or same-ish. The majority of the tiles are plain, without much distinction. End tiles—whether round or flat—often have similar decorations, such as lotus flowers, and they are often very similar to one another. Furthermore, these are rarely refined works of art—tiles were meant to be mass produced and were often created quickly to meet the demands of construction. Despite all of this, I think it is worth recognizing that the rooftiles are often important to helping archaeologists, especially when the rest of the building is no longer extant. Rooftiles often would fall off and get buried, or even be reused in some way to edge a gutter or something similar. However, how they are made, the molds that were used, the composition of the clay, etc. can all be analyzed to provide information about the age and size of a structure, helping to know when different buildings may have been built or rebuilt, as well as providing some information on where the materials were coming from. And for those who want to learn more, you can be sure that every part of a tile has its own specialized name and vocabulary—it is something that you can really delve deep into if that is your thing. The rooftiles at Asukadera are somewhat odd in that they are not as uniform as one might expect, and this may come from the fact that they had imported different tile makers from Baekje, and so each one set up their workshop with slightly different standards. Later, as Yamato as more temples and other continental style buildings were built, these would become larger, more standardized industries. Still, that they seem to conform to the general patterns found in Baekje speaks, again, to the location that the craftsmen were likely from, as well as the connections mentioned in the texts. And so we see at least Baekje and possibly Goguryeo influence on the design of this temple. One other thing that has been found is the stone pedestal for an image in the central image hall. We know that at some point a large image was crafted, and the Asuka Daibutsu, or Giant Buddha Image of Asuka, is still extant, and the stone pedestal was likely where it or a similar image sat at some point. However, just when this image was created and installed is still unknown—there are references to various images, but nothing that can be directly attributed to the current Asuka Daibutsu, though various scholars have identified it as being consistent with the Asuka style from at least the 7th century. The earliest information talks about the stone Miroku, or Maitreya, image that Kafuka no Omi brought... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/28475447

From the Land Where the Sun Rises 10/16/2023

From the Land Where the Sun Rises This episode, we look at the rise of the Sui Dynasty and the famous interactions between Yamato and the Sui Dynasty, recorded in the histories of each state. For more, check out the podcast webpage: Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 96: From the Land Where the Sun Rises. Once again, we are still talking about the reign of Kashikiya Hime, from the late 6th to early 7th century. This time, though, we are going to take a quick diversion from Yamato and first look at what was going on over on the continent, in the area of the Yellow and Yangzi River Basins—the area of the so-called “middle country”. This is, after all, where a lot of the philosophy and other things that the archipelago was importing came from, so what was going on over there? Back in Episode 73, ee talked about the various northern and southern dynasties in the Yellow and Yangzi River Basins. To sum up, during that period, the eastern area of modern China was split between a variety of dynasties, many of them short-lived, and many of them—especially in the north—were dynasties from outside of the main Han ethnic group. Up through the early 580’s, the dynasty in charge of the Yellow River region was the Northern Zhou, one of the many dynasties in the north descended from the nomadic Xianbei ethnic groups. Though their aristocracy was a mix of multiple ethnicities that had intermarried over the years, the Northern Zhou celebrated their Xianbei roots, often to the detriment of ethnic Han groups. They had inherited the territory of the Western Wei, including much of the central Yangzi region down to Sichuan. They then defeated the Northern Qi in 577 and claimed dominion over all of the Yellow River region in the north of modern China. Their only rival was the Chen dynasty, along the eastern reaches of the Yangzi river, but the Chen themselves were relatively weak, and it was only the power struggles within the Northern Zhou court that kept them from wiping out the Chen completely. In 581, the Northern Zhou suffered a coup d’etat. Yang Jian was a Northern Zhou general, and his family, the Yang clan, had Han origins but had intermarried with the Xianbei as well, creating a truly mixed lineage. Jian also held some sway at court, and was known as the Duke of Sui—his daughter was the Empress Dowager, and her stepson was the young Emperor Jing. In 581 Yang Jian usurped power from his step-grandson, the child emperor Jing, and placed himself on the throne, taking the name Emperor Wen of Sui, using his previous title as the name of the new dynasty. He killed off fifty-nine princes of the previous Northern Zhou, and began to consolidate his power. By 587, he had strengthened his position, and by 588 invasion of the Chen territories began under Prince Yang Guang. By 589, the Chen were defeated and any attempts at rebellion were put down, giving the Sui dynasty full control of northern and southern regions—from the Yellow and Yangzi Rivers down to the Sichuan basin. Although, as I noted, the Yang family had intermarried with the Xianbei families of the Northern Zhou, they still retained some connection with their Han roots, and Emperor Wen won over the Han Confucian scholars with reforms to the rank system and at least a nod towards getting rid of nepotism and corruption that had taken hold in the Northern Zhou and previous dynasties. He reinstituted Han dynasty titles and restored the nine rank system. He also reinstituted a system of impartial judges to seek out talent and moved towards the idea of an examination system—something that would really take hold in later centuries. Furthermore, while he set himself up in the northern capital of Daxingcheng, aka Chang’an, he helped rebuild the southern capital, naming it Dayang. He also supported Buddhism and Daoism. He became a patron of southern Buddhist monasteries, and recognized major temples as state-sponsored institutions—a far cry from the suppression attempts in the north in 574 and 578. Emperor Wen also worked on repairing canals along the Yellow River. These canals, which allowed easy transport of goods, regularly silted up without maintenance, and the dikes on either side could break, flooding the land on either side. They had been neglected during many of the short-lived reigns up to this point, with perhaps a few exceptions when things got really bad. However, Emperor Wen began work to fix these old canals and thus improve the flow of goods and services. Given all of this - his patronage of Buddhism and Daoism, as well as his attempt to resurrect the Han dynasty and the Confucian principles that underlay its government, as well as the public works that he instituted, Yang Jian, aka Emperor Wen of Sui, is remembered as the Cultured Emperor—despite that fact the had started out as a blood-soaked general who had secured his usurpation with a not inconsiderable amount of murder. Sima Guang, writing from the Song dynasty, centuries later, praised Emperor Wen for all he did to grow the Sui, uniting north and south, supporting the people, and helping the country to prosper as it rarely has before. And yet, Sima Guang also says that in his personal life he was mean and stingy and paranoid—afraid that everyone was out to get him. Given the life he’d lived, that would make some sense. Still, he seems to have been good for his people, in the long run. But this wasn’t to last. In 604, Emperor Wen fell ill and died. Or at least that is the official story. Another says that he had grown angry over some event and was about to disinherit the crown prince, Yang Guang, who sent someone to kill his father. That is a very abbreviated version of the story, and, as I said, it is not without controversy. However he died, his son, Yang Guang, succeeded him to the throne and became known as Emperor Yang. Emperor Yang continued to expand the empire, and under his dynasty the Sui would attain their greatest extent yet. He rebuilt parts of the Great Wall, and expanded the borders south, into modern Vietnam, as well as up to the borders with Goguryeo. He also continued the work his father had begun on canals, eventually undertaking the creation of the Grand Canal, which would connect the Yellow and Yangzi Rivers. No longer would the two be separate, forced to send goods out to sea or over treacherous land routes to get from one river basin to another. Now they could sail ships straight from one river to the other—an impressive feat that you can still see today in parts of modern China. The project would forever change the landscape of China, both literally and figuratively. It connected the north and south, leading to greater political, economic, and cultural unity between the two regions. It would connect the culture and economic resources of the south with the military institutions of the north. Unfortunately, for all that this expansion may have been good for commerce, it came at a price. The wars in Champa, in Southern Vietnam, saw thousands of Sui soldiers die from malaria. And then, in the north, though they continuously pushed against Goguryeo, they were never quite able to overthrow them. Finally, there was the Grand Canal. Although it would truly be a wonder of the world, and become a part of the lifeblood of dynasties for centuries to come, it was built at a huge price both monetarily and in human lives. We can assume a large number of people died as conscript labor working on the canals or on refurbishing the Great Wall, but also we are told that the monetary price largely bankrupted the empire, and for which later historians castigated the Sui dynasty But that was still to happen. For our purposes, we should rewind a bit, to the very beginning of the 7th century. As we touched on last episode, Yamato was just adopting their own twelve rank system and a seventeen article constitution shortly after Emperor Wen passed away and Yang Guang took the throne. Now these 17 articles were almost all based on Confucian or Buddhist philosophy; clearly the Court was looking to the continent more and more for inspiration on how to govern, especially as it further expanded and solidified its grasp across the archipelago. Up to this point, much of that innovation had come through the Korean peninsula, by way of Silla, Goguryeo, and, most prominently, their ally Baekje. But no doubt they knew that much of what was influencing those kingdoms had, itself, come from even farther away. And so, this reign, the Chronicles record that Yamato once again sent envoys beyond their peninsular neighbors all the way to the Middle Country itself. This is significant as they were making direct contact with the mighty empire, the source of so many of the philosophical and scientific innovations that Yamato was trying to adopt. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, of course—we know of the cases of state of Na contacting the Han court, and then Himiko of the Wa during the Wei period, as well as several missions immediately after Himiko’s death. We also know of the five kings of Wa who reached out to the Liu Song court, though the Chronicles themselves are often silent on actual embassies, making it hard to tell exactly which reigns that occurred in, though it is generally agreed that one of those “Five Kings” was none other than Wakatakiru himself, Yuuryaku Tennou. There may have been other missions. There seems to be some discussion amongst the Liang dynasty records that may indicate greater contact with Japan, but again, we don’t necessarily see that in the records themselves. Furthermore, with the fractured nature of the various dynasties since the Han period, and the various conflicts on the peninsula and in the archipelago, it would be understandable if there hadn’t been much direct diplomatic contact since about the time of Wakatakiru. And so it is a pretty big thing that we not only have an envoy around the year 608, but that there appears to be agreement for it in the Sui history—though there is one glaring mistake: in the Nihon Shoki they clearly say that they sent envoys to the “Great Tang”, and not the Sui. However, this is fairly easily explained. By the 8th century, as the records were being compiled, the Tang dynasty was, indeed, in control of the Chinese court. In fact, the Tang dynasty was so admired by the Japanese of the day that even now the term “Karafu”, or “Chinese style”, uses the character for the Tang dynasty, rather than the Han. On the one hand it seems as though the scholars of the 8th century would surely have known of the Sui dynasty coming before the Tang, but it is also understandable that anyone would have just thought of the successive courts as a single continuity. Either way, I’ll talk about the Sui dynasty, and it is in the Sui dynasty records that we find the corresponding description of this embassy. It starts on the 3rd day of the 7th month of 607. The Chronicles tell us that Wono no Omi no Imoko was sent to the Sui court, taking along Kuratsukuri no Fukuri as an interpreter. You may recall that the Kuratsukuri, or saddle-makers, claimed a descent from Shiba Tattou, himself from the continent. It would make sense to take someone on this diplomatic exhibition who could actually speak the language or, failing that, read and write it - a peculiar function of the Chinese language, since the various dialects, though often mutually unintelligible, still use the same characters. Imoko, by the way, may have also had important connections, but in this case it was to the Soga. We are told in the Nihon Shoki that Imoko was known in the Sui Court as “So Imko”, and the “So” character is the same as the first character in the name “Soga”. It is possible that Imoko was, indeed, a Soga family member, and the name Wono no Omi may have come later. Or it is possible that he was forgotten for some reason. On the Sui side, we are told that in the year 607 there was an envoy sent with tribute from King Tarashihoko, which may have been another name for Kashikiya Hime, or perhaps it was simply an error caused by the problems with attempting to record foreign names in Sinitic characters. The arrival of the embassy must have been something else, especially as they came upon the capital city. Wen’s capital city, that of Daxingcheng, was a new city, built just southeast of the ancient city of Chang’an, which was in a sad state of decay, despite hosting so many rulers over the centuries, including the Northern Zhou themselves. Wen had laid out a new plan of a permanent, rectangular city, with the royal palace taking up the northern central district. Buddhist and Daoist temples were scattered throughout the city. The city itself was five to six miles a side, and so it would take time to truly build it out. However, first the walls were set up, and then the palace area, so that Wen effectively moved into an empty city when he arrived in 583. Many people were forcibly resettled, and members of the new royal family were encouraged to set up their own palaces, but it would take time to truly fill up—by the end of the Sui dynasty, and the beginning of the Tang, the city was still being built, and it wouldn’t see its ultimate heyday as a vibrant urban capital until the Tang dynasty. And so when the Yamato delegation arrived in 608, they would have seen the impressive walls and the immense palace, but in all likelihood, much of the city was still being built, and there was likely construction on every block. Nonetheless, the sheer size would have to have made an impression on them—nothing like this existed in the archipelago in the slightest. On the other hand, the Sui had their own curiosities about Yamato. The history of the Sui, written only twenty to thirty years afterwards, starts out its account with a description of the Land of Wa. Some of it is taken directly from the Wei histories, recounting what was previously known about these islands across the eastern sea—we talked about that back in episodes 11 to 13. The Sui history summarizes these previous historical accounts, including mention of envoys that came over during the Qi and Liang dynasties—between 479 and 556—though little more is said. Then the Sui history mentions an envoy that is said to have arrived in the early part of the Sui—the Kaihuang era, between 581-600. We are told that this was for a “King” whose family name was Ame and his personal name was Tarashihiko, with the title of Ohokimi—at least, assuming we are transliterating correctly, as the characters used have slightly different pronunciations. That could easily be attributed to just mistranslations. Even the family and personal name are familiar, but not exactly attributed in the Chronicles—though we have seen the elements elsewhere in the royal family, and it may be that they were also titles, of a sort. Also, they mention a King, but that could also just be due to the fact that the Ohokimi was not a gendered title, and as such the Sui simply assumed a male ruler. There is no evidence of this in the Chronicles for this, however it is said that at that time they looked into the ways of the Wa and they were told that “The King of Wa deems heaven to be his elder brother and the sun, his younger. Before break of dawn he attends the Court, and, sitting cross-legged, listens to appeals. Just as soon as the sun rises, he ceases these duties, saying that he hands them over to his brother.” This is likely a misunderstanding, once again, but it rings with some truth. Even if we discard some of the legends about Amaterasu as later additions, there is plenty of linguistic and cultural evidence that the sun held a special place in Wa culture. There is also the article in the new constitution about starting early to work that might just be referenced here. We aren’t sure when, exactly, the Sui collected this information—though given that it was written within living memory of many of the events, a lot of the information is considered to at least be plausible, if perhaps a bit misunderstood at times. The Sui history specifically mentions the twelve court ranks—in fact, it is possible that the Chronicles, compiled in the 8th century, were actually referencingthis earlier history about the ranks, though we know that ranks continued in one way or another. It also makes the comment that there were no regulated number of officials in each rank—that would certainly be the case later, and makes sense when the ranks also dictated how much of a salary that one could expect from the court. Then, outside of the court they mention the “kuni”—the kuni no miyatsuko—and then claimed that each kuni no miyatsuko oversaw about 10 inaki, officials in charge of the royal granaries, who each oversaw 80 families. It is doubtful that these numbers were that precise, but it gives an interesting concept of scale. The Sui history also tells us about other things that the Chronicles tend to leave out. We are told that the men wore both outer and inner garments, with small (likely meaning narrow) sleeves. Their footgear was like sandals, painted with lacquer, which sounds not unlike geta, which we do have evidence for going back into the Yayoi, at least, though this was only for the upper crust—most people just went barefoot, wearing a wide piece of cloth tied on without sewing. We do get a hint at the headgear that was instituted along with the court rank system, by the way, but only a glimpse. We are told that it was made of brocade and colored silk and decorated with gold and silver inlaid flowers, which does correspond to some of what we know from the Chronicles. As for the women of Yamato, we are told that they arrange their hair on the back of the head, and they wear outer garments and scarves with patterns. They have decorative combs of bamboo as well. They also wore tattoos, as did the men. Much of this, including the tattoos, accords with what we have evidence of in the Haniwa from the 6th century and later. For sleeping arrangements we are told that they weave grass into mattresses—possibly the origin of the later tatami that would originally just be woven mats but eventually turned into a type of permanent flooring. For covers we are told they used skins lined with colored leather—a curious blanket, and one wonders if this was for everyone or just the upper crust. We are given some discussion of their weapons and armor, including their use of lacquered leather and the fact that they made arrowheads out of bone. We also know they used metal, but bone was likely the more prevalent material, as losing a metal arrowhead was much more costly than losing a bone one. Interestingly we are told that, though there is a standing army, wars are infrequent—which may have been accurate in relation to what the Sui themselves had gone through and seen, since it seems like they were almost constantly fighting somewhere along their borders. But Yamato was far from peaceful, and it is telling that the court was accompanied by music and displays of military might. As for the justice system, we talked about this a little bit in previous episodes, based on various punishments we’ve seen in the archipelago, though the Sui history gives us a slightly more direct description. It claims... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/28317941

Cap Ranks and the 17 Article Constitution 10/01/2023

Cap Ranks and the 17 Article Constitution For more see: https://www.sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-95 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 96: From the Land Where the Sun Rises. We are still talking about the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, from the late 6th to the early 7th century. We’ve been covering discussions of the continental influences on the archipelago, especially as they adopted more and more continental practices—both religion and government. This episode we are going to continue the discussion regarding Yamato’s interactions, specifically a notably famous trip to the continent and Yamato’s apparent assumption of equality between their ruler, the Ohokimi, and the Emperor of the Sui dynasty—the Son of Heaven. We’ll also touch on the changes Japan was adopting in their own government as a result of greater adoption of continental philosophy. These are largely seen as a Sinification—a trend towards a more “Chinese” style system—but I want to emphasize that a lot of this was filtered through the lens of the states on the Korean peninsula: Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla. This is one of the reasons I hesitate to just call it “Chinese”, as Yamato was really blending aspects of several cultural influences, as well as adding their own spice to the sauce. Hence, last episode we talked about Yamato’s contact with the continent—specifically the Korean Peninsula—and the various diplomatic gifts, often put in terms of “tribute”, that came over. Besides a small menagerie of exotic animals and Buddhist statues, there were learned monks and various books conveying continental teachings. At the same time that Yamato was starting to experiment with a new, foreign religion—Buddhism—they began to experiment with other foreign concepts as well. They had members of the court studying specific disciplines, and presumably passing those on to others. I want to go more in depth into just what Yamato did and how they trans (Touch on the Rank System and the 17 Article Constitution once again) Now these 17 articles were almost all based on Confucian or Buddhist philosophy; clearly the Court was looking to the continent more and more for inspiration on how to govern, especially as it further expanded and solidified its grasp across the archipelago. Up to this point, much of that innovation had come through the Korean peninsula, by way of Silla, Goguryeo, and, most prominently, their ally Baekje. But no doubt they recognized that much of what was influencing those kingdoms had, itself, come from even farther away. And so, this reign, the Chronicles record that Yamato once again sent envoys beyond their peninsular neighbors all the way to the Middle Country itself. This is significant as they were making direct contact with the mighty empire, the source of so many of the philosophical and scientific innovations that Yamato was trying to adopt. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, of course—we know of the cases of state of Na contacting the Han court, and then Himiko of the Wa during the Wei period, as well as several missions immediately after Himiko’s death. We also know of the five kings of Wa who reached out to the Liu Song court, though the Chronicles themselves are often silent on actual embassies, making it hard to tell exactly which reigns that occurred in, though it is generally agreed that one of those “Five Kings” was none other than Wakatakiru himself, Yuuryaku Tennou. There may have been other missions. There seems to be some discussion amongst the Liang dynasty records that may indicate greater contact with Japan, but again, we don’t necessarily see that in the records themselves. Furthermore, with the fractured nature of the various dynasties since the Han period, and the various conflicts on the peninsula and in the archipelago, it would be understandable if there hadn’t been much direct diplomatic contact since about the time of Wakatakiru. And so it is a pretty big thing that we not only have an envoy around the year 608, but that there appears to be agreement for it in the Sui history—though there is one glaring mistake: in the Nihon Shoki they clearly say that they sent envoys to the “Great Tang”, and not the Sui. However, this is fairly easily explained. By the 8th century, as the records were being compiled, the Tang dynasty was, indeed, in control of the Chinese court. In fact, the Tang dynasty was so admired by the Japanese of the day that even now the term “Karafu”, or “Chinese style”, uses the character for the Tang dynasty, rather than the Han. On the one hand it seems as though the scholars of the 8th century would surely have known of the Sui dynasty coming before the Tang, but it is also understandable that anyone would have just thought of the successive courts as a single continuity. Either way, I’ll talk about the Sui dynasty, and it is in the Sui dynasty records that we find the corresponding description of this embassy. It starts on the 3rd day of the 7th month of 607. The Chronicles tell us that Wono no Omi no Imoko was sent to the Sui court, taking along Kuratsukuri no Fukuri as an interpreter. As you may recall, the Kuratsukuri, or saddle-makers, claimed a descent from Shiba Tattou, himself from the continent. It would make sense to take someone who could actually speak the language or, failing that, read and write it. This was a peculiar function of the Chinese language, since the various dialects, though often mutually unintelligible, still use the same characters. Imoko, by the way, may have also had connections, but in this case it was to the Soga. We are told in the Nihon Shoki that Imoko was known in the Sui Court as “So Imko”, and the “So” character is the same as the first character in the name “Soga”. It is possible that Imoko was, indeed, a Soga family member, and the name Wono no Omi may have come later. Or it is possible that he was forgotten for some reason. In the Sui history, we are told that in the year 607 there was an envoy sent with tribute from King Tarashihoko, which may have been another name for Kashikiya Hime, or perhaps it was simply an error caused by the problems with attempting to record foreign names in Sinitic characters. According to the history as translated by Tsunoda Ryusaku and L. Carrington Goodrich, the envoy from Yamato explained the situation as such: “The King has heard that to the west of the ocean a Boddhisattva of the Sovereign reveres and promotes Buddhism. Accompanying the embassy are several tens of monks who have come to study Buddhism.” This is great as we see some of the things that the Japanese scholars left out—that there were Buddhists on this mission. For many, getting to the monasteries and temples of the Middle Kingdom was almost as good as making the trip all the way to India. Over all, the embassy appears to have been largely successful in their mission. The ambassador, Imoko, came back with an envoy from the Sui, Pei Shiqing, along with twelve other individuals. According to the Sui dynasty history, they first headed to Baekje, reaching the island of Chiku, and then, after seeing Tara in the south, they passed Tsushima and sailed out in to the deep ocean, eventually landing on the island of Iki. From there they made it to Tsukushi, and on to Suwo. They then passed through some ten countries until they came to the shore. Now, Naniwa no Kishi no Wonari had been sent to bring them to court and they had a new official residence erected for them in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka. When they arrived, on the 15th day of the 6th month of the year 608, Yamato sent out thirty heavily decorated boats to meet them—and no doubt to make an impression as well. They met them at Yeguchi, the mouth of the river and they were ensconced in the newly built official residence. Official entertainers were appointed for the ambassadors—Nakatomi no Miyatoko no Muraji no Torimaro, Ohohoshi no Kawachi no Atahe no Nukade, and Fume no Fumibito no Oohei. Meanwhile, Imoko continued on to the court proper to report on his mission. Unfortunately, for all of the goodness that came from the whole thing, the trip had not been completely flawless. The Sui court had entrusted Imoko with a letter to pass on to the Yamato court, but the return trip through Baekje proved… problematic, to say the least. We are told that men of Baekje stopped the party, searched them, and confiscated the letter. It is unclear whether these were Baekje officials or just some bandits, but the important thing was that Imoko had lost the message, which was a grave offense. The ministers suggested that, despite all of his success, Imoko should be banished for losing the letter. After all, it was the duty of an envoy to protect the messages between the courts at all costs. In the end, it was agreed that, yes, Imoko should be punished, but that it would be a bad look in front of their guests. After all, he had just represented them to the Sui Court, and so Kashikiya Hime pardoned Imoko of any wrongdoing. A couple months later, on the 3rd day of the 8th month, the preparations had been made and the envoys formally approached the palace. There were met on the Tsubaki no Ichi road by 75 well-dress horses—the Sui history says two hundred—and there Nukada no Muraji no Hirafu welcomed them all with a speech. After finally reaching the location of the palace, it was nine more days before they were formally summoned to present themselves and state their reason for coming. Abe no Tori no Omi and Mononobe no Yosami no no Muraji no Idaku acted as “introducers” for the guests, announcing who they were to the court. Then Pei Shiqing had the various diplomatic gifts arranged in the courtyard, and then presented his credentials to the court. Then, bowing twice, he gave his own account of why he had been sent—he announced greetings from the Sui emperor, recognized the work of Imoko, and then provided an excuse that the emperor himself could not make it due to his poor health. That last bit I suspect was a polite fiction, or perhaps an erroneous addition by the Chroniclers. After all, it isn’t like the Sui emperors were in the habit of just flouncing off to an unknown foreign land—especially one across the sea. After delivering some polite niceties, Shiqing also provided a detailed list of all of the diplomatic gifts that they had brought. The dance that happened next is telling. In order to convey Pei Shiqing’s letter to the sovereign, it wasn’t like they could just hand it. There were levels of protocol and procedure that had to be observed, and so Abe no Omi took the letter up and handed it to Ohotomo no Kurafu no Muraji, who in turn placed it on a table in front of the Great gate where Kashikiya Hime could then get it. This setup is similar to the later court, where only certain individuals of rank were actually allowed up into the buildings of the palace, whereas others were restricted to the ground. After that formal introduction, there was a month or more of parties for the envoys, until finally they had to return to the Sui court. When they departed, they were sent with eight students and Imoko, who was bringing another letter to the Sui Court. The students were all scheduled to study various disciplines and bring the knowledge back to the Yamato court. But that wasn’t quite so special, or at least we aren’t given much more on the specifics of what the students brought back.. What really stands out in the Sui histories is the contents of the formal letter that Imoko was carrying, as it had a phrase that will be familiar to many students of this period of history, and which really connects across the Japanese and Sui histories, despite other inconsistencies. It read: “The Son of Heaven in the land where the sun rises addresses a letter to the Son of Heaven in the land where the sun sets. We hope you are in good health.” Or at least, that is how the Sui histories record it. In the Nihon Shoki they say something similar, “The Emperor of the East respectfully addresses the Emperor of the West.” Here, rather than using “Child of Heaven”, the author made use of the term “Tennou” when referring to the Yamato sovereign, and then different characters were used for the Sui emperor. At the same time, that is one of the reasons that I give more credence to the Sui history.. Of course, however you slice and dice this thing, there are some major airs being taken by the sovereign. Thus it is no wonder that, when the Sui emperor heard this, he was displeased, to say the least, and he told his minister that the letter was discourteous and should never again be brought to his attention. So that’s a whole mood. The reason for this may be obvious, as the letter paints the sovereign of Japan as equal to the emperor of the Sui dynasty. That was indeed a bold claim. There is also the fact that they claim to be the land where the sun rises while the Sui are the land where the sun sets, which may have just been referencing east and west in a poetic fashion, but on another level it is almost as if they were talking about the rise of Yamato and the fall, or setting, of the Sui. I would note that we still don’t see the term “Land of the Rising Sun”, or “Nihon”, used for the name of the country yet—one of the reasons I continue to refer to Yamato and not just “Japan”. However, all of this is in keeping with the traditions of the Wa people as we know them—the sun was given a special place in their worldview, as demonstrated linguistically, and not just through the legends curated in the 8th century. The Nihon Shoki mentions this letter, but not for this first Certainly, as Japan continued to take on more and more trappings of the continental courts, they would eventually even take on the term Tennou—also read in Japanese as Sumera no Mikoto—to refer to the sovereign. This is basically saying that the sovereign is, indeed, a Heavenly Son, and which they would come to translate as “emperor”, in English. There would be other terminology and trappings that would reinforce this concept, which placed the sovereign of Japan in a position that at least locally seemed to be much more prestigious. Imoko came back from this last diplomatic mission and was well beloved—some later sources even suggest that he may have been promoted for his diplomatic efforts. Oddly, however, we don’t really hear more, if anything, about Imoko, and he fades back into the past. And so that covers much of the story of what Yamato was borrowing form the Sui and others during this period. Next episode—well, I’m honestly not sure what we’ll be covering next, as there is just so much. But stick around. Until next time, then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at [email protected]. And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/28188773

Magpies, Buddhism, and the Baekje Summer Reading Program 09/16/2023

Magpies, Buddhism, and the Baekje Summer Reading Program This episode we will look at the influences on Japan from the continent, starting with what was going on between the archipelago and the peninsula with tribute--in the form of birds and even books--as well as conflict. We'll start to look at what sorts of knowledge was being passed over to Japan in the form of various books, and hopefully set the stage for changes that we will eventually see in the form of the Yamato government, itself. For more, check out our blog post at Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 94: Magpies, Buddhism, and the Baekje Summer Reading Program This is one of a multi-part series discussing the late 6th and early 7th centuries during the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou. Last episode, Episode 93, I did a very quick overview of just what is going on and some of the players involved. This episode I want to start deep diving into some of the topics, and we’re going to start with looking at the relationship between Yamato and the Continent, primarily, but not exclusively, through their relationships, the gifts and tribute that was going back and forth, and immigration—primarily from Baekje and Silla—and the importation of new ideas, not just Buddhism. This in turn would would eventually lead to a formal change in the way that the Yamato state governed itself and how it came to see itself even as an equal to that of the Sui court, which had unified the various kingdoms of the Yangtze and Yellow River Basins in the area of modern China. To begin, we’ll go back a bit, because this dynamic isn’t simply about Kashikiya Hime, Soga no Umako, or any one, single figure—though that is often how it is portrayed. To start with, let’s cover some background and what we know about the archipelago and the continent. As we went over many, many episodes back, the early Yayoi period, prior to the Kofun period, saw a growth in material cultural items that were from or quite similar to those on the Korean peninsula. There had been some similarities previously, during the Jomon period, but over the course of what now looks to be 1200 to 1300 years, the is evidence of people going regularly back and forth across the straits. It is quite likely that there were Wa cultural entities on both sides in the early centuries BCE, and there are numerous groups mentioned on the Korean peninsula, presumably from different ethno-linguistic backgrounds, though typically only three areas get much focus: The Samhan, or three Han, of Mahan, Byeonhan, and Jinhan. Later this would shift to three Kingdoms: Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo, and they would get almost all of the press. Still, we know that there were groups like the Gaya, or Kara, confederacy, and likely other small, eventually isolated groups that did not have their stories written down anywhere, other than mentions in the Chronicles of Japan or of one of the other three major Kingdoms of the peninsula. These groups continued to trade with the continent, and as the archipelago entered the period of mounded tombs, they were doing so as part of a larger mounded tomb cultural area that included both the archipelago and the Korean peninsula: First the funkyubo, which is to say burial mounds, with multiple burials, and then the kofun, the singular tomb mounds for an individual and possibly their direct relatives. This tradition reached its apex with the distinct zenpo-koen, or round-keyhole style, kofun, an innovation that was rooted in continental practice but at the same time distinctly a part of the archipelago. Many artifacts came over throughout this period, and a fair number of them came with a new innovation: writing. There is debate over the earliest forms of “writing” to be found in the islands, with evidence of characters on pottery being questioned as to its authenticity. However, it is hard to question the writing that appeared on the early bronze mirrors and other such artifacts that showed up. Early writing on the archipelago is more decorative or even performative—crude attempts to copy existing characters that often demonstrate a lack of understanding, at least by the artisans that were making various elite goods. Though, based on the fact that even obvious forgeries with nonsense characters made their way into tombs as grave goods, we can probably assume that most of the elites were not too concerned with writing, either, other than for its decorative, and possibly even talismanic qualities. In the fourth and fifth centuries, this began to change. We have specialists and teachers coming over to the archipelago, often there as tutors for the royal Baekje princes who were apparently staying in Yamato as part of a diplomatic mission. No doubt some Yamato elites began to learn to read and write, but even at this point it seems to have been more of a novelty, and for several centuries reading and writing would seem to have remained largely the purview of educated immigrant communities who came to Yamato and set up shop. Though, along with things like the horse, writing may have nonetheless assisted Yamato in extending its authority, as speech could now, with a good scribe, be committed to paper or some other medium and then conveyed great distances without worry about something begin forgotten. So, at this point, writing appears to mostly be utilitarian in purpose. It fills a need. That said, we have discussion of the Classics, and as reading and writing grew, exposure to writings on philosophy, religion, and other topics expanded. After all, reading meant that you were no longer reliant on simply whom you could bring over from the continent. Instead, you could import their thoughts—or even the thoughts of humans long dead—and read them for yourself. In the early 6th century, we see Baekje sending over libraries worth of books. These are largely focused on Buddhist scriptures, but they also include other works of philosophy as well. It is unclear to me how much the evangelical nature of Buddhism contributed to this spread. Buddhism exhorts believers to share the Buddha’s teachings with all sentient beings. Even during the Buddha’s lifetime, his disciples would go out and teach and then gather back with their teacher during the rainy season. Buddhist teachings, coming over in books—the sutras—came alongside of other writings. There were writings about philosophy, about medicine, and about science, including things that we might today consider magical or supernatural. Those who knew how to read and write had access to new knowledge, to new ideas, and to new ways of thinking. We can see how all of this mixed in the ways that things are described in the Chronicles. For example, we see that many of the rulers up to this point have been described in continental terms as wise and sage kings. Now, as Buddhism starts to gain a foothold, we see Buddhist terminology entering in to the mix. In some ways it is a mishmash of all of the different texts that were coming over, and it seems that things were coming more and more to a head. In addition, there were things going on over on the continent as well, and this would come to also affect the archipelago. For one thing, this was a period of unification and consolidation of the various state polities. Baekje and Silla had been consolidating the smaller city-states under their administration for some time, and in 589 the Sui dynasty finally achieved what so many had tried since the time of the Jin—they consolidated control over both the Yangtze and Yellow River basins. They set up their capital, and in so doing they had control of the largest empire up to that point in the history of East Asia. The Sui dynasty covered not only these river basins, but they also had significant control over the Western Regions, out along the famous Silk Road. The Sui could really make some claim to being Zhongguo, the Middle Kingdom, with so many of the trade routes passing through their territory. They also controlled the lands that were the source of so much of the literary tradition—whether that was the homelands of sages like Confucius, or else the gateway to India and the home of Buddhism. It is perfectly understandable that those states in the Sui’s orbit would enter a period of even further Sinification. For the archipelago this was likely through a lens tinted by their intermediaries on the Korean peninsula, but even they were clearly looking to the Sui and adopting some of the tools of statecraft that had developed over in the lands of the Middle Kingdom. During the early years of the Sui, Yamato had been involved in their own struggles, and at the end of the previous reign Yamato had an army in Tsukushi poised to head over and chastise Silla for all that they had done to Nimna, but then Hasebe was assassinated, and it is unclear what actually happened to that expedition. Yamato started gathering an army in 591, and Kishi no Kana and Kishi no Itahiko were sent to Silla and Nimna, respectively, as envoys, and then we are told that in 595 the generals and their men arrived from Tsukushi. Does that mean that they went over to the peninsula, fought, and then came back from Tsukushi? It is all a little murky, and not entirely clear to me. Rather, we are told that in 597 the King of Baekje sent Prince Acha to Yamato with so-called “tribute”—the diplomatic gifts that we’ve discussed before, re-affirming Baekje and Yamato’s alliance. Later that same year, Iwagane no Kishi was sent to Silla, so presumably Yamato and Silla relations had improved. Iwagane no Kishi returned back some five months later, in 598, and he offered a gift from the Silla court of two magpies to Kashikiya Hime. We are told that they were kept in the wood of Naniwa, where they built a nest in a tree and had their young. Aston notes here that magpies are plentiful on the continent but not in Japan. Indeed, their natural range is noted across eastern China and up through the Amur river region, as well as a subspecies up in Kamchatka, and yet it seems like they didn’t exactly stray far from the coast. In modern Japan, the magpie, is considered to be an invasive species, and the current populations likely were brought over through trade in the late 16th century, suggesting that this initial couple of birds and their offspring did not exactly work out. Even today magpies are mostly established in Kyushu, with occasional sightings further north—though they have been seen as far north as Hokkaido. Perhaps Naniwa just was not quite as hospitable for them. There is also the possibility that the term “magpie” was referencing some other, similar bird. That is always possible and hard to say for certain. That said, it is part of a trend, as four months later, in the autumn of 598, a Silla envoy brought another bird: this time a peacock. Not to be outdone, apparently, a year later, in the autumn of 599, Baekje sent a veritable menagerie: a camel, two sheep, and a white pheasant. Presumably these were sent alive, though whether or not there was anyone in Japan who knew how to take care of them it is unclear. I can only imagine what it must have been like to have such animals on board the ship during the treacherous crossing of the Korea strait—for all we know there were other exotic gifts that were likewise sent, but these are the only ones that made it. And if this sounds far-fetched, we have plenty of evidence of the exotic animal trade. Animals such as ostriches, and possibly even a giraffe or two, were somehow moved all the way from Africa along the silk road to the court in Chang’an. There were also “tribute” gifts sent from parts of the archipelago, though I suspect this was quite different from the diplomatic gifts shared between states. For example, there was a white deer sent to Kashikiya Hime from the land of Koshi in the winter of 598. It was no camel or magpie, but white or albino animals—assuming that wasn’t their normal color—were considered auspicious symbols. Also, in 595 there was a huge log that washed ashore in Awaji. A local family hauled it up and went to use it as firewood when they noticed that it gave off a particularly sweet smell. Immediately they put out the fire, as they suddenly realized what they had: it was a log of aloeswood. Aloeswood is well known as one of the most highly prized aromatic woods, and it famously does not grow in Japan. In fact, it is a tropical wood, growing in Southeast Asia. For a log to have washed ashore is almost unbelievable—perhaps it was part of a trade shipment that sank. It isn’t impossible that a log somehow fell, naturally, into the ocean and followed the currents all the way up to Japan, which would have been quite the journey. And so, with such a rare gift, the people offered it up to Kashikiya Hime. This was probably the best course of action. They could use it for themselves, but that likely wouldn’t have done much other than help perfume the air for a time. Or they could have tried to sell it—but given the rarity, I’m sure there would have been questions. In both cases, I suspect that they would have been at risk of some elite getting wind and deciding that they should just take it for themselves. By offering it to the court, publicly, they received the credit for it, at least—and it probably put them in favor with the court at least for a little while. Logs like this would be treated with immense respect. Small pieces would be taken, often ground down and used sparingly. A piece much like this called “Ranjatai” came over as a gift from the Tang dynasty in the 8th century, and was later preserved at Todaiji in the 8th century, and is still there as part of the Shosoin collection. The story of this particular one is interesting in that knowledge of aloeswood and the tradition of scent appreciation likely came over from the continent, probably from the Sui and Tang dynasties, as part of the overall cultural package that the archipelago was in the midst of absorbing. Despite the apparently good relations indicated by gifts like magpies or peacocks, it is clear there were still some contentions with Silla, especially given that nobody had forgotten their takeover of Nimna, and it didn’t help that in 600, we are told that Silla and Nimna went to war with each other--again. It isn’t clear just how involved Yamato was in this, if at all—by all accounts, Nimna has already been under Silla control. Was this a local rebellion? An attempt by Yamato and Baekje to split it off? Or something else? Or is it just a fabrication to justify the next bit, where we are told that Kashikiya Hime sent an army of 10,000 soldiers under the command of Sakahibe no Omi as Taishogun and Hozumi no Omi as his assistant, the Fukushogun? They crossed the waters over to Silla and laid siege to five of Silla’s fortresses, forcing Silla to raise the white flag. The Nihon Shoki claims that Silla then ceded six fortified places: Tatara, Sonara, Pulchikwi, Witha, South Kara, and Ara. Since Silla submitted, the Yamato troops stopped their assault and Kashikiya Hime sent Naniwa no Kishi no Miwa to Silla and Naniwa no Kishi no Itahiko to Nimna to help broker some sort of peace. Interestingly, this seems quite similar to the account of 591, when they sent “Kishi no Itahiko”, with no mention of Naniwa. Presumably it is the same individual, and I have to wonder if it isn’t the same event, just relocated and duplicated for some reason. A peace was brokered, and the Yamato troops departed, but it seems that Silla was dealing in something other than good faith: no sooner had the Yamato troops gotten back in their boats than Silla once again invaded Nimna, again. I’d like to stress that there is no evidence of this at all that I could find in the Samguk Sagi, and it is possible that some of this is in the wrong section, possibly to simply prop up this period, in general. However, it is equally as likely that the Samguk Sagi simply did not record a loss to Yamato—especially one that they quickly overturned, setting things back to the status quo. As such, the best we can say is that Silla and Yamato around this time were less than buddy buddy. With Silla going back on their word, Yamato reached out to Goguryeo and Baekje in 601. Ohotomo no Muraji no Kurafu went to Goguryeo, while Sakamoto no Omi no Nukade traveled to Baekje. Silla was not just waiting around, however, and we are told that Silla sent a spy to Yamato, but they were arrested and found out in Tsushima. They arrested him and sent him as tribute to the Yamato court. We are told that the spy’s name was “Kamata”, and he was banished to Kamitsukenu—aka the land of Kenu nearer to the capital, later known as Kouzuke. And there are a few things about this story that I think we should pull on. First off, that name: Kamata. That feels very much like a Wa name, more than one from the peninsula. We aren’t told their ethnicity, only whom they were working for, so it may have been someone from Wa, or possibly that is just the name by which they were known to the archipelago. There likely were Wa who were living on the peninsula, just like there were people from Baekje, Silla, and Koguryeo living in the archipelago, so that’s not out of the question. Furthermore, it would make sense, if you wanted to send someone to spy on Yamato, to use someone who looked and sounded the part. The punishment is also interesting. They didn’t put him to death. And neither did they imprison him. In fact, I’m not sure that there would have been anywhere to imprison him, as there wasn’t really a concept of a “prison” where you just lock people up. There may have been some form of incarceration to hold people until they could be found guilty and punished, but incarceration as a punishment just doesn’t really come up. Instead, if you wanted to remove someone, banishment seems to have been the case—sending them off somewhere far away, presumably under the care of some local official who would make sure that they didn’t run off. Islands, like Sado Island, were extremely useful for such purposes, but there are plenty of examples where other locations were used as well. They probably could have levied a fine, as well, but that seems almost pointless, as he would have been free to continue to spy on Yamato. Instead they sent him about as far away from Silla and Silla support as they could send him. This also speaks to the range of Yamato’s authority. It would seem that Tsushima was at least nominally reporting to Yamato, though given that he was sent as “tribute” to the court, that may indicate that they still had some level of autonomy. And then there must have been someone in Kamitsukenu in order to banish someone all the way out there, as well. Of course, given all of this, it is hardly surprising that Yamato was back to discussing the possibility of making war with Silla again. And so, in the second month of 602, Prince Kume was appointed for the invasion of Silla, and he was granted the various “Be” of the service of the kami—possibly meaning groups like the Imbe and the Nakatomi, along with the Kuni no Miyatsuko, the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and an army of 25,000 men. And they were ready to go quickly—only two months... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/28031988

Time to Shake Things Up 09/01/2023

Time to Shake Things Up This episode we start our dive into the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno. This is going to be a brief overview of her reign so that we can dive more deeply into the individual subjects that come up. For more, check out our podcast blogpost at Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 93: Time to Shake Things Up. Before we get started, a couple of shout-outs. First to Anticia, for donating on Ko-Fi.com. Thanks for your kind words and supporting our operations, including our website and this podcast. And then to Lowbrow78 and to Parp for supporting us on Patreon. If you want to join them, we have information on our website as well as at the end of every episode. Here we are, at the cusp of the 7th century. With the death of Hasebe no Ohokimi, aka Sushun Tennou, we are about to jump into one of the most significant reigns to date: that of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou. I put this right up there with the reign of Waketakiru, aka Yuryaku Tennou, and like that period, we’ll need several episodes to get through everything going on here. In fact, I’ve been thinking about just how to do this, and I think before we get into it we need to cover the broad strokes and talk about a few things, and then I want to delve into some specifics over the coming episodes. This means we’ll cover a lot this episode at a high level. To start with, we’ll talk about the power players of this period, and just who was really running the show—we have three people to pick from based on various interpretations of this era. And that will have us talking about Shotoku Taishi, and of course Shotoku Taishi’s impact vis-à-vis Buddhism, as well as the growth of Buddhism in general. There is also the general Sinification of the court, which means that we also get to talk about clothing styles and the appearance of a new “17 Article Constitution” as well as the new 12 rank system for court officers. And then there is everything happening on the mainland. In 589 the Sui dynasty came to power, followed in 618 by the Tang. And of course we still have Baekje and Silla going at it, and Yamato just cannot leave well enough alone when it comes to Nimna. All of that will get covered in even more detail, later. But don’t worry, it isn’t all going to be generalities and vague preparations. We also have a little tidbit for you at the end about earthquakes and the deities that cause them, because *that* is something we can easily cover here. And one more thing: This is the last reign that we have any documentation for in the Kojiki and the Sendai Kuji Hongi, even though the Kojiki is largely just genealogical information. That means we are getting close to the end of the “Chronicles”. We still have a lot of material to get through, though, including assassinations, coups, military expeditions, and even a full blown civil war. All that to come later, after we get through this period. So let’s set the stage, shall we? This reign is coming at a very tumultuous time. We’ve been through several sovereigns or would-be sovereigns in a very short span, starting with Tachibana no Toyohi and then Hasebe, aka Yomei Tennou and Sushun Tennou, not to mention the failed attempt to take the throne early by Hasetsukabe Anahobe and Mononobe no Moriya. Even Hasebe was killed by his own Oho-omi, Soga no Umako—or at least at Umako’s order, if not directly by his own hand. It’s become clear you didn’t want to be crossing Umako, and he was the most powerful minister at court at this point. There wasn’t a cabal of Oho-omi and Oho-muraji, there was simply Umako at the top. However, his rule was not absolute. He still needed the buy-in of the other ministers, the heads of their own families, as well as the nominal approval of the sovereign and the royal family. I’m honestly surprised nobody tried to put a dagger in his back, but then again anyone who might try had so far ended up with their successors caught up in probate, and it didn’t matter how powerful a position they supposedly occupied. Still, Umako couldn’t take the throne himself. Not even he could get away with that looking like anything more than a power grab. He had already positioned Soga-descended members of the royal family so that they were in the line of succession, something that really looks like it went against tradition—though how old that tradition was is more than a little sus, as we’ve mentioned before. And so, with the death of Hasebe, someone was needed on the throne, but who was available? The political violence had even extended to some of the heirs, like Prince Hikobito, and it is unclear how many princes were even left at this point. The Chronicles tell us that the ministers therefore turned to Kashikiya Hime, and begged her to take the throne. As a reminder, Kashikiya Hime was the form queen—wife to Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou. Beyond that, she was a granddaughter of Soga no Iname, making Soga no Umako her maternal uncle. Her father was Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niha, aka Kimmei Tennou. During the period following Ame Kunioshi’s death, she had attempted to put her finger on the scales of the power struggles that occurred, and she seemed to be a person that people listened to and took seriously in her role, though male heirs were at least initially considered before her. And so, when she was first asked to take the throne after Hasebe, she refused, but eventually the court ministers able to convince her. Upon coming to power she almost immediately made Prince Umayado the Heir Apparent, or Taishi—the Crown Prince. Then we are told that, along with Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, she and Soga no Umako, the Oho-omi, ruled the government. And I hope I don’t need to point out how exceedingly strange this wording is. Technically it isn’t unprecedented—in previous reigns we’ve certainly seen the Crown Prince taking an active role in the government, and the Oho-omi and the Oho-muraji, together, were frequently in positions to advise, counsel, and downright run the government, often skipping over the sovereign altogether. So nothing here is so far outside the scope, but it is still odd that it was so blatantly stated, and there is good reason to believe that we don’t have the whole story. Theories on Kashikiya Hime and her reign vary widely. Michael Como claims that she was likely a consensus candidate—she was put forward because she was not overly objectionable to any of the other parties involved. I suspect she had links to both sides of the dispute, so this make some sense, but I also wonder if it doesn’t remove her own agency. Speaking of which, there is the possibility that she had very little agency in any of this. There is the possibility that she was no more than a puppet—a relatively docile sovereign that Soga no Umako, or even Prince Umayado, could control, allowing them to work in the background. Indeed, one of the things we’ll see during this period is the increasing ritualization of the role of the sovereign, to the point that the Oho-omi was a powerful intermediary, receiving missives to the throne and relaying them onward, with ample opportunity to affect just how they were heard. Often the Chroniclers found ways to deny the true agency of women on the throne, noting them less as sovereigns, and more as regents—often merely keeping the seat warm until an appropriate male heir presented himself and came of age. That may have been the case at times, but I have a hard time seeing that in Kashikiya Hime. Maybe when she first married Nunakura that may have been her outlook, but since then she’d seen some things. She knew how the game worked, and we’ve seen her actively mentioned supporting one candidate or another, and not always agreeing with Soga no Umako’s decisions. It is possible that this was added later to support her independence in the Chronicles, but I think that the easier answer is that Kashikiya Hime was her own person, and as ruler she was the authority that held sway. Still, there are so many questions, and a lot of those revolve around her choice of successor, Prince Umayado, the Prince of the Horse Stable Door, aka Shotoku Taishi. Shotoku Taishi is one of those legendary figures, somewhere between Yamato Takeru and Abe no Seimei. So many stories have grown up around this sage prince that it is truly hard to pry fact from fiction, and many wonder if he ever existed at all. Others suggest that he’s an amalgamation of several different historical and legendary figures. Even by the time the Chronicles were being written his legends had reached cult like status, with numerous Buddhist temples claiming some connection to this founding sage of Japanese Buddhism, however tenuous. It doesn’t stop there, however. Shotoku Taishi is said to have written one of the earliest national histories, and there are claims that this early history is none other than the Kūjiki, the text that we have in the Sendai Kūji Hongi. Some have speculated that this why that work and the Kojiki both stop here, with the reign of Kashikiya Hime. Of course, in the case of the Kojiki, the real narrative stopped some time ago, with the later reigns containing little more than genealogical lists. The Sendai Kūji Hongi is a little more interesting. It Is clear that the authors of the Nihon Shoki and the Sendai Kūji Hongi were working from some of the same texts, with possibly one referencing the other, but at the same time there are small differences that suggest different authors with different purposes. The Nihon Shoki certainly has more details on the official histories, while the Sendai Kūji Hongi contains sections on the genealogical information of the Mononobe and Owari families as well as information on various provincial governors. Personally, I find it highly questionable that the Sendai Kūji Hongi might be written by Shotoku Taishi, but I concede that it, along with the Nihon Shoki, might have both borrowed from an earlier work. Nonetheless, it does stop, and only the Nihon Shoki covers the next couple centuries, though in even greater detail. We start to see more granular details about many items, though there are still questions. Given all of the swirl around Shotoku Taishi, however, I’ve had to think about just what tack to take with him, and for now we’ll take a look at what the official narrative has to say, and then perhaps add a bit more context. I’ll frequently be referring to him here as Prince Umayado, and we’ll focus on him primarily as a prince and a political figure. Given that, there is the question of whether or not Prince Umayado was actually running things. I’m not aware of any tradition that claims he was more than the Crown Prince, and as such a powerful advisor to the throne. Umako seems more likely as a power behind the throne, but there are certainly clues that Umayado was up there—and of course, in later years, Shotoku Taishi’s own shine meant that people were more likely than not to attribute just about anything good from this period to him and his auspices, even if it was just because he suggested it. But that brings us to the question: Just what happened during this reign that was worth anyone taking credit for? What happened that we are spending our time talking about it? To start with, the reign was just long. Kashikiya Hime was taking the throne around 593 and she would reign up until her death in 628. That was over thirty years, which is a good run for any sovereign, for reasons we’ve covered before, such as the fact that they are usually coming to the throne when they are older, etc. Remember, she was probably born in the 530s, possibly 538, and so she took the throne in her late 50s or early 60s and held it until she was about 90 years old. During this period, there was a lot of change going on outside the archipelago as well as inside. In 589, the Sui dynasty had come to power, uniting the Yellow River and Yangtze River basins. Their reign officially ended about 618, though that wasn’t necessarily a given at the time, and they were certainly a powerhouse as they united the northern and southern dynasties. The Sui status fell in 618 only because it was replaced by a new dynasty: The Tang dynasty. This was a dynasty founded by Li Yuan, a cousin of the Sui emperors, with a multi-ethnic background including Han and non-Han parentage, who came from a traditionally Xianbei—or by that time Tuoba—region. Tang dynasty culture would come to influence all of the cultures on the peninsula and the archipelago, truly becoming the “Middle Country” that various states looked to as a cultural touchstone. Tang culture spread throughout East Asia. The states on the Korean Peninsula had been absorbing the culture of the riverine courts for some time—honestly ever since the time of the Han commanderies. As Buddhism percolated through the elite societies of Baekje, Silla, and now Yamato, it was more than just religious transmission. Sutras had been translated into Sinic characters, and Buddhist learning often went hand-in-hand with texts on a variety of other issues, as there was no formal line drawn between science, philosophy, and religion. And so, as Yamato embraced Buddhism, there were other avenues of studies that also came over the straits, often attributed to the descendants of the Han dynasty, but largely filtered through a Baekje or even Silla lens. We see this manifest in myriad ways, from the various physical objects left behind in tombs, etc., as well as the clothing, of which we have several indications that the islands were adopting continental practice. However, we also have passages about the adoption of certain knowledge or technology, as well: everything from philosophy and calendar making to geomancy and even magic and the art of invisibility. And then we see another important development this reign: The first constitution in Japan. Known as the 17-Article Constitution, it is attributed to none other than Shotoku Taishi himself, making him, in a way, the father of the country. Granted, the constitution was light on actual details, and more like a collection of moral maxims. This included things like anti-corruption tenets, suggesting that maybe you shouldn’t do things in government just because someone paid or flattered you. Still, these were not necessarily formative statements. After all, the Yamato state had customs and traditions, and so these were seen as more guiding principles than the kind of generative formulae that you might find in something like the US Constitution, where they were attempting to deliberately define the legal framework for a brand new nation. Nonetheless, it is seen as the start of a new era for Yamato. This law may have been loosely worded, but it was, eventually, written down. It also was quickly followed by a new ranking system. The kabane system of ranking didn’t go away—not even the traditional individual honorifics, like Sukune, although that would have a bit of gap in the record. The Kabane system remained in use to rank the various families, but then a twelve cap system was instituted to rank individual courtiers. This was a first. While certain courtiers certainly had privileges—for example, the heads of certain families—the ranking system, which came to be used, in one form or another, throughout east Asia, was a distinctly continental tradition. On the face of it, this was about setting up a meritocracy. Those who were most deserving would stand at the top, overseeing those below them. Of course in Yamato, “most deserving” usually meant those who came from the right families, so we’ll see how that evolves over time. We also see some changes in the way that Yamato was coming to view itself as the center versus the periphery. Lands that were once sovereign units unto themselves, had gone from simply acknowledging the nominal hegemony of Yamato to finding their subservient position being written into the law. We see an idea that individual governors—the lords of those regions now part of the larger Yamato state—should not levy their own taxes, but that there should be a single tax on the people. This is a critical concept, and it would be interesting to see just how well it was obeyed; certainly in later periods it was often the prerogative of local governors to adjust the taxes to take into account their, ahem, overhead. Nominally this was to cover the costs of local administration, but in many periods it was assessed by those in charge, locally, to help cover their personal costs, and was often set based on what the local administrators thought that they could get away with, as all of the excess went to line their own pockets. This would make provincial governorships rather lucrative, though being that far from the capital and the seat of power would have its drawbacks. This is a not uncommon model for tax collecting in different societies, where tax collectors paid themselves out of the taxes they collected. At this point in time, however, the central government was clearly trying to get a handle on this practice, and it makes sense as they were trying to assert more direct sovereignty over the land and the people. So it would not do to have the people paying taxes to two lords, since there could be only one ultimate sovereign, and they were seated on the throne in Yamato. This goes along with a continual thread of centralization of state control, another concept that they were likely pulling from the way that continental states were organized. And all of this came along with a healthy dose of Buddhism. This reign we see the completion of Asukadera, one of the key temples to be set up in this time. We also get indications of the start of Shitennouji, in modern Ohosaka, the ancient temple of Houryuji, which even today still boasts the oldest wooden building in the world, and the temple of Koryuji, in the Uzumasa district of modern Kyoto. In addition to this we are told that the elites went on something of a temple-building craze. This temple building craze—and particularly the building of state sponsored temples—would be a new sign of elite status, but it would also pull resources away from previous traditional efforts. Most notably, the labor going to build, staff, and maintain Buddhist temples would pull people away from the building and maintaining of monumental tombs. This doesn’t mean that they would go away, but the tombs certainly changed, and we would see them become smaller, less prominent, and, ultimately, they would be just about phased out altogether, except for a few particularly prominent examples. In addition to the growing influence of the Buddhist religion, relations with the mainland were also notable. There are several mentions of different types of “tribute” from Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and even various parts of the archipelago. Of course, once more we kick off the regular attempts to “free” Nimna from Silla rule. However, it should be noted that there isn’t a lot of corroborating evidence for any of Yamato’s peninsular activities. Perhaps this is due to the fact that they were successful, and that hardly appealed to those compiling works like the Samguk... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/27900519

Death or Taxes, aka Don't Piss Off Umako 08/16/2023

Death or Taxes, aka Don't Piss Off Umako Fresh off the killing of Anahobe and the destruction of the Mononobe, Soga no Umako is riding high as a new sovereign, Prince Hasebe, takes the throne. Surely things will have finally settled down, won't they have done? For more, check out our podcast page at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-92 Rough Transcription: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 92: Death or Taxes, aka Don’t Piss Off Umako. Before we get going, a quick recap: we are still in the late 6th century, and since the death of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, things have been a bit crazy. The number of apparently legitimate heirs was rather impressive. There were the various siblings of Nunakura, both full and half-siblings, and there were his children and his siblings’ children. On top of that, there were some truly tense politics amongst some of the most powerful families in the realm, particularly the ancient Mononobe and the more recent Soga family, who had tied themselves so closely with the royal family through marriage that at this point just about every possible heir to the throne was in some way a Soga descendant. The stories of this era have been filled with stories of death, war, and struggles for the throne. Finally, there is the tension between Buddhism, which was first introduced in the early 6th century, and the established worship of the various kami, which also speaks to the tensions between various sources of spiritual political authority. As we discussed int the last two episodes, when Nunakura passed away, Prince Anahobe tried to take the throne, and he was initially thwarted by Miwa no Kimi no Sakahe, aka Sakahe no Kimi. Anahobe, possibly with the assistance of his brother, Prince Hasebe, as well as Mononobe no Ohomuraji no Moriya, killed Sakahe no Kimi, pissing off Nunakura’s former Queen, Kashikiya Hime. Next, Nakatomi no Muraji no Katsumi, in support of Mononobe no Moriya, attempted to curse several of the candidates with stronger claims on the throne, and when that didn’t work, he just out and out killed Crown Prince Hikobito, getting offed himself in the process. Throughout all of this, another prince, Tachibana no Toyohi, apparently ascended, briefly, but seems to have died of natural causes. In the process, however, he provided legitimacy for his own children as Royal Princes and Princesses to also contest for the throne. Moriya’s support of Anahobe led to the death of Prince Anahobe, Prince Yakabe, and Moriya and his family—and many of his supporters, as well. And yet, despite the loss of the Mononobe and Prince Anahobe, the next heir to the throne, with the approval of Queen Kashikiya Hime, was none other than Prince Hatsusebe, aka Hasebe, a full brother to the rebel Prince Anahobe and the focus of this episode. If this all seems a bit confusing regarding the individuals and different factions, then congratulations, you’ve been paying attention. The narrative certainly seems to be missing some key information, likely lost in the attempt to either whitewash some of the more contentious historical records, or simply due to the Chroniclers’ attempts to create a more straightforward narrative out of a complex era which probably saw various courts competing to be recognized as the court that was actually making the decisions—something that doesn’t exactly fit in with the attempt to tell the story of a relatively unbroken royal line. And yet, despite the chaos, we do see a solidification of power and control in general, as evidenced by the shift in late 6th century tomb structures. As I may have mentioned in previous episodes, the Yamato area continued to build monumental round keyhole shaped tombs, but that shape of tomb simultaneously declined in nearby regions, which saw more round or square shaped—or even square keyhole shaped—tombs instead. On the other hand, at the periphery, at the farthest reaches of the archipelago, we continue to see round keyhole shaped tombs in the Yamato style. This is all likely due to a consolidation of Yamato’s power and authority. Previously we had seen that start with the proliferation of the Yamato style tomb, but even from early times those round keyhole tombs were interspersed with other, typically smaller tombs. The general assumption, based on the size, grave goods, and other archaeological features, is that the round keyhole tomb, at least in a Yamato context, was reserved for the Yamato royal family and only those of the most elite status. In the Yamato and Kawachi regions, this seems to have held true, but further afield, local magnates adopted the round keyhole tombs for themselves, perhaps even appropriating some of the prestige of that tomb shape for themselves. Similarly, it is very likely that Yamato did not have the power to stop local rulers from building whatever the heck they wanted, despite the impression given by the Chroniclers that all was hunky-dory as soon as Mimaki Iribiko and Ikume Iribiko sent out people to subdue the four corners of the archipelago. Whether because of an increased military might, or because of a cultural change in accepting Yamato’s leadership, more and more lands seem to have been more directly under Yamato’s sway, following their customs and accepting their position in the Yamato hierarchy. To put it another way: in many parts of the archipelago, particularly those closer to Yamato, we do not see continued claims of “kingship” by the local elite. They have accepted a lower status in the evolving hierarchy, presumably gaining some security and access to resources of the entire Yamato polity in the process, though that isn’t entirely clear to me based purely on the archaeological evidence. But according to our tomb theory, those on the periphery, where Yamato’s control remained the weakest, continued to build their own round keyhole tombs, indicating they still considered themselves somewhat independent, even as they remained influenced by Yamato’s overall cultural affectations. Into this world, Prince Hasebe ascended the throne. Prince Hasebe was another half-brother to Nunakura Futodamashiki. Like his full brother, Prince Anahobe Hasetsukabe, he was a Soga descendant through the maternal line. We are told that his ascension was endorsed by Kashikiya Hime, his half-sister, and another Soga-descended royal. He assumed the throne almost immediately following the turmoil that resulted in Anahobe’s death and the destruction of Mononobe no Moriya. This was in 587, and for the next five years, the reign appeared to be similar to any other, but I suspect that things hadn’t quite settled, yet. How could they? It seems clear that it was way too easy for political violence to break out, and despite the Chronicles’ insistence that everything was fine, many of the systemic issues that led to the violence in the first place were still there. To start with, you still had all of those potential heirs to the throne, and no clear succession tradition or precedence. On top of that, each household, while created to serve the Court, had grown into its own political entity, vying for their own level of power and control. No doubt some of this was exacerbated as Yamato’s influence grew, bringing more people directly under Yamato’s authority. I also can’t help but notice that there appears to be a lack of any kind of clear justice system. In fact, laws in general at this time appear to be based on precedent and tradition, likely oral tradition: although we have writing, we don’t have a written system of laws just yet. We have artifacts with writing on them. We also have records of books coming over from the continent, which presumably people were able to read. However, what was writing being used for? It appears to have been used for communication—for example, diplomatic missions, or to send instructions and receive information back from the various lands under Yamato’s rule. David Lurie notes that this was a kind of practical writing, and it wasn’t the same as the kind of extensive journaling that we would see later. It makes sense that much of the laws and traditions at this time were probably based on memorized precedent. Groups like the Kataribe were organized around an oral tradition, and even the Kojiki was based on a tradition of oral recitation that was still in place by the late 7th century. I suspect that different families maintained their own memories of precedence and tradition, collectively advising on what should be done in any given situation. This isn’t exactly the kind of legal system with firm and fast rules, with everyone equal under the law, and some sort of immutable code. That wasn’t solely because it wasn’t written down, mind you—there are plenty of cultures with oral traditions that maintain very clear sets of laws. However, in this case it was not written down and given what we see and what we know about later court, legal precedent was kept in the memories of various individuals in different families, all of whom were competing for their place in the hierarchical structure that had been created. Therefore, as long as you could get enough people on your side, then you determined what was just and what was not. And of course it was the winners who wrote—or at least remembered—the history. Strong leadership may have been able to keep things stable, but during any change things could get messy, as we’ve seen time and again. And had Anahobe and the Mononobe been triumphant we’d likely be reading a very different telling of events. Hasebe’s ascension didn’t really change any of that, other than the person at the head of the system. Still, things seemed to hold together alright, and with the recent purges, hopefully things would settle out after a while. The reign started with the standard ceremonies. Soga no Umako was confirmed as Oho-omi, and though other “Ministers and Daibu”, or high officials, were confirmed, nobody else is named. Hasebe’s palace was set up at Kurahashi, presumably in the hills south of modern Sakurai. His wife was Koteko, daughter of Ohotomo no Nukade. In his first year, Baekje sent envoys that included Buddhist priests and relics, along with various Buddhist artisans. We’ll probably touch on them more at a later date, but for now I’ll note that with their coming, Soga no Umako consulted with them on several matters regarding Buddhism, and then he went ahead and pulled down the house of a man named Konoha and started work on another temple. This one was known as Hokoji, though it is more popularly known to us by its common name: Asukadera. Asukadera is perhaps the oldest purpose-built Buddhist temple commissioned by the state, and I think we can do an entire episode just on that temple alone. The Chronicles make out that it was built to commemorate the supernatural support granted to Umako in his battle against Mononobe no Moriya, though it is impossible to know for certain how much of that is true. What we can say is that this time there were no dissenting voices from the Mononobe nor the Nakatomi, and Asukadera would become one of the major temples of the Asuka period. Later, when the capital was built up at Heijo-kyo, in modern Nara, the temple was moved to the new capital, and the complex in Asuka dwindled in importance. Today you can still visit a temple at the site of Asukadera, but it is a shell of its former self, having been rebuilt on a much smaller footprint than before. You can, however, go and see the original Buddha statue—or at least the reconstructed form of it, as the original icon was severely damaged in a fire at one point. But building up a proper temple and pagoda in the continental fashion would all take time—for now it appears that they were just breaking ground on a new construction, rather than just repurposing a part of an existing house into the temple, as they had seemingly done in the past. This was going to take some time. At the same time, it wasn’t just buildings that were needed, and we are told that several Buddhists returned to Baekje along with the envoys. We are told that they were going to Baekje to gain further instruction in Buddhist teachings. This was the nun Zenshin, daughter of Shiba Tattou, and her companions, who had been ordained at the order of Soga no Umako to help staff his first attempt at building a worship site at his house. The following year, in 589, we are told that there were three “inspections” that were sent out along the various circuits, or roadways, of eastern Honshu. These circuits were regions of Japan, and come from a continental tradition that would be formalized in the law codes of the early 7th century. Generally speaking there are usually 7 circuits—8 once Hokkaidou comes into the picture—and then the capital region, often known as the home territories around Yamato and the Nara basin. Kyushu and Shikoku were each covered by their own circuits: The Saikaidou, or Western Sea Circuit, covered all of Kyushu, and eventually the Ryukyu islands as well, while the Nankaidou, or Southern Sea circuit covered from the south of the Kii peninsula and the island of Shikoku. Western Honshu was covered by another two circuits—there was the San’indou, the Mountain Yin Circuit, and the San’yodou, the Mountain Yang Circuit. Yin being related to the dark and the north, the San’indou covered the areas to the north of the Western mountain range along the Japan Sea coast, from the land of Tanba west to Iwami, including the lands of Inaba and Izumo. In contrast, Yang was related to the south, and so the San’yodou covered the regions from Harima, next to the land of Settsu, part of modern Ohosaka, and stretched along the southern side of the mountains to the Seto Inland sea to the western land of Nagato, part of modern Yamaguchi Prefecture, and included the ancient land of Kibi. Finally, there were the three circuits of Eastern Honshu, which were the subject of the Chronicles entry in 589. First off was the Tousando, or the Eastern Mountain Circuit. Whereas western Honshu can be largely divided by the mountains into a northern and southern region, eastern Honshu was a little different, as the Japanese alps created difficulties that meant that the Tousandou covered the inland regions, starting at Afumi, around lake Biwa, out to Kenu—modern Gunma and Tochigi prefectures, north of Tokyo. It would eventually include the distant regions of Dewa and Mutsu, which covered much of the Tohoku region up to Hokkaido, although those were still largely outside of the area of Yamato influence, and home to those that the Yamato court called Emishi. The man sent to inspect this region was named Afumi no Omi no Kamafu—fitting given that Afumi was at the western end of the circuit. Next they sent Shishibito no Omi no Kari to inspect the Toukaidou, or Eastern Sea circuit. This circuit proceeded from Iga, Ise, and Owari, eastward along the Pacific coast to Hitachi, in modern Ibaraki prefecture. It includes much of modern Tokyo, and is likely one of the more well known, if only for things like the JR Tokaido line. This route became well traveled in the Edo period both for the daimyo processions of the sankin-kotai as well as the pilgrimages from Edo to Ise, and onward to points even further west. Finally, we have a member of the Abe no Omi heading out to inspect the Hokurikudou, the Northern Land Circuit. This was largely the area known in the Chronicles as Koshi, along the Japan Sea Coast. The Abe family may have had some influence in that region, though it is said that they originally came from the land of Iga, just east of Yamato. However, we aren’t given a specific individual’s name—Abe no Omi is just the family name and their kabane rank, and could indicate any member of the Abe family. This may have to do with the actions of Abe no Hirafu in the late 7th century, but at this point in the story it is unclear. We are provided the given names of the other inspectors, however—Kamafu and Kari—so it stands out that we have nothing for the inspector of the Hokurikudou other than their family name. Other than the mention of the circuits, and the inspections that the court was conducting, this seems to be a fairly mundane entry—though it does link to some later events. Still, it provides a little more evidence for the expansion of Yamato’s direct control. The idea that there were court inspectors checking up on these territorial circuits suggests that they were a somewhat active part of the bureaucracy of the court. Previously the court had set up the Miyake, or royal granaries, which were extensions of royal authority in various areas. Now we see an additional layer of government that would have been going through the areas and making sure that things were being administered as Yamato believed. It also suggests that there were those in these circuits who were beholden to Yamato in that they were required to produce some kind of evidence for what they were up to. The year after, in 590, the big news was apparently the return to Japan of Zenshin and others, and we are told that they took up residence at a temple in Sakurai – very possibly a reference to Hokoji or Asukadera, the newly-founded temple we just discussed. Asuka is outside of the modern bounds of Sakurai city, but at this time the name Sakurai may have referred to a slightly larger and more nebulous area. On the other hand, they could have settled at another temple in the area that just wasn’t part of the state funded program. In that same vein, later in 590 we are told that people went up into the hills to get timber for building Buddhist temples, and many more people, most of them with connections to the mainland, and especially the Korean peninsula, were ordained. Buddhism was starting to grow more popular and it was being better patronized by the elites, and soon we will start to see more and more temples popping up. In 591, we see the final burial of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou. This was now many years since his death, but that isn’t entirely surprising given the fighting and general turmoil that followed his death. Building a tomb mound was not exactly a simple feat, and if one wasn’t already prepared by the time he passed away, then it would have taken a while to prepare it—and even more time if much of your labor force was being split and repurposed in the fights for the throne. As you may recall, Nunakura died of a disease, so it is unlikely that there had been a lot of preparation for his death, so we can assume that his body, after resting in the palace of temporary interment for a while, was eventually given a temporary burial and then they likely were reburying the bones several years later. This isn’t exactly unheard of, but it does seem that this was an exceptionally long period between death and final burial. The location of his tomb is said to be on the western side of the mountains, outside of the Nara Basin, in the area of modern Taishi, in the south of Ohosaka. This seems to have been a new region for royal burials, from what I can tell, but there would be several important Asuka era burials located in this region. Later in that same year, Hasebe and the court indulged themselves in something that was becoming almost a tradition: ... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/27758427

Things Kick Off 08/01/2023

Setting the Stage 07/16/2023

Setting the Stage This episode we set the stage for one of the most momentous conflicts of the 6th century. A lot of change is coming to the islands, and the outcome of the power struggles would determine just what shape that change would take. For more see our podcast webpage: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-90 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 90: Setting the Stage So when last we left off, the sovereign Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, had passed away, and there had been some early flirting with Buddhism, which largely ended up pitting members of the relatively new Soga family against the powerful forces of the ancient Mononobe, as well as their allies, the Nakatomi. It even got so bad that the heads of the two houses, Soga no Umako and Mononobe no Moriya, were openly mocking each other at the sovereign’s funeral. And unfortunately, things weren’t getting better any time soon. In fact, I should probably warn you that around this point in the narrative we are really going to get all Game of Thrones on the archipelago. Family against family, sibling against sibling, with deadly political intrigue. And as we get into it, we should talk about a few things up front to help put everything in context. So let’s come back up to speed on the situation, shall we? In the late 6th century, the royal court was in its third dynasty. The sovereign, Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, died from a plague that settled on the land. Across the straits, the once small kingdom of Silla was on the rise, having gobbled up the small polities around it, including Yamato’s apparent ally, Nimna. Now the southern peninsula was largely divided between two kingdoms, Silla and Baekje. Both were in contact with the Yamato court. And then there is the far distant northern power of Goguryeo, pressing southward themselves. Yamato’s involvement on the peninsula meant there was quite a bit of cross-strait intercourse—in more ways than one. There were Wa on the peninsula, but there were also groups of Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo men and women who settled in the archipelago. They brought with them various innovations and ways of thinking. One of these things was the concept of corporate “Be” families. Now, don’t get me wrong, there clearly were families in the archipelago and had been for some time, but at some point we see the literal creation of the official families, the Uji: Groups of people who shared a similar job, gathered together under a family head, who in turn was given a place in the Yamato court. The family then regulated the business of its members to the benefit of the court. These created families, usually marked with the suffix of “Be”, became an outgrowth of the court’s power, and they were in turn ranked with a collectivist title, or “kabane”. The highest ranking uji were given the titles of “Muraji” and “Omi”, and the heads of those households were known as the “Ohomuraji” and the “Ohoomi”. One of the oldest of these families, on one side of this growing interal conflict, was known as the Mononobe. They claimed a likely fictional descent from Nigi Hayahi, a “Heavenly grandchild”, similar to the ancestor of the royal family, Ninigi no Mikoto - an illustrious backstory that no doubt helped justify their position. As for the rest, well, “Mononobe” literally translates to “the be of things” … and in this case, those things were weapons, reflecting a historical role of this important family as the enforcers and the heavyweights of the Yamato court. Of course, they weren’t the only ones with access to troops and weapons, as we’ve seen various families raising troops to go fight on the continent, and one can only assume that most powerful individuals at least had those they could call upon in case things got physical. For all that administrative power was rooted in spiritual authority, physical power was also important, and we see this in the way that armor and swords were important elite grave goods, and not just for a single family. But few groups were so clearly tied to the exercise of martial power as were the Mononobe. And they wielded that power on the behalf of the sovereign and the State. Whether it was punishing rebels, or just executing the cruel whims of a violent and entitled ruler, the Mononobe were the ones, more often than not, knocking down your door in the middle of the night and dragging off those deemed enemies of the state. This position was such that you can see evidence of it in the earliest parts of the Chronicles. For example, the Mononobe are connected to their ancestral shrine of Isonokami, one of the oldest shrines mentioned. It was said to be the home of the sword that Susanoo no Mikoto, the wild brother of Amaterasu, used to slay the giant, 8-headed serpent, Yamata no Orochi, generally seen as a metaphor for Yamato conquering parts of Izumo. Then there were the piles of swords made and stored at the shrine, which make it sound less like a place of spiritual worship and more like an armory—though let’s face it, for some people those are basically one and the same. Add to that all of the times that the Mononobe were called upon to unalive some opponent to the throne, and we get a pretty clear picture of how they had for so long held a place at the very top of the court structure. On the other side is the Soga family, currently personified with Soga no Umako at their head. While the Soga certainly traced their lineage back a respectable distance, including to Takechi no Sukune and others, at this point they are clearly relatively new, with their earliest mention coming in the reign of Wakatakiru, aka Yuryaku Tenno, in the late 5th century, about 100 years before, and they had no clear spiritual center of note, at least in the Chronicles. One source of their power and authority came through their connections with the continent, primarily with Baekje, and related families. The other part was through their marriages, especially the daughters of Soga no Iname. Up to this point, the descendants of Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennō, had been ensuring that their queens were members of the previous dynasty. This gave them and their offspring connections back to those other lineages helping bolster their claims to an unbroken lineage and their right to rule over Yamato. While the sovereigns might marry daughters of other houses, those wouldn’t typically be named as queens, although they might be expected to raise royal princes and maybe future queens. Often these were political marriages that enhanced the court’s connections to various regions. A few particularly influential family names also appear, such as Katsuraki, Okinaga, and the Wani no Omi. Still, the success of those families pales next to what Soga no Iname enjoyed in a single reign. Soga no Iname had achieved what few others had. He was the head of his family, one of the few of the Omi, or ministerial, kabane; and he had the personal title of Sukune, one of the highest honorifics attainable by an individual. Both of those spoke to his power at court. And when he passed away, he was succeeded in his post by his son, Soga no Umako, who was also made Ohoomi and who also held the honorific of Sukune. Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, Soga no Iname married two of his daughters (Umako’s sisters), Kitashi Hime and Wonane Gimi, to Ame Kunioshi, that is, Kimmei Tennou. Both of them had a number of sons who were also royal princes. And one of Kitashi Hime’s daughters, Kashikiya Hime, then went on to marry Ame Kunioshi’s son and successor (and her own half-brother), Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou – and when Nunakura’s own wife passed on, he elevated Kashikiya Hime to the rank of queen. Long story short, the immediate children and grandchildren of Soga no Iname were in a great position. Soga no Umako was a powerful person at court, and brother and uncle not just to a number of the royal princes of Ame Kuniyoshi’s line, but to Nunakura’s queen as well, which gave him some powerful sway. We are also told that he had taken as his wife the younger sister of Mononobe no Moriya, likely as an attempt to bring the two families closer together. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. All of those royal princes of Soga descent would not have been eligible for the throne under normal circumstances. But here’s where things get a little dicey. Nunakura had been the son of Ame Kunioshi and Ishi Hime, who was, herself, the daugther of former sovereign Takewo Hiro Kunioshi. Of course Takewo’s mother had come from the Owari no Muraji, a sister clan to the Mononobe, but the Nihon Shoki glosses over that by claiming Takewo was just holding the throne until his more legitimate brother was ready. Still, long story short, Nunakura was the direct descendant of at least two previous sovereigns, so one would imagine that he would be succeeded by his son, Hikobito no Ohine, son of Nunakura and his previous Queen, Hiro Hime. And yet, Hikobito was probably relatively young, and besides Nunakura there were numerous other sons of Ame Kunioshi – conveniently, for the Soga, through his Soga descended wives. One was Kashikiya Hime’s brother, Tachibana no Toyohi, and there were also her half-brothers from her aunt, Wonane Gimi, including Princes Hasetsukabe Anahobe no Miko and Hatsusebe—or just Hasebe—no Miko. Remember that there is no such thing at this point as primogeniture—it doesn’t matter if you are the oldest son of the previous sovereign, and the throne commonly passed to brothers before it went to sons and nephews. Finally, there is Kashikiya Hime herself, niece of Soga no Umako and newly elevated queen of Nunakura. While some women may have been content to simply raise the future generation of sovereigns, there is plenty to indicate that Kashikiya Hime was a highly political animal in her own right. On top of that, although her grandfather had passed away, her uncle, Soga no Umako, had taken his place at one of the top spots in court. She was around 34 years old when she became queen, and 42 when Nunakura passed away. She knew the ins and outs of the court, and she seems to have favored her uncle and her Soga family. And so, when Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou, died of plague, the stage was set for a political challenge – to determine just who will be the next sovereign, and more than that, which family – and even which branch of which family – will take the reins in directing matters on the archipelago going forward. Now, before we get much further, I have to warn you, the sources we have are clearly biased when it comes to the events they were recording. I mention this because many of the stories in this highly dynamic period and I don’t want to keep caveating everything all the time. So let me get a lot of it out of the way now, before we get into the really juicy bits. This also goes for some of the stuff in the last few episodes as well. While the Chronicles were built from records that survived into the 8th century it is clear that not every family is equally represented, and it is also clear that the Chroniclers, who knew the outcome, were massaging the narrative in certain ways. And so we get a narrative of how the Mononobe were enemies of Buddhism, attempting to stop it from spreading and trying to protect the indigenous worship of the kami. They were assisted in this by the Nakatomi, a family of court ritualists, who no doubt were also out to stop Buddhism’s progress. As for the sovereigns, Ame Kunioshi, and Nunakura, while they weren’t necessarily Buddhist, they are portrayed as essentially neutral, going back and forth between the advice of their ministers as they fought, internally. Most of this comes from the Nihon Shoki. The Sendai Kuji Hongi gives a much more abbreviated version of the actual history, and the Kojiki is pretty much focused just on the lineages at this point. By that point, a lot had happened, and neither the Soga nor the Mononobe were necessarily running things anymore. Michael Como, in his book, “Shotoku”, suggests that, in all probability, Ame Kunioshi and Nunakura were likewise hostile to this new religion, and I think I can see that. After all, they had to realize it was a threat to their own authority as the dedicated interpreters of the will of their ancestral kami. It may be that the positions put forth by the Mononobe and the Nakatomi were, indeed, their actual thoughts on the matter, but it isn’t as if the Mononobe just went ahead and destroyed the Soga temples—twice!—on their own. They first made sure to get an order from the sovereign, an order that may not have taken much arm twisting to issue. Como and others also point out that there is a problem with another often overlooked aspect of the struggles as they are portrayed. The typical narrative pits the “foreign” religion of Buddhism against the “indigenous” religion of the way of the kami—what would eventually be known as Shinto, but at this point really didn’t have any particular name. The usual way of telling this story is that native religionists were simply pushing back against a foreign incursion, and even though Buddhism would thrive in the Japanese archipelago, and even come to be another tool of the state, there was a certain conflict that always remained, due in large part to the ceremonial role that the sovereign was supposed to inhabit. The problem is that there is nothing that clearly indicates that the so-called indigenous religions were appreciably less foreign to the islands. Even the earliest stories that were recorded in the Nihon Shoki, which depicts Japan as a special place, formed by the kami themselves, there are clear connections to the continent. In some cases, like with Ame no Hiboko and Himegoso, we have deities coming over directly from the continent as princes and princesses of foreign lands. In others, like with some of the stories of Susano’o, we see the kami coming down from Heaven and first setting foot in the world on the Korean peninsula. Combined with a plethora of other clues, at the very least we can assume that the ways of the kami, including stories and rituals, were heavily influenced by continental thoughts and ideas, some of which may have arrived more than a century earlier. On the other hand, the use of horizontal tomb chambers is a pretty clear archaeological change that we can see happening. We first saw this tomb design back in the 5th century in Kyūshū, and in the 6th century it had spread across the archipelago, becoming the dominant form. But how does that connect to continental influence on indigenous spiritual and religious practice? I think we can generally agree that tombs, beyond the practical idea of not allowing corpses to just sit around above ground, rotting and breeding disease, were largely concerned with what we consider religious concepts about the afterlife. Sure, there is the political capital achieved by reminding everyone just who’s in charge, but it is designed around the needs of the rituals surrounding the treatment of the deceased. Hence the grave goods, as well as the clay, stone, or even wood pillars and statues erected around them. So when the burials go from relatively simple pits, dug in the top of these massive burial mounds to more complex chambers of giant stone blocks, which show evidence of people using multiple times, then we can gather that something changed in the rituals surrounding death and the afterlife. Those changes are reflected in the stories about the kami, including stories about Izanagi and Izanami, about Susano’o, and even about Amaterasu in the Heavenly Rock Cave, which all have imagery associated with this new kind of burial practice. That suggests that these stories either originated in a time when the horizontal burial chambers were prevalent, or at least they were changed and updated as ritual life also changed. And most of these changes can be traced back to the continent. We can see evidence, there, of horizontal stone chambers, and then trace that influence as it makes its way to Kyūshū and then the rest of the archipelago. This isn’t to say that there weren’t elements that were conceived of on the archipelago itself. Certainly local traditions evolved to meet the needs of the people, but not without outside influence. Even today, modern Shintō includes concepts from Daoism, geomancy, and general Yin-Yang theory, among other things, while retaining its own character. The point is that the argument that the resistance to Buddhism was purely because of is foreign nature seems laughably false, and yet that has been the view reinforced within the cultural imaginary of the Japanese for centuries, and it would go on to define the separate roles of Shintō and Buddhism in relation to the State for most of that time. As we look at what takes place, however, just keep in mind that this was much more about sheer, naked, political power, regardless of how later generations tried to make it look. Also, it is unlikely that were any clear villains or heroes, either. Real people are complex, and motivations are rarely straight forward. And with that, let’s get back to the funeral of Nunakura. The throne was empty, except for the presence of the Queen, Kashikiya Hime, who continued to reside in the palace presumably receiving guests and whatever the Yamato version of funeral potatoes was—probably some kind of dried fish. The succession at this point wasn’t exactly clear. Nunakura had a son, Hikobito, who was no doubt the heir presumptive, but there is nothing explicitly stating as much. Ame Kunioshi had been quite prolific, and many of Nunakura’s brothers or half brothers were still running around. In addition, though unstated in the Chronicles, Hikobito was not the son of Kashikiya Hime, and so it remains unclear just how motivated she was to help him ascend the throne. The first to act to resolve this uncertainty was a Prince that was neither a direct sibling of Nunakura nor of Kashikiya Hime. It was Hatsusekabe Anahobe no Miko. Like Kashikiya Hime, he was a grandchild of the illustrious Soga no Iname, except that he descended through Iname’s younger daughter, Wonane Gimi. Anahobe seemed to have clear designs on the throne. He marched straight up to the Palace of interment, and demanded entry to see his half sister. This was the location, it would seem, where Nunakura’s body was lying in state, prior to burial. However, given some of the accompanying statements, I suspect they may have been using Nunakura’s own Palace for this purpose, and his queen, Kashikiya Hime, was likewise residing there, possibly out of loyalty and expectations, but also because where else was she to go on short notice? The steward in charge of the Palace at that time was a man by the name of Miwa no Kimi no Sakahe, also just known as Sakahe no Kimi. He was suspicious of Anahobe, and his intentions. After all, it wouldn’t take much for Anahobe to force his way in, force himself on Nunakura’s queen, claim they were married and therefore he deserved to rule. It wouldn’t be the first time that a sovereign had married the queen, out at least a consort or daughter,... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/27473175

Baekje and Yamato on the Rocks 07/01/2023

Baekje and Yamato on the Rocks This episode we examine some of the other things during the reign of Nunakura, including the relationship with Baekje--which, despite all of the Buddhist materials they had received, seems to be a bit more fragile than one might have guessed. For more, check out Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 89: Baekje and Yamato on the Rocks Last episode we covered the continued rise of Buddhism. From the enigmatic Prince Ohowake, and his importation of experts and texts to found a temple in the Naniwa region, to the more well-documented case of Soga no Umako, who continued his father’s efforts to establish a temple at their home in the Asuka area, going so far as to have three women inducted as nuns—the first clergy we know of to have been ordained in the archipelago, even though it may have been less than perfectly orthodox in the manner of ceremony. We also talked about how a coalition of other court nobles, led by the Mononobe family, were undermining the Soga and accused their new-fangled religious ideas of bringing plague to the people—plague that, even though the Soga’s temple was destroyed to prevent it, nonetheless took the life of the sovereign, Nunakura Fotadamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou. And for many, that’s probably the highlight of this reign, which was deeply involved in the spread of Buddhism, as well as providing the roots of the conflict between the old guard of the Mononobe and the newly risen Soga family. However, it isn’t as if that is all that was happening. There were continued international developments, among other things, and these were intertwined with everything else—nothing was happening in a vacuum. For example, the country of Baekje was the source of many of the early Buddhist texts and professionals, with Buddhist gifts becoming a part of the “tributary diplomacy” that is depicted in the Chronicles at this time. Whereas earlier diplomatic gifts may have included bronze mirrors, many embossed with figures such as the Queen Mother of the West, in the 6th century Buddhist icons and imagery seem to hold a similar currency. I’d also note that giving Buddhist images and texts as gifts or tribute held an added layer of meaning, at least from a Buddhist interpretation. After all, not only were you providing prestige goods, which then helped boost the status of one’s diplomatic partners, but it also earned merit for the person gifting such things, as they were then able to make the claim that they were helping to spread the teachings of the Buddha. This provided an appeal to such gifts on multiple levels, both within and without the growing Buddhist world. At the same time that Baekje and Yamato continued to advance their ties, Silla continued to grow. Since absorbing the states of Kara, or Gaya, including the Yamato-allied state of Nimna, Silla had grown and was consolidating its power. Silla itself had started out as a coalition of six city-state-like polities that came together in a union. They were one of the main targets of early Yamato aggressions on the Korean peninsula, with numerous discussions of raids by “Wa” sailors, though little is typically seen of the reverse. The Chronicles make the claim that early Silla was a subordinate tributary state of Yamato, which modern historians regard as little more than fiction—likely part of the propaganda campaign of the Yamato court attempting to place themselves in the superior position. Still, it does seem reasonable that prior to the 6th century Silla had remained a relatively minor state, occasionally allying with—or against—the states of Baekje and Goguryeo, as well as the other independent polities that were once present but have largely been obscured by the uncertain mists of the past. The fact that they survived as long as they did, and thus had so much written material, speaks to why they loom so much larger in the early histories, but such things are always hard to judge when all of your material basically comes from the quote-unquote “winners”, historically speaking. Just think how, if Kibi or Tsukushi, or even Izumo had become the dominant polity in Japan, our Chronicles would focus much more on what happened there rather than just covering what was happening in the Nara basin and adjacent Kawachi plain all the time. And then there is the state of Goryeo, known to us today as Goguryeo, or Old Goreyo—in many ways the granddame of the Three Kingdoms of ancient Korea, with the greatest claim to the territory of ancient Gojoseon and Buyeo culture. Back in Episode 86 we saw a few of their attempts at diplomatic relations with Yamato landing along the Japan Sea side of Honshu—possibly a side effect of the path they were taking, sailing down along the eastern coast of the Korean peninsula, rather than via the Bohai Sea in the west. This may also have been indicative of the relatively friendly relations between Goguryeo and the expanding state of Silla. Silla also offered up a normalization of relations, though it was met with mixed results—and even those mixed results are, well, mixed in terms of just what was really happening versus what was being projected back by Chroniclers writing a century or two later. Back in the previous reign, that of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou, Silla envoys had also been received some time after their conquest of Nimna, and the Chronicles, at least, indicate that Yamato was less than enthusiastic to receive them, indicating that tensions remained high, and Ame Kunioshi took every opportunity to admonish Silla and to request that Nimna be reestablished as an independent entity, or so we are told. Similarly, in the 11th month of 574, Silla sent another embassy, but we have very little information on it—given the timing it may have been intended to express their condolences on the death of Ame Kunioshi and their congratulations to Nunakura for ascending to the throne. About four months later, in 575, Baekje also sent an embassy, and we are told that this one sent more “tribute” than normal, possibly as a congratulations to Nunakura and an attempt to strengthen the Baekje-Yamato alliance. There may have also been a request for more specific assistance, since Nunakura apparently took the time to remind the Imperial Princes, as well as the new Oho-omi, Soga no Umako, to remain diligent regarding the matter of Nimna. As Aston translates it, he specifically said “Be not remiss in the matter of Imna”. Yamato was still apparently displeased with the fact that Nimna, which was once an ally, was now under Silla control. Following that, the Yamato court sent their own envoys to Baekje and then Silla—though specifically they sent the embassy to Silla controlled Nimna, according to the Chronicles. A couple of months later, Silla sent an embassy back, including more tribute than normal, though the only hint of why, beyond the previous mention of Nimna, is that Silla was including tribute for four more townships, which seems kind of a weird flex, but may have been an indication of their growth, as well as a diplomatic notification that these four areas were part of what Silla now considered their territory. The full reasons Baekje and Silla sent more tribute than normal are unclear; it could have been part of a recognition of Nunakura’s coronation and an attempt to butter up the new administration. It is possible that both Baekje and Silla were vying for Yamato favoritism, as well. Silla may also have been trying to basically pay off Yamato and get them to forget the whole thing with Nimna—something that, as we shall see, was not going to happen quickly. Yamato sent another mission to Baekje in 577, two years later. This was the mission of Ohowake no Miko and Woguro no Kishi to Baekje, from which Ohowake brought back various accoutrements and set up a temple in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka. We discussed this, as well as our ignorance over the actual person of Ohowake no Miko, in our last episode, episode 88. It is interesting, however, if Ohowake no Miko was the actual individual who went to Baekje—mostly we see lower ranking men; those from Kishi level families, or similar. Occasionally a “muraji” or “omi” level family sends someone, particularly at the head of a military force, but not so often do we see a prince of the blood making the dangerous journey across the seas. I have to assume that this was an important mission, and that seems to have been borne out when you consider just what was brought back. Despite all of that, the details are frustratingly vague—worse than trying to find and put together the oldest episodes of Dr. Who and the First Doctor. We do know that the whole trip took about six months, which gives a sense of what it meant to undertake one of these journeys. Most of that would have been living at the distant court. They didn’t have phones, let alone email, so they couldn’t really send word ahead with exact details—although there may have been informal communication networks via the many fishermen who regularly worked the straits. More likely, an embassy would simply show up in a boat one day and start asking the locals to “take me to your leader”. Once you got there, they hopefully had room for you—they might even have a special location for you and your entourage to stay while they went through the formalities. After all, someone had to get you on the schedule, and any diplomatic gifts… ahem, “tribute”… should be catalogued and written down before the meeting. That way the host country could figure out just what they were going to reciprocate with. There is also possible training in any local ceremony and customs as you couldn’t assume that foreign dignitaries necessarily know what is expected. And then there would be the translating, likely through a shared language, possibly Sinic characters if everyone is literate. Also, during that time, the mission would probably have been hosting guests or being invited out by some of the local elites. They were both guests and curiosities. And there might have been some personal trading and bartering going on off to the side—after all, you have to pay the bills somehow, and as long as nothing eclipsed the diplomatic mission, then I suspect there were some other “trade goods” that these ambassadors brought to help barter with locals and ensure they could bring back various goods and souvenirs. In some cases, and it is unclear if it was by choice or not, ambassadors might be invited to stay longer, even settle down with a local wife and family. There are several examples of this that we see in the Chronicles, so it wasn’t all that rare. So that was the mission from Yamato to Baekje. The next mission from Silla came in 579, some four years later, and we are told they brought “tribute” that included a Buddhist image. And then, only a year after that we have another mission, but it was dismissed before it could ever be received. And that is a bit odd. Why would Yamato not receive the embassy? We aren’t given a reason, and it is pretty short, all things considered. We do know the names of the envoys. Indeed, the same two envoys: Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama tried again two years later, but they were again dismissed, without accepting the tribute. This is all quite odd, but it does go to show the fickle nature of foreign relations. One possibility may have to do with the way that “tribute diplomacy” appears to have worked. We know that in the case of the Han, Wei, and even the Tang and later dynasties, states were encouraged to come as tributaries, bringing goods as part of their diplomatic embassy, and then the receiving state was expected to provide items of even greater value in return. In the 16th century, various daimyo, or Japanese warlords, would use this to their advantage, representing themselves as legitimate emissaries in order to get the Ming dynasty court to give them even greater gifts in return. As multiple embassies showed up, all claiming to be the Japanese representatives, the Ming court started a policy of only accepting the first one that came, as they had no way to tell who was the legitimate ruler during the chaos of the Warring States period. I bring that up because I notice that the first mission by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama took place only 8 months or so after the one in 579, which brought the Buddhist image. Given the typical time between embassies, that seems very short, and it seems quite possible that the Yamato court didn’t believe that the embassy was real, and that it was too soon after the previous one. Or it could even have been even more mundane—it is possible the court didn’t have the stores to pay out against the tribute, though that isn’t the reason that they would have given for turning them away. After all, it was not exactly a safe journey to cross the ocean and make your way to Japan. Whether you hopped down the island chain or took a more direct route, using the island of Okinoshima as a guide post in the middle of the strait, it was not particularly easy and many embassies never made it across or back. I suspect, however, that there was something else going on, and that is in part because it seems to be the same two individuals coming back two years later, and they were once again turned away. It is possible that Nunakura and the Yamato court had a specific beef with these two individuals, but in that case they probably would have sent word to Silla to tell them to send someone else. This probably is indicative of the growing tensions between Yamato and Silla. From a narrative sense, it would make sense for Yamato to accept envoys just after a new sovereign came to power. It would help legitimize the sovereign, and it also offers a chance to reset and reestablish the relationship. The second envoy, bringing a Buddhist image, would certainly be something that the Chroniclers would find historically interesting and would bolster their own thoughts about the rising importance of Buddhism in the period. However, as we see in an episode from 583, Nunakura was still concerned about trying to re-establish Nimna. I suspect that this may have been a condition the Yamato court placed on Silla and the envoys, and it is possible that they weren’t willing to discuss anything without at least discussing that. Or perhaps that is at least the impression the Chroniclers wish to give. They are still referring to it as “Mimana” or “Mimana no Nihonfu”, making claims that it was the Yamato government’s outpost on the peninsula, and therefore something of a personal blow to the Yamato court for it to have been overrun. Trying to re-establish Nimna would become something of a rallying cry; think of it like “Remember the Alamo” or “Remember the Maine”; regardless of the truth behind either incident, they were both used as justifications for war at the time. The case of Mimana was used to justify Yamato actions on the peninsula, and it would continue to be brought back up until modern times, including helping to justify Japan’s invasion of Korea in the early 20th century. Here I’ll interject with the possibility that there could also have been some internal issues that the court was dealing with. Specifically, in between these two missions by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama, there was a bit of a disruption on the northeastern frontier, as the people known to the court as the Emishi rose up in rebellion. We aren’t given the details, but we are told that several thousand Emishi “showed hostility”. The Chronicle then claims that the sovereign simply summoned the leaders, including a chief named Ayakasu, who may have been a chief of chiefs, and then reamed them out, suggesting that he would put the leaders—i.e. Ayakasu and the other chieftains—to death. Of course, the rebellious chieftains immediately had a change of heart and pledged an oath to support Yamato. Much more likely, I suspect, there was rising tension and hostility in the frontier regions, and Yamato likely had to raise a force to go face them. Assuming that was the case, it would have taken time to travel out there, subdue any uprising, and then drag the leaders back to the court to make of them an example to others. If that was the case, then it may have been that Yamato simply did not feel they had the time to deal with Ato Nama and his crew. For a bit clearer reference, from the 8th through 11th years of the reign, there are simply relatively short entries. So in 579 there is the mission of ChilCheulchong Nama, who brought the Buddhist image. Then, in 580, we have Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama attempt to offer tribute. Then, in 581, there is a rebellion of the Emishi, followed, in 582, by another attempt by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama to offer tribute. That’s about all that we have to go on. In any case, though, we have a very clear indication in 583, only 9 months after again refusing the tribute from Ato Nama and crew, that Nimna was once again on the Court’s mind. Nunakura apparently went on a rant about how Silla had destroyed Nimna back in the days of his father, Ame Kunioshi. Nunakura claimed he wanted to continue his father’s work, but it was unclear just where to get started. And so they decided to consult an expert. His name appears to have been something like Nichira—possibly something like Nila, depending on the pronunciation of the Sinic characters, or Illa in modern Korean, which is Aston’s preferred reading. It is said that he is the son of “Arishito” or “Arisateung”, the “Kuni no Miyatsuko”, or local ruler, of Ashikita, in the land of Hi, in Kyushu, and that he lived in Baekje, holding the rank of “Talsol”, the second official rank in the Baekje court. Ashikita was mentioned as far back as Episode 33, during the reign of Oho Tarashi Hiko, aka Keikou Tennou, as he was trying to subdue the Kumaso, and was likely a later addition to Yamato’s sphere of influence. Nichira only makes a brief appearance here in the Nihon Shoki, but he is something of an enigma. He is presented as a citizen of Yamato, but his name appears to be from the Korean peninsula and even his father’s name hearkens back to another Arishito, who may have been the king of Kara or one of the associated polities. And yet here, this Arishito is the local ruler in Ashikita, in the land of Hi—later divided into Hizen and Higo. Given that he is referenced as “Hi no Ashikita no Kuni no Miyatsuko” this has been suggested as indicating that he was a member of the “Hi no Kimi”, the family that descended from the Lords of Hi. And this may connect to something later in the story. There do appear to be some later documents that reference Nichira. Some claim that he was a Buddhist priest, and he’s even connected with the famous Shotoku Taishi in some stories, where he is depicted as a wise priest who recognizes Shotoku Taishi’s own Buddha nature. Of course, at this point, the prince would only have been about 10 years old, assuming the dates around his birth are at all accurate—a subject we’ll save for a later podcast, as there is just so much around Shotoku Taishi to cover. As for the current story, however: Nichira was over in Baekje, at the court of the Baekje king, and so it wasn’t just a small matter of asking him to come to court. Ki no Kuni... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/27336456

Let’s Give This Buddhism Thing Another Try 06/16/2023

Let’s Give This Buddhism Thing Another Try We are back looking at Buddhism in the archipelago, this time in the reign of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu. For references and more, check out our blog page at: Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 88: Let’s Give This Buddhism Thing Another Try. This episode we are going to return to the story of Buddhism in the archipelago—specifically what was going on into the next reign. And what a fortuitous episode to do it on as well. For those who aren’t aware, “8” is an auspicious number in Buddhism, so I figure for episode 88, this makes for a decent topic. Now back in Episode 86, we saw the death of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou, in 576 CE, just as a delegation of envoys arrived from Goguryeo. As we noted at the time, Nunakura Futodamashiki no Mikoto, aka Bidatsu Tennou, succeeded him to the throne. You may recall that Nunakura was the second son of Ame Kunioshi and his Queen, Ishihime. His older brother, Yata no Tamakatsu no Ohoye appears to have been the Crown Prince, but then he passed away, and so Nunakura was raised up in his stead. In many ways, Nunakura represents the Old Guard at this time. The Chronicles make it clear that he is a classical heir, descended through multiple royal lineages. His father, Ame Kunioshi, was of course the latest in the lineage descending from Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, while his mother, Ishihime, was the daughter of Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennou, Ame Kunioshi’s brother by another mother—quite literally. In fact, one wonders if the reason for Magari no Ohine and Takewo, aka Ankan and Senka Tennou, even being mentioned as sovereigns in the Chronicles may have been because of the way that they therefore legitimized Nunakura’s own reign, as some scholars have suggested that they really may not have ruled at all, and that really it was all Ame Kunioshi during that entire period that their reigns covered. After all, most of the sovereigns up to this point have been descended through multiple royal lineages, and even Magari no Ohine and Takewo’s reigns were depicted as though they were simply regents, holding the seat for their younger and more legitimate brother. Nunakura held fast to the old traditions in another way, too: We are pointedly told in the Nihon Shoki that, though he was of good character, he was not a Buddhist. This is perhaps a curious statement to make—after all, none of the previous sovereigns have really been Buddhist, either—but then this is the first sovereign to take the throne since the archipelago had been exposed to Buddhist teachings, at least according to the narrative. From our perspective today, that doesn’t seem all that strange. Buddhism had just come to the archipelago and, honestly, it hadn’t made that much of a splash from what we can tell. Back in Episode 85, Soga no Iname had set up a temple and started worshipping an image that had come from the continent, but that initial attempt was sabotaged by others, including Mononobe no Okoshi. The old families were, of course, rather invested in the system of rituals around their local kami and the socio-political power they derived from being in charge of those same rituals. Soga no Iname had passed away towards the end of the previous reign, and his son, Umako, took up the mantle as head of the Soga family, and his father’s position as Oho-omi. Meanwhile, Mononobe no Okoshi had also passed away, and it seems that at the head of the Mononobe family as a man by the name of Yuge no Moriya, who was confirmed in his position as Ohomuraji by the new sovereign—or at least that is what the Nihon Shoki tells us, and it may be because of his prominence in the story to come. The Sendai Kuji Hongi claims that it was Moriya’s brother, Ohoichi no Mikari, who was made Ohomuraji, but there is little else. Regardless of whether it was Moriya or Mikari, the power dynamics between the Soga and Mononobe families were still in a similar to the previous reign, just in new hands. Now, for all that the Chronicles stress how much Nunakura was not a Buddhist, neither was he particularly nativist. He enjoyed the Classics that were being imported from the mainland, and presumably was able to read in the continental fashion. He was also interested in ensuring good relations with the Korean peninsula—with both Yamato’s traditional ally of Baekje, but also with the growing kingdom of Silla. Still, Buddhism was off the table for him. For the most part his reign started similar to any other. After coming to the throne, in 572, he confirmed his wife as Queen, with his mother being hailed as the Queen Mother. He also set up his own palace site at Ohowi in Kudara, in the land of Kawachi. Interestingly this appears to place him outside of the Nara basin—certainly outside of the lands of the Soga. However, the area that he settled in, Kudara, is interesting because that is the same reading given to the characters for “Baekje”. In fact the kanji, or Sinitic characters, that they use are the same as “Baekje”, and if you didn’t know otherwise you would likely read them as something like “Byakuzai”. However, just as many characters for the Han and Tang dynasties are read as “Kara”, likely referencing the fact that things came to the archipelago through the Kara states, the name for Baekje was rendered as “Kudara”. And to be honest, I’ve never seen a good reason why the characters came to be read this way, or even whether or not that was the reading when the Chronicles were compiled. Certainly it was the authoritative reading later on, and there are plenty of placenames that use that reading as “Kudara”. Still, I’m not absolutely certain when that reading became common, but that is how these kanji are often pronounced, today, for whatever reason. Now just because Nunakura wasn’t a Buddhist didn't mean that Buddhism wasn’t still making inroads into the islands. And while the Soga family would stand at the forefront of Buddhist proselytization, our first actor is actually a little different, and largely forgotten, from what I can tell. His name was Ohowake no Miko, or the royal prince Ohowake. This name doesn't do a lot to help us identify him. He's a royal prince, meaning he had a direct claim to the royal lineage, born to one of the sovereigns or their progeny. “Oho” means “Big”, or “Elder”, and “Wake”, well, that’s a bit more complicated. Based on the way it is used in older names it would appear to be a title or honorific of some kind. Traditional Japanese etymology claims that it comes from the fact that “Wake” comes from “Wakeru”, to break, cut off, or separate. So basically they come from a line that has been “cut off” from the royal lineage, but they still have royal blood. This seems a little suspect to me, personally. I do wonder if it could be related to the term “Waka”, which also shows up a lot in names, but that is a stretch. Instead, I think it may be an old title, or kabane, for a person of not insignificant rank. Still, it isn’t clear what is meant, and even then, this is a pretty generic name that doesn’t tell us much about who this guy actually was. One theory is that this is another name for someone mentioned elsewhere in the Chronicles, perhaps even one on the later sovereigns. People at the time that the Chronicles were written knew who it referred to, but it is much harder to piece together, today. Another suggestion is that this “Ohowake” was someone who was otherwise written out of the history for some reason—all except for here. Of course, why they were written out one could only fathom a guess. Finally, there is the thought that the name could be misspelled. Back in the time of hand copying, over thousands of copies it would be easy to slip up once or twice in the thousands of characters they had written, already. Later scribes then faithfully copied the mistake, and suddenly a new name is born. Even then, though, I’m not sure we could make a good guess as to who this really was. What we do know is that in 577, this royal prince known only as “Ohowake” in the Chronicles went to Baekje, presumably as an ambassador for Yamato, and returned with religious books and six individuals, including monks, a nun, an architect, and a Buddhist image maker. It is significant, that what this royal prince brought back was more than just books this time. Now, there were artisans being imported who could actually make Buddhist statues and temples here in the islands. They would have known how those temples were built, the significance of the layout, how the wooden beams were carved, and even how the distinctive rooftiles were made. And this wasn’t just different craft techniques - there were rules for how a temple was supposed to be constructed, the different buildings, even the relics to be buried underneath a building to help make it sacred. Likewise the images also followed particular rules. Whether it was the image of the Buddha, or of one of the many accompanying deities, it wasn’t enough to be a stone carver or a woodworker—Buddhist imagery was its own thing. All of this was very different from other artforms and architecture in the archipelago at the time. It is also telling that Ohowake brought back monks and a nun. Specifically they had brought monks who specialized in various practices, including meditation and mantra recitation. You may recall that earlier the people of the archipelago had received images and texts, and it seems that Soga no Iname was trying to piece together what to do based on the texts—likely interpreting all of it through the eyes of the local religious practices of the time. An ordained monk and an ordained nun, however, would have known the proper rituals and how they were to be conducted. But almost more importantly, you needed Buddhist monks and nuns to make other Buddhist monks and nuns —although technically you typically need more than that, you should have a Sangha, a Buddhist community. While traditions vary, it would seem that you need at least four monks to make a Sangha, and some traditions require at least ten —and I presume the same or more for women. Whether or not they could authoritatively conduct all of the rites, the monk and the nun could, one assumes, teach how they were supposed to be done. These newcomers appear to have been ensconced at a place called Ohowake-ji, or Ohowake temple, in Naniwa. Some suggest that this may be in error and that “Ohowake” was a typo for “Ohogori”, an official residence for envoys traveling to and from Japan. If this latter is true, then much like Soga no Iname had turned his house into a temple, these Buddhist teachers may have been staying at the Ohogoori-ji, and there was a scribal error of “Wake” for “Goori”. This theory also notes that the word “Ji”, or “Tera” in the kun’yomi reading, originally meant an official government building, but gradually shifted to referring to Buddhist temples as Buddhism made its way across the desert, through Yellow River and Yangzi river valleys. By the time it made it to the Korean peninsula and across the strait to the Japanese archipelago, Buddhist temples were all using the suffix “-Ji”. The problem with this theory is that we don’t really see the character “ji” or “tera” used in the government building sense in other instances from this time, and so it seems a bit of a stretch to suggest that is what is going on here. Personally, I envision that they did stand up a temple, though the actual location and design—let alone the artifacts within—have been lost to time. Ohowake’s import of Buddhist expertise wasn’t it for Buddhism during Nunakura’s reign, however, as things continued to trickle in. In 579, for example, Silla envoys brought a Buddhist image, indicating that they, too, had taken an interest in this foreign religion, and they were using it as part of their diplomacy. This may have been a further reason to pressure Yamato to at least look into the religion and join the larger world of Buddhist countries, but it doesn’t seem to have swayed the sovereign—at least not in any obvious way. Five years after the gift from Silla, in 584, Soga no Iname’s son and heir, Soga no Umako, decided to give this interesting new religion another go. The atmosphere by this point was a little different: still not entirely hospitable, but there had clearly been more and more interest in Buddhism since its first arrival fifty years before. In addition to the growing acceptance of this foreign religion, however, there were some key political aspects as well that may point to why Soga no Umako decided to act. You see, Nunakura, at the start of his reign, had been married to a woman named Hirohime, who was the daughter of Okinaga no Mate no Miko. The Okinaga family doesn’t get quite as much press as others, but seems to have been relatively powerful; and let’s not forget that there was a sovereign, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tennou. They had not only supplied Hirohime as a daughter to the current sovereign, but their name is found in the lists of people who had produced wives of the sovereign going back for several generations. Hirohime was the queen, and no doubt one of her progeny was expected to eventually come to the throne and rule as sovereign. However, in 576, just five years into Nunakura’s reign, Hirohime passed away. This tragic event nonetheless left a bit of a political void in the form of the Queen, whose offspring would no doubt possess some serious political chops, whether or not they actually ruled. Fortunately for the Soga, they had an answer: Toyomike Kashikiya Hime, the daughter of Amekunioshi and Kitashi Hime, which made her half-sister to Nunakura, but more than that, it made her the niece of none other than Soga no Umako, since her mother was also a child of Soga no Iname. And without spoiling too much, put a pin in her name—we will definitely be coming back to her in later episodes. It is unclear whether Kashikiya Hime was already one of Nunakura’s consorts or if she was instead promoted directly to queen, based on the way the Chronicle talks about it, but Queen she did become. We are told that she was taken up at the “urging of the court”, and probably by certain prominent figures therein, and so the Soga’s plan to marry their daughters into the royal lineage and thus use blood ties to more closely bind themselves to the central authority appears to have been working. This also meant that as Umako tried once again to get Buddhism off the ground, he now had a supposedly friendly figure in the royal bedchamber, who could help whisper in the sovereign’s ear. So he had, presumably, a little more clout than his father had when he had tried to set up a temple. To start things off, Soga no Umako had heard about two Buddha images in the archipelago, and he went about acquiring them. The first was a stone image of Miroku, aka Maitreya, the future Buddha who was said to come in another four to nine thousand years to remind people of the Dharma once again. This had been brought from Baekje by an immigrant known to us as Kafuka no Omi. The other was an image of the Buddha, presumably Gautama, the historical Buddha, in the possession of one Saheki no Muraji. With these images in his possession, Soga no Umako went looking for someone with previous knowledge of Buddhist practices to assist. To do this he enlisted the help of Kurabe no Sukuri no Shiba Tattou, along with others. Tattou is traditionally thought to have come from the continent, possibly as early as 522 CE, about 63 years earlier. The Fuso Ryakki, compiled in the eleventh century, claims he came from the “Great Tang”, even though that dynasty had yet to have been established, and that he had immigrated to the country of Yamato, where he built a grass hut and installed an image of the Buddha. While this is likely a bit of exaggeration on the part of the ancient chroniclers, to make Tattou seem like the perfect Buddhist resource, it is likely that Tattou did come from the continent or was a descendant in the first or second generation, and that he had some knowledge about the religion. This made him perfect for Soga no Umako, who needed someone who knew what to look for in others who might be able to assist him in once again setting up a temple of his own. Sure enough, Tattou found someone: a former monk from Goguryeo, named Ebin in Japan, now living in Harima, who had gone back to being a layperson. This is not as unusual as it may seem, as there are many reasons that someone might leave the monkhood, and even later return back to it. Whether or not he was currently an ordained and practicing monk, Ebin would have known the rites and how to proceed. Here I would note that it seems a bit odd that Umako would have searched high and low throughout the immigrant community if the temple of Ohowake was still there in Naniwa. Why didn’t they just ask someone from that temple to come and get things kickstarted for them? Unfortunately, we don’t know, though it is possible that the temple of Ohowake had already failed for some reason. And so the former monk, Ebin, was brought on board Umako’s little project, and there are some sources that suggest there was a nun as well, known as Houmei, but I didn’t notice her name in the Nihon Shoki. Ebin—and possibly Houmei—were first told to instruct none other than Tattou’s own daughter, Shima, or possibly Shimane, to become a Buddhist nun. This may have been at least in part because Tattou’s family clearly already had some familiarity with Buddhism, and there may have also been some linguistic advantages depending on the languages they knew and spoke—especially as much of what had come over was probably written in Sinic characters. Shima was given the Buddhist name of Zenshin, or more appropriately Zenshin-ni. This was another common practice, at least in East Asia, where new initiates would take a Buddhist—or more appropriately a Dharma—name when they were ordained. We’ll see this a lot, and you have no doubt encountered such names elsewhere. They are typically made up of two kanji, or Sinitic characters, and pronounced with the On’yomi reading. The name is often given by a teacher and emphasizes some Buddhist virtue or teaching that is considered particularly apt. In this case “Zenshin” would appear to mean something like “Auspicious Belief”. Two other women were taken on as students—or possibly as servants, or just junior nuns—along with Zenshin. They were Toyome, daughter of Ayabito no Hoshi, who became Zenzou, which would seem to indicate “Meditative Storehouse”; and Ishime, daughter of Nishigori no Tsubo, who became Ezen, or something like “Blessed Fortune”. With three nuns, Soga no Umako built a Buddhist Temple onto the east side of his home where he enshrined the stone image of Miroku, or Maitreya, the future Buddha, and he had the three newly minted nuns worship there while Shiba Tattou and Hida no Atahe provided them support and sustenance. Although they were ordained and worshipping a Buddhist image, it is interesting that... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/27160251

The Dual Eruptions of Mt. Haruna 06/01/2023

All the Other Stuff 05/16/2023

The Buddha Comes to Japan 05/01/2023

The Buddha Comes to Japan This episode we talk about the first recorded instance of Buddhism--or at least the worship of the Buddha--in Japan, and we look at some of the politics and issues surrounding its adoption, as well as some of the problems in the story we have from the Chronicles. We also look at what legend says happened to the oldest Buddhist image and where you can find it, today. Hint: It is in a place that once hosted the Winter Olympics! For more check out our podcast website: Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 85: The Buddha Comes to Japan. Last couple episodes we’ve talked about Buddhism. We talked about its origins in the Indian subcontinent, with the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama, aka Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha, and how those teachings spread out from India to Gandhara, and then followed the trade routes across the harsh deserts of the Tarim Basin, through the Gansu corridor, and into the Yellow and Yangzi River Valleys. From there the teachings made it all the way to the Korean peninsula, and to the country of Baekje, Yamato’s chief ally on the peninsula. This episode we’ll look at how Buddhism came to the archipelago and its initial reception there. For some of this we may need to span several reigns, as we’ll be looking at events from early to late 6th century. This is also about more than just religion, and so we may need to dive back into some of the politics we’ve covered up to this point as well. Hopefully we can bring it all together in the end, but if it is a bit of a bumpy ride, just hang with me for a bit. So let’s start with the official account in the Nihon Shoki, which we already mentioned two episodes ago: the first mention of Buddhism in the Chronicles. The year was 552, or the 13th year in the reign of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou. That winter, during the 10th month—which was probably closer to December or January on a modern calendar—King Seongmyeong of Baekje had a special gift for his counterpart, the sovereign of Yamato. By this time there are numerous accounts of gifts to Yamato, generally in conjunction with the Baekje-Yamato alliance and Baekje’s requests for military support in their endeavors on the peninsula, generally framed in the Yamato sources as centering on the situation of the country of Nimna. In this case, the gift was a gilt-bronze image of Shakyamuni Buddha, several flags and umbrellas, and a number of volumes of Buddhist sutras. King Seongmyeong sent a memorial explaining his intent: “This doctrine” (aka Buddhism) “is amongst all doctrines the most excellent. But it is hard to explain, and hard to comprehend. Even the Duke of Zhou and Confucius had not attained to a knowledge of it. This doctrine can create religious merit and retribution with appreciation of the highest wisdom. Imagine a man in possession of treasures to his heart’s content, so that he might satisfy all his wishes in proportion as he used them. Thus it is with the treasure of this wonderful doctrine. Every prayer is fulfilled and naught is wanting. Moreover, from distant India it has extended hither to the three Han, where there are none who do not receive it with reverence as it is preached to them. “Thy servant, therefore, Myeong, King of Baekje, has humbly dispatched his retainer, Nuri Sacchi, to transmit it to the Imperial Country, and to diffuse it abroad throughout the home provinces, so as to fulfil the recorded saying of Buddha: ‘My law shall spread to the East.’ “ Upon receiving all of these things and hearing the memorial, we are told that the sovereign, Ame Kunioshi, literally leapt for joy. He thanked the envoys, but then put the question to his ministers as to how they should proceed. Soga no Iname no Sukune, holding the position of Oho-omi, recommended that they should worship the statue of the Buddha. After all, if all of the “Western Frontier lands” were worshipping it, then should Yamato really be left out? On the other side of the argument were Mononobe no Okoshi as well as Nakatomi no Kamako. They argued against stopping the traditional worship of the 180 kami of Heaven and Earth and replacing it with worship of some foreign religion. With this split decision, Ame Kunioshi decided to have Soga no Iname experiment, first. He told him to go ahead and worship the image and see what happens. And so Soga set it up at his house in Oharida, purified it, and, per Buddhist tradition, retired from the world. He had another house, in nearby Mukuhara, purified and made into a temple. Here he began to worship the Buddha. Around that same time, there was a pestilence—a disease—that was in the land. People were getting sick and some were dying. This was likely not unprecedented. Healthcare was not exactly up to our modern standards, and while many good things traveled the trade routes, infection and disease likely used them as pathways as well. So diseases would pop up, on occasion. In this instance, though, Mononobe no Okoshi and Nakatomi no Kamako seized on it as their opportunity. They went to Ame Kunioshi and they blamed Soga no Iname and his worship of the Buddha for the plague. Accordingly, the court removed the statue of the Buddha and tossed it into the canal at Naniwa, and then they burned down Soga no Iname’s temple—which, as you may recall, was basically his house. As soon as they did that, though, Ame Kunioshi’s own Great Hall burst into flames, seemingly out of nowhere, as it was otherwise a clear day. Little more is said about these events, but that summer there were reports from Kawachi of Buddhist chants booming out of the sea of Chinu near the area of Idzumi. Unate no Atahe was sent to investigate and found an entire log of camphorwood that was quote-unquote “Shining Brightly”. So he gave it to the court, where we are told they used it to have two Buddha images made, which later were installed in a temple in Yoshino; presumably at a much later date. And then the Chronicles go quiet for the next couple decades, at least on the subject of Buddhism, but this is the first official account of it coming over, and there is quite a bit to unpack. For one thing, the memorials and speeches once again seem like something that the Chroniclers added because it fit with their understanding of the narrative, including their insistence that Yamato was a fully fledged imperial state, and there is some fairly good evidence that King Seongmyeong’s memorial is clearly anachronistic. But there are a few other things, and conflicting records on things such as dates and similar. So first off, let’s acknowledge that there are too many things in the main narrative in the Chronicles that are just questionable, such as the sovereign “leaping with joy” at the chance to hear about Buddhism, and the fact that King Seongmyeong’s memorial apparently quotes a part of the sutra of the Sovereign Kings of Golden Light, known in Japanese as the Konkoumyou-saishou-ou-kyou, but that translation wasn’t done until 703, during the Tang dynasty, by the monk Yijing in the city of Chang’an. While it would have been known to knowledgable monks like Doji, who may have been helping put the narrative together in 720, it is unlikely that it was in use during the 6th century, when the memorial is said to have been written. In addition, there is question about the date that all of this supposedly happened. The Nihon Shoki has this event taking place in 552, well into the reign of Ame Kunioshi. However, there are at least two 8th century sources, roughly contemporary with the writing of the Nihon Shoki, the Gangoji Garan Engi and the Jouguuki, and both of these put the date at 538, a good fourteen years earlier, and in the era of Ame Kunioshi’s predecessor, Takewo Hiro Kunioshi, aka Senka Tenno. The first of these, the Gangoji Garan Engi, is a record of the founding of the first permanent temple in Japan, Gangoji, aka Hokoji or, informally, Asukadera, which was founded by Soga no Iname’s heir, Soga no Umako. More on the temple itself, later, but for now we want to focus on the historical aspects of this account, which mostly corroborate the story, talking about Soga no Iname’s role in receiving the image and enshrining it, as well as the early conflict between the Soga clan and their rivals. The other source, the Joguki, focuses on the life of Shotoku Taishi, aka Prince Umayado, who will become a major subject of our narrative at the end of the 6th and early 7th centuries. Not only is he considered the father of Japanese Buddhism, but he had strong connections to the Soga family. Today, most scholars accept the 538 date over the 552 date when talking about Buddhism’s initial arrival into the islands If the Chroniclers did move the event from 538 to 552, one has to wonder why. This isn’t a simple matter of being off by 60 years, and thus attributable to a mistake in the calendrical sexagenary zodiac cycle of stems and branches, so there must have been something else. One suggestion is that the date conflicted with the chronology that had already been set for the sovereigns. 538 is during the reign of Takewo no Ohokimi, aka Senka Tenno, but what if succession was not quite as cut and dried as all that? What if Ame Kunioshi no Ohokimi had his own court and was in some way ruling at the same time as his half-brothers, Magari no Ohine and Takewo no Ohokimi? They were from different mothers, and thus different factions at court. Ame Kunioshi was young, so it was possible that there were rival lineages attempting to rule, or even some kind of co-ruler deal hearkening back to more ancient precedent. Some even theorize that Magari no Ohine and Takewo Hiro Kunioshi were simply fictional inserts to help span the period between Wohodo and Ame Kunioshi. Whatever the reason, this theory suggests that it would not have happened in the 13th year of Ame Kunioshi’s reign, but that his reign started in 526, rather than 540. An intriguing hypothesis, but one that begs the question of whether everything in the reign would then need to be shifted to account for that. Given that there are a few attributable events noted that fit with outside sources as well, that doesn’t seem quite as plausible without some very conscious efforts to change the timeline. Another thought is that the compilers weren’t sure exactly when this event happened, but given Ame Kunioshi’s reputation and long reign, they chose his reign to place it in because it just fit. I suspect that this happened more than once, with people more likely attributing past events to well-remembered sovereigns. If this is the case, then when searching for a date they may have just chosen one that seemed auspicious. In this case, 552 CE was, in some reckonings, an important year in Buddhist history, as there were those who say it as the beginning of the age of “mappou”, the “End of the Law” or perhaps the “Latter days of the Law”. This definitely is an intriguing theory, and resonates strongly. For most of Japanese history, the idea that we are in this period of “mappo” has had a strong influence, and to a certain extent it is kind of an apocalyptic view of things. The idea of mappo is that while the Buddha was alive, his teachings were fresh and available to all living things. However, after his death, his teachings had to be remembered and passed on. Even with the advent of writing, the meaning and understanding of his teachings, and thus an understanding of dharma, would also atrophy. Different translations, changes in meaning, and just bits and pieces lost to time would mean that for the first 500 to 1,000 years, the Buddha’s disciples would keep things well and the meaning would be protected, but in the next 500 to 1,000 years things would decline, but still be pretty close to the truth. Then – and this is when the period of “mappo” starts - things would really start to decline, until finally, about 5,000 to 10,000 years later—or about 1,000 to 12,000 years after the time of the historical Buddha—things would break down, factions would be fighting one another, and eventually everyone would have forgotten the dharma entirely. It was only then that there would come a new Buddha, Miroku or Maitreya, who would once again teach about the dharma and how to escape suffering, and the whole cycle would start again. The year 552 would have coincided, according to some estimates, with 1,000 years since the time of Siddhartha Gautama, and so it would have had particular significance to the people of that time, particularly if you counted each of the first two Ages as 500 years each, meaning that the word of the Buddha, that his teachings would spread to the East, would have been completed just as we entered the latter days of the Law. Regardless of the time—and, as I said earlier, 538 is the more accepted date—the general events described – the statue, the offer of Soga to experiment, and the resulting events - are usually agreed to, although even here we must pause, slightly and ask a few questions. First off, was this truly the first time that Buddhism had ever shown up in Japan? The answer to that is probably not. There had been many waves of immigrants that had come over to Japan from the peninsula, and even if only a small handful of them had adopted the new religion before coming over it is likely that there were pockets of worshippers. Later, we will see that there are people in Japan who are said to have had prior experience as a monk, or who had their own Buddhist images. These images were probably used by people in their homes—there is no evidence of any particular temples that had been built, privately or otherwise, and so there is no evidence that we have any active monks or nuns in the archipelago, but who knows what was going on in communities outside of the elite core? There were plenty of things that were never commented on if it wasn’t directly relevant to the court. Furthermore, with all of the envoys that had been to Baekje, surely some of them had experience with Buddhism. And then there were the envoys *from* Baekje, who no doubt brought Buddhist practices with them. So there was likely some kind of familiarity with the religion’s existence, even if it wasn’t necessarily fully understood. The second point that many people bring up is the role of the sovereign, Ame Kunioshi, or whomever was in charge at the time that the first image came over. While the Nihon Shoki attempts to portray a strong central government with the sovereign at its head, we’ve already seen how different households had arisen and taken some measure of power for themselves. At the end of the 5th and into the early 6th century, the Ohotomo and Mononobe houses were preeminent, with Ohotomo Kanamura taking on actions such as negotiating dealings with the continent and even manuevering around the Crown Prince. The Mononobe wielded considerable authority through their military resources, and now, the Soga appeared to ascendant. It is quite possible that the idea of the sovereign giving any sort of permission or order to worship Buddhism is simply a political fig leaf added by the Chroniclers. The Soga may have been much more independent in their views and dealings. To better understand this, let’s take a look at the uji family system and the Soga family in particular. Now the Nihon Shoki paints a picture as though these noble uji families were organic, and simply part of the landscape, descending from the kami in the legendary age, with lineages leading down to the present day, although there is some acknowledgment that the earliest ancestors did not necessarily use the family names until a later date. For much of Japanese history, the concept that these family, or uji, were one of the core building blocks of ancient Japanese political and cultural spheres is taken as a matter of course. However, in more modern studies, this view has been questioned, and now the prevailing view is that these families are somewhat different. In fact, the uji are likely just as much an artificial construct as the corporate -Be family labor groups. According to this theory, early on people were associated with local groups and places. Outside of the immediate family, groups were likely held together by their regional ties as much as anything else. Names appear to be locatives, with ancient titles indicating the -hiko or -hime of this or that area. Some time in the 5th century, Yamato—and possibly elsewhere in the peninsula—began to adopt the concept of -Be corporate groups from Baekje. We talked about this back in Episode 63, using the Hata as a prime example of how these groups were brought together. More importantly, though, was that each of these -Be groups reported to someone in the court, sometimes with a different surname. These were the uji, created along with the -Be to help administer the labor and work of running the state. They were essentially arms of the state itself, in many ways. The kabane system of titles emphasizes this, with different families having different ranks depending on what they did, whether locally, regionally, or at the central court. Some of these titles, like -Omi and -Kimi, were likely once actual jobs, but eventually it came to represent something more akin to a social ranking. There have been some questions and emails asking for a bit more in depth on this, and I’d really like to, but I’m afraid that would be too much for now. At the moment I want to focus more on the uji, particularly on those at the top - the uji with the kabane of either Omi or Muraji, as these are the ones most likely to be helping to directly run the government. They even had their own geographical areas within the Nara basin, and elsewhere, that were uji strongholds. The Hata had areas near modern Kyoto, the Mononobe clearly had claims to land around Isonokami, in modern Tenri, and the Soga clan had their holdings in the area of modern Asuka and Kashihara city. At the very least, that is where Soga no Iname’s house was—in Mukuhara and Oharida, both located in the modern area of Asuka, which will become important in the future. It wasn’t just the landholdings that were important, though. Each uji had some part to play in the functioning of the government. In many cases it was the production or control of a particular service, such as the Hata and silk weaving, or the Mononobe and their affinity with all things military. For the Soga, they appear to have had a rather interesting portfolio. Traditionally, the Soga family is said to trace its lineage back to Takechi no Sukune, the first Oho-omi back in the time of Okinaga no Tarashi Hime and Homuda Wake no Ohokimi—see episode 46 for more on him. That lineage is likely fabricated, however, and the earliest actual evidence for the family may be from the Kogoshui, where we are told that Soga no Machi was put in charge of the Three Treasuries. These were the Imikura, or sacred treasury; the Uchikura, or royal household treasury; and the Ohokura, the government treasury. This seems like quite the position of responsibility, and it would fit with some of what we see later as the Soga are involved in helping set up Miyake, the various royal storehouses across the land that acted as... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/26694726

The Middle Way Through the Middle Kingdom 04/16/2023

The Middle Way Through the Middle Kingdom This episode we look at the transmission of Buddhism through the 1st to 5th centuries from India, to the Kushan Empire, and across the Silk Road to the Han and succeeding dynasties, and even to Baekje, on the Korean peninsula. For more, especially photos, please check out Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 84: The Middle Way through the Middle Kingdom. First things first, thank you to Bodil, Gabe, and Lauren for donating to support the show on Ko-Fi and Patreon. If you’d like to join them, will have information at the end of the episode. Also an apology—if my voice isn’t in tip-top shape, well, it seems that COVID finally found us after 3 years or so, and I’m on the tail end of it. So thank you for your understanding. Last episode we talked about Siddhartha Gautama, aka Shakyamuni, the Historical Buddha, and his teachings, and how they spread, at least through the Indian subcontinent, with the patronage of rulers like Ashoka the Great. The original teachings, initially taught as an oral tradition, was eventually turned into a series of writings, called the Tripitaka. As for how those writings came about, it’s worth talking about the languages involved. The native language of Shakyamuni was probably a language known as Maghadi, or something similar. But the Indian subcontinent, including the modern countries of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Nepal, and Afghanistan, is over three times the size of western Europe. There are at eight south Asian language families, with hundreds of different languages, depending on how you count them. The modern state of India counts 22 official languages, not including English. I mention this to point out that as the Buddha’s disciples spread his teachings, they were, by necessity, translating it into different languages. There is a story that a student suggested to the Buddha that they make Sanskrit the official language of Buddhism. Even then, Sanskrit was considered a language of learning and education, much as Greek or Latin was in medieval Europe, but the Buddha rejected this and insisted that his teachings be taught in people’s own tongue. This proved great for reaching people, but over time there was a fear that the oral teachings might be lost, and so they were written down. The oldest written Buddhist canon is generally agreed to be texts in Pali, commissioned in Sri Lanka. These are sometimes called the southern Tripitaka—or Tipitaka in Pali—and it is the primary canon for Theravada Buddhists. In the north, however, Sanskrit remained the prominent language of learning, and texts written down and transmitted in the north—particularly those that made it to China and on to Japan—were typically Sanskrit or translations of Sanskrit texts. This is what some refer to as the Northern Tripitaka. Both of these were transcriptions of the oral teachings that Buddhist monks were otherwise memorizing and presenting to the Buddhist community. That oral tradition, in fact, never really went away, and these early texts were more like a reference so that monks could check their memory. Chanting the sutras—and especially chanting from memory—remained a highly prized skill of Buddhist orators. Now, the split between northern and southern texts is convenient, but it isn’t necessarily as simple as all that. We have plenty of examples of texts, particularly in the northern traditions, that don’t necessarily have an extant Sanskrit counterpart. In fact, the oldest extant sutras of any tradition that we have today are known as the Gandharan sutras, and written in the Ghandari language using a Karosthi script. Gandhara refers to a region centered north and west of the Indus river, in modern Pakistan, stretching to the Kabul river valley in modern Afghanistan and north to the Karakoram mountains, which is one of the interlocking ranges that form the boundary between modern Pakistan and India and modern China and the Tibetan plateau. It is believed to be the namesake of the city of Kandahar, in modern Afghanistan. This area was important, and not just to Buddhism. For thousands of years it has been a crossroads between the Indian subcontinent, the area known as the Middle East, and the inner trade routes of central Eurasia. It was part of the conquest by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BCE, becoming part of his kingdom, but then it was lost in battle to the Mauryan empire, which Ashoka the Great ruled in the 3rd century BCE. The area later fell to Indo-Greek rule from members of the Greco-Bactrian kingdom to the north. The most famous ruler during this period was probably Menander I, who is also remembered as a patron of Buddhism, building more stupas and monasteries in the region. The Hellenic Greco-Bactrians were eventually displaced by tribes of the Yuezhi, who themselves were being displaced by the Xiongnu, in central Eurasia. In this epic game of musical chairs, a branch of the Yuezhi eventually settled in the area, ruling a large territory, including Gandhara, under what is known as the Kushan empire. They had first moved into the area of Bactria and Sogdiana probably around the 1st or 2nd century BCE, and by the 1st century CE they were exerting authority over Gandhara. Around the time the Gandharan sutras were written down, in the 1st or 2nd centuries, Buddhism—especially Mahayana Buddhism—was flourishing in the region, and Kanishka the Great—don’t you love how all of these rulers are known as “the Great”, by the way?—ruled the Kushan empire, and hence Gandhara, in the early 2nd century. He is said to have been a great patron of Buddhism, although it was one of several religions, including Zoroastrianism, that flourished in the region at this time. The Kushan empire is believed to be the same Yuezhi that we mentioned in episode 79, when we talked about the Han diplomat Zhang Qian, who had trekked through hostile Xiongnu, or Hunna, territory across much of what is now western China in the 2nd century BCE, seeking allies against the Hunna. At that point, the Yuezhi had had enough of war, however, and they declined to fight, preferring to settle where they were and eventually growing into the Kushan empire. That connection with the Han dynasty, however, likely was maintained through trade routes that continued to operate across the vast expanse of central Eurasia. The Han dynasty itself continued to send out diplomatic missions to the various states of central Eurasia, and of course there were trade routes. As the Kushan empire expanded into the Tarim basin, it met once again with the Han, who had defeated the Hunna, and then claimed routes across the oasis towns of the desert regions. While the routes would have high and low periods, often depending on the state of various conflicts, in general it seems that Buddhist missionaries probably made it to the Han dynasty and the Yellow River region, and founded monasteries, as early as the first century CE and certainly by the second century. And, by our best understanding, the folks in these monasteries were already doing a lot of copying and translation of texts – both as a meritorious act, and to spread the word. Since this is around the time the Gandharan texts were written, they were likely a part of this larger tradition of copying and translating that was going on, although many of those early documents did not survive intact to the modern day. One of the earliest records of Buddhism in the Han dynasty is a record dated to 65 CE. Liu Ying, Prince of Chu and son of Emperor Guangwu of Han, sponsored Buddhism—as well as a school of Daoism—in attempts to better understand longevity and immortality. While he was eventually accused of treason, putting something of a damper on his patronage of the religion, it is the first mention we have in the histories of Buddhism, and in some ways it speaks to something else about the initial acceptance of Buddhism. While there were likely those well-versed in Buddhism, particularly in the community of foreigners from the Western Regions, evidence suggests that for many lay people it was just as likely about what people thought that the religion could do for them in this life as anything else. After all, there are many stories of miraculous events, and there was the concept of reincarnation and karma—the idea that by building merit, one could improve their lot in the next life. There was even a belief that by building merit, one could improve their lot in the current life—and apparently extend their life or even, possibly, gain immortality. Sure, there were the more intellectual and philosophical endeavors, but for many people Buddhism was just as much about what it could do for them in the here and now. Stories of monks and other holy men fit in right alongside stories of Daoist immortals. In Han tombs, where Buddhist imagery is found, it is often found with or in place of the Queen Mother of the West—the same image that is found on many of the bronze mirrors that traveled across to the Japanese archipelago around this time. It was likely that many of the early stories that the laypeople heard were probably fragments as much as anything. Even with the Tripitaka written down, much of the transmission was still done orally. Furthermore, it was in translation—and probably a translation of a translation. The earliest stories of Buddhism’s transmission—particularly the translation of texts into Sinitic characters, the lingua franca of East Asia—claim that first the Theravada canon, and then later Mahayana texts, were translated in the second century, with foreigners from Parthia and Kushan credited with the early translations. Others would continue the work, and at first it was mostly people from the Western Regions doing the translating. One of the earliest stories of sutras making their way to the Han dynasty comes from the time of Liu Ying, when his brother, Emperor Ming, sat on the throne. The stories claim that the emperor saw an image of a golden Buddha, and that he requested either a statue or temple be erected. So he sent people off to Kushan, where they found two monks who would come back with them in 68 CE, bringing portraits and scripture—specifically the “Sutra of Forty-Two Chapters”, which the two monks helped translate into a Sinitic version at Baimasi, or White Horse Temple. As such, this “Sutra of Forty-Two Chapters” has been accorded a status as the first such Buddhist work to be brought to the area that is, today, modern China, and the White Horse Temple, located in Luoyang, is counted as one of the earliest temples in the Yellow River region. That said, there are a lot of questions as to the authenticity of this tale, though it does mirror others about the arrival of Buddhism in the East, even if we cannot verify the actual first temple or work. Although Buddhism arrived during the Han dynasty, it wouldn’t really begin to fully develop until after the dynasty’s fall in the 3rd century. During the Southern and Northern Dynasties period, the metaphysical and doctrinal beliefs of Buddhism began to penetrate the elite circles in a more tangible way. Much of the philosophical underpinnings blended well with the interest at the time in “Dark Studies” and the school of “Pure Conversation”, which we discussed back in episode 72. While Buddhist temples, much like their Daoist brethren, found some sanctuary from the chaos that created this period in the mountains and hills—not to mention a bit of added spiritual cachet—it was really the opportunity to gain greater state patronage that also helped. Monks like Zhi Dun began to reconcile Buddhist thought and doctrine with local beliefs. In some cases, local religious figures—including gods and other spirits—were incorporated into the Buddhist framework, often by their “conversion” to the Buddha’s teachings. This was one of the strengths of Buddhism—although it carried with it a framework of Indian religious teachings and thoughts, it was not exclusive in its cosmological outlook. Buddhism was more focused on helping one escape the suffering of this world, which would take you beyond all such things. As the doctrines were meant for all beings—not just humans, but for animals, spirits, gods, and even demons—there was nothing to necessarily exclude other beliefs. This helped some of the ethnic Han dynasties to accept and even promote Buddhism. Meanwhile, some of the non-ethnic Han dynasties patronized Buddhism for either its miraculous powers or just because it was a foreign religion, much like they were foreigners in the Yellow River Basin. In many cases, state-sponsorship was a two way street. Dynasts would set themselves up as holy men, claiming to be Boddhisatvas. They would even appropriate the concept of the Cakravartin, a Buddhist “Golden-Wheel-Turning-King”, which had overtones of cosmic overlordship. I can see how that would fit in quite well with local concepts that a sovereign might lay claim to ruling “all under heaven” and be carrying out a “Heavenly mandate”. Along the Yangzi River, Buddhist monks gained a certain amount of independence. They were not expected to bow to the sovereign, for example; an acknowledgment of their holy nature. In the northern Wei dynasty, however, it was a different story. There, the ruler was said to be no less than an incarnation of the Buddha, and a Chief Monk was selected to oversee the Sangha and no doubt ensure that the various Buddhist communities were in line with official dogma. At the same time, the government provided captured men and women to work fields to help pay for Buddhist temples and their work. Likewise, people would make merit by donating wealth and land to temples, in hopes of blessings either in this current life or in the next life. For their part, the temples were expected to act as storehouses or granaries—the wealth that poured into them would be used to help alleviate suffering, especially in the case of droughts or floods. It soon became clear, however, that more wealth was going into the temples than was necessarily coming out. There were attempts to reign in this Buddhist establishment, often by limiting the number of temples or even the number of monks, as well as limiting what people could donate. These same edicts were undercut by the elites of the country, however, and often proved less than effectual. Along with sutras and Buddhist teachings, Buddhist images and architecture spread widely. In India and the Western Regions, a key aspect of many temples was the stupa. This was a mound containing a relic of some sort. Originally these relics were said to be remnants of the Buddha, after he had been cremated. Later, it was said that the remnants of the Buddha turned hard, like crystal, and that the original remains were gathered up and distributed to even more stupas. Later they may contain other relics, as well. The stupa was an important part of the Buddhist temple, but over time, its character changed. Instead of a mound like we still see in Southeast Asia, we start to see a building—a tower—which became a ubiquitous symbol of Buddhist temples in East Asia. This multi-level pagoda originally started off with simply three levels, often made of brick and stone, but over time it grew with five or seven levels. These towers were inspired by a description in the Lotus Sutra, a Mahayana text, that described a bejeweled seven-storey tower. Speaking of the Lotus Sutra, this was one of the many teachings that made its way to East Asia, and a hugely influential one. It purports to tell the story of a sermon by the Buddha outside of those mentioned in the Theravada texts. The teachings expounded upon in the Lotus Sutra had a great impact on Mahayana Buddhism and how people viewed the teachings of the Buddha. For one, it also proposed the idea that the Buddha did not actually cease to exist when he attained nirvana, but is simply no longer visible. He still remains in the world to help all life find salvation from suffering. That goes along with the concept of the Bodhisattva, a being who attains a Buddha-like understanding but out of compassion remains in the world to assist others. The Lotus Sutra also made claims such as the idea that anyone could attain Buddhahood, if they followed the teachings—and not just one particular set of teachings. It opened the idea that there were multiple vehicles—that is to say different practices—that would all get you to the truth, to Englightenment. Even the term “Mahayana” means the “Great Vehicle”, while Mahayana sees Theravada as “Hinayana”, the “Lesser Vehicle”. Both will get you where you need to be, but Mahayana offers an exapansion of teachings and texts that Theravada Buddhism does not necessarily accept as authentic. Indeed in Mahayana belief we also see a focus on multiple Buddhas with different specialties – not only the historical Buddha, but Vairocana, aka Dainichi Nyorai, the Great Solar Buddha, Amitabha, aka Amida Nyorai or Amida Butsu, and so on. In comparison, the Theravada school tend to be more dogmatic on various points of practice and belief, claiming that they focus on the actual teachings of the Historical Buddha and not necessarily looking for extra texts and practices. There may have been Buddhas in previous ages that attained nirvana and departed this existence, but the Buddha of the current age is the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni. Another Buddha, Maitreya, is not expected for another five to ten thousand years—not until the teachings of the Buddha have been forgotten and are once again required. Acquiring freedom from this existence through nirvana is not necessarily one and the same with obtaining Buddhahood—the enlightened understanding required to save all beings. There is another school, “Vajrayana”, the “Lightning” or “Diamond” vehicle. It focuses on tantric, or esoteric teachings, which practitioners believe provide a more direct, and faster method to enlightenment. Many secret teachings, or mikkyo in Japanese, can trace themselves in some way to these practices, though it likely didn’t make it to East Asia until the Tang dynasty or so in the 8th century, so we’ll come back to it when we get to things like Kuukai and Saichou, who brought Shingon and Tendai, respectively, to Japan in the early 9th century—about four centuries from our current chronological position. Both the Mahayana and Vajrayana schools included the teachings from the Lotus Sutra, which would become one of the most important sutras, certainly by the Tang dynasty, as well as in the Korean Peninsula and the Japanese archipelago. Its widespread dissemination is often attributed to the famous monk Kumarajiva. Kumarajiva was a citizen of Kucha, one of the oasis towns along the northern edge of the Tarim Basin, and site of a bustling metropolis and capital of one of the largest oasis kingdoms in the Tarim basin. Even today, you can see remnants of the ancient city in the desert, and the dry conditions have preserved a number of artifacts, including plenty of texts referencing Buddhist and other beliefs. Kumarajiva traveled from the peripheral city of Dunhuang, another site renowned for its Buddhist roots, especially the famous Mogao caves—a... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/26551083

Shakyamuni, aka the Historical Buddha 04/01/2023

Shakyamuni, aka the Historical Buddha As we begin to talk about the arrival of Buddhism on the Japanese archipelago we start out with a look at the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni, and his teachings. For more, check out our webpage at Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 83: Shakyamuni, aka the Historical Buddha. First a quick note—it has been brought to my attention that some of the episodes are out of order, particularly the older episodes. I’m going to try to fix that. It probably has to do with a decision I made about a year or so in to not worry about the “season” number, since this isn’t exactly a “seasonal” show. But if some episodes are marked as “Season 1” then they likely show up differently. I’ll probably see if I can’t just remove the “Season” number from all of the episodes and hopefully that will fix it. Last episode we talked about the happenings over on the Korean Peninsula during the reign of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou, and it wasn’t looking very good for Yamato and their allies. Over the course of the last several decades in our story the kingdom of Silla rose to power, brokered a deal with Baekje, and then ended up eating up all of the smaller polities that sat between them, including Nimna, Kara, and whatever else was there. A Baekje-Yamato alliance attempted to put the brakes on Silla’s ambitions, but despite some major offensives they were thwarted time and again. Overall, it seems rather a bleak outlook for Yamato, but there were several things going for it. For one thing, with their close relationship with Baekje, Yamato was getting a plethora of new ideas—from how to govern to the subject of our current episode: religion. That’s right, if you didn’t figure it out from the title, we are finally going to talk about Buddhism. The Buddhist religion and its accompanying institutions have played a huge role in the development of Japan and Japanese culture, and so we are going to want to understand something about this and where it came from, and the journey it took to get to the islands. And to start with, let’s go back to the very beginning, of what Buddhism actually is. Now this isn’t going to be an in depth history of Buddhism, but I am going to try to hit the high points so that we have some context for things we’ll see later on. It should also be noted that, while the core of the religion remained the same, specific beliefs and practices were not always universal across all people and at all times. Also, not everyone believes in exactly the same things, and as an outsider I’m going to do my best, but this will probably be more at the level of a Wiki article than a scholarly treatise. If you are interested in more, I highly recommend looking into what various scholars have written. Also, a lot of what I’m pulling from is Andrew Skilton’s book, “A Concise History of Buddhism”, mainly because I think it fits what we are trying to outline here, but I recognize that there other teachings and scholarly discussions. Still, I think most of what we talk about will probably be at an even higher level than that book gets into. And that brings me to another thing that's important to say up front: when I say Buddhism, I'm not necessarily talking about Zen, or any particular sect, at least not right now - though Zen is Buddhism, or a school of Buddhism. Likewise you might also hear about Tendai, Shingon, or even Jodo, or Pure Land, Buddhism— those are all sects within Buddhism, and just some of the schools that made it to Japan, although a lot of them don't appear until after the time we’re currently in. The differences between these sects could be likened to the differences between Roman Catholicism and various Protestant groups—or even with the Orthodox church. While they have differences, they also have their similarities, and the core beliefs that make them all Buddhist. As to why this is so important—Buddhism had a huge impact on the development of Japan. As we’ll talk about in a later episode, the adoption of Buddhism affected not just the philosophical thinking of the Japanese court, but had direct impacts that would bring about the end of what we consider the Kofun era. Furthermore, having at least a cursory understanding of Buddhism is going to be useful in understanding some of the ways people thought about the world they inhabited. Finally: I am probably going to butcher the pronunciation on a lot of Buddhist terms, but I will do my best. Where possible I may preference the Japanese terms, both because they are more familiar to me, but also because that is how most of us will encounter them in the context of Japanese history. Buddhism gets its name from the fact that it promulgates the teachings of the Buddha, the Enlightened One, and while various people are believed to have attained this enlightened state over the course of human history, we usually are referring to the individual known to us as the Historical Buddha, also known to us as Siddartha Gautama. Tradition holds that Siddartha was the son of one of the elites of the Shakya clan—later this would translate into the term “Prince”, though some think that term may not be quite accurate. Still he was born into power and privilege, at the height of his society; later this would translate into him being considered a member of the Kshatriya warrior class. His birthplace is thought to be located in “Lumbini”, at the foothills of the Himalayan mountains, in modern Tibet, in the 6th century BCE. Some traditions put the year of his birth at about 566 BCE, though there are those that suggest a later date, even into the 5th century. From a young age, we are told that Siddartha was protected from much of the outside world, living a life of luxury, and unaware of the poverty and suffering that went on outside of the palace walls. You see, a seer had predicted that he would be destined to lead an empire—either political or spiritual. And so his father did everything he could to ensure that Siddartha would aspire to the political. Even though his mother had died when he was young, Siddartha was largely insulated from any suffering until his teenage years, and he was even provided a young wife, Yashodhara, by the time he was sixteen years old—which probably wasn’t that young, back in those days. It was as a young man, in his late twenties, traveling about the land in a carriage, that Siddhartha saw four sights that suddenly set his mind on a different path. First, he saw an old man, and in asking about him, it occurred to him that old age and infirmity were the inevitable outcome of life; there is no escaping it. Likewise he encountered people suffering from disease and even death, in the form of a dead body. All of this forced him to confront the fact that suffering is a part of life here on the mortal plane. Finally, he encountered a wandering ascetic, which got him to thinking about spiritual matters, and that perhaps there must be a better way—a solution to all of this suffering. As he contemplated what to do, he was suddenly graced with what should have been wonderful news: his wife had just given birth to a son. However, to Siddhartha, he saw this child as simply one more thing that was keeping him from going out and seeking answers to the problems he saw. The comfort of his life, the social obligations, the privileges he had were all metaphorical chains, keeping him from going out really trying to answer the questions he had. And so, at the age of 29, he absconded himself. He left his wife and child. He left the power and prestige and worldly possessions he had inherited from his family, and he went out to seek answers and to find out how to put an end to suffering. To do this, he sought out teachers, one after the other, learned what they had to teach, found himself at the end of what they could give him, and moved on. These teachers provided various meditation techniques, which helped, perhaps, to ease or even forget the pain and suffering of existence, but the pain and suffering were still there, nonetheless. It should be noted that a core belief at this time was in the concept of reincarnation. The idea that, based on your karmic balance, that is the difference between the good and evil that you did, here in the world, you would be reborn after death into a new body and a new life. If you did well, then you would be born higher up the ladder of existence, perhaps into a better caste or more. But if you committed sins and evil acts then you would find yourself born further down the ladder of existence, perhaps even as an animal or an insect. The problem, as Siddartha saw it, was that all of this just meant you kept going back through the same things over and over again, coming back into the world, and once more experiencing suffering. Even stories of the gods themselves tell of their wants and needs, and of their fighting, suffering, and even dying. As long as one stayed on the wheel of life and death, suffering would be inevitable, and you’d always come back around to it. He sought out answers in some of the extreme forms of asceticism. Holding his breath for long periods. Starving himself. These were meant to bring on a state wherein he hoped he would find the answers. Eventually, though, he spurned these techniques as well, claiming they were dangerous and unnecessary. He instead ate food in reasonable quantities, and found a form of meditation that felt natural. In other words, he sought out a path between the extremes of hedonistic overindulgence and severe deprivation—a Middle Way, one might say. Practicing this tempered form of existence, he meditated under a tree, and it was there that Siddartha Gautama achieved an awakening, or enlightenment. He could see the world for what it truly was, and gained profound insight into our condition. This is how he became known as Buddha, or “the one who has awoken”, to quote Andrew Skilton. He was only 35 years old—he had been studying for 6 years to this point, when he finally found the answers he was looking for. Quick side note right here: For many, “Buddha” is not a single person or individual. People may talk about the historical Buddha to refer to Siddhartha Gautama, but technically “Buddha” is a title for anyone who has awakened to the truths of the universe. Buddhist traditions would come to define various people who had attained this enlightened state, though Siddhartha Gautama is generally considered the most important for the current era. Siddhartha Gautama spent the next forty-five years or so of his life wandering the land and teaching his Middle Way to anyone who would listen. He initially spent time teaching in the area of the Bodhi Tree, where he had first experienced his revelation, and this area is known to us as Bodh Gaya. He later went to a deer park in the area of Rshipatana, where five of the ascetics whom he used to hang out with were gathered. These ascetics had known Siddhartha when they were all practicing extreme deprivation together. They had come to see him as a teacher, but turned from him when he spurned his own attainments and started on his Middle Path. It took some initial convincing, but Siddhartha was eventually able to convince them and bring them around. From five, Siddhartha’s disciples soon grew to 60, and he sent them out across the land to share his teachings with the people. His community of followers—known as his Sangha—continued to grow. As for Siddhartha himself, he seems to have focused much of his time on urban centers, with much of the last 20 to 25 years spent weathering the rainy monsoon seasons in the city of Sravasti. When he was 80 years old, Siddhartha grew seriously ill, possibly from something he ate. Realizing his own state, it is said that he predicted his death in three days, and he passed away among a grove of trees. Seven days later, his remains were cremated, and, much as with holy men everywhere, bone and teeth left over from the cremation were distributed as relics. Tradition holds that ten relics went to ten rulers for burial under stupas, or memorial mounds, as a tribute to Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha. After his death, his disciples continued to grow the community, or Sangha, and spread the word. The life and teachings of the Buddha were written down in various documents and these were copied into different languages. In about the 3rd century BCE, Buddhism gained a powerful patron in the form of Ashoka. No, not the Togruta jedi, Ahsoka Tano, but the Mauryan king, Ashoka the Great. Much of what comes down to us about Ashoka is as likely legend as fact, but we do know some things for certain because Ashoka left his own words carved in stone across his kingdom. Many of these mention Buddhist ideas and concepts and even identify key sites, such as the site of Lumbini, where Siddhartha Gautama was born. At the same time, I would be remiss in not pointing out that it can be difficult to suss out just what Ashoka believed. He certainly patronized Buddhism, much as Constantine patronized Christianity, including calling councils together to help ensure Buddhist orthodoxy, but it also can be read as a form of propaganda, utilizing Buddhist concepts to strengthen his own rule. We’ll see how later sovereigns would use similar tactics to lay claim to being a Buddhist sovereign, as well. Whatever his motivations, the pillars and inscriptions left from the 3rd century BCE provide us some of the first instances of the term “Buddha”, as well as another name, “Shakyamuni”, the “Sage of the Shakyas”; the “Shakyas” being Siddhartha’s own people. So with the patronage of Ashoka the Great, the influence of Buddhism spread. But what was it? Well, what we know is what was passed down, first as oral tradition, and later written down. First of all, all things in existence are impermanent. That is they come and go. People live and they die. Even we change, moment from moment, nothing is truly static in this world—even if it were to last for thousands and thousands of years. Then there is suffering—the bane of humankind’s existence. However, it is also inescapable, at least in this life. Describing suffering, and his solution to it, Siddhartha, aka Shakyamuni, revealed the Four Noble Truths, which are at the heart of Buddhist teaching. They are, roughly: · Suffering is an innate characteristic of existence. Even the greatest pleasure eventually fades, leaving longing in its wake. No matter how many times you go round the wheel of life and death, you cannot escape it. · Suffering arises because of our desires. From our material wants and needs to simply our desire to not be hungry or cold. · Ending our attachment can help us put an end to suffering. · To put an end to desire, and thus to suffering, one should follow the Eightfold Path. So the four noble truths are something like a diagnosis of the human condition and then a potential solution. By the way, notice the numbers four and eight—just as Christianity tends to find particular value in the number seven (seven deadly sins, seven heavenly virtues, etc.) and 12 (Jesus and the 12 Apostles), Buddhism finds particular significant in the number eight, and, to some degree, the number four, although that would clash in some areas of East Asia, where the word for “four” sounded like the word for death. And that eight is found in Shakyamuni’s recipe for how to end suffering: Right understanding Right resolve Right speech Right action Right livelihood Right effort Right mindfulness Right concentration These are all individual actions for someone to strive to achieve, but they are also pretty vague. After all, what is “Right Understanding” or “Right Resolve”? That feels kind of like giving someone directions by saying “take the right road and you’ll get to where you want to go”. Indeed, Buddhism therefore offers various precepts for how to live your life in accordance with the eightfold path. There are precepts for the lay person and precepts for monks and nuns. These include the requirement to avoid taking a life, stealing, sexual misconduct, lying, and even harsh, frivolous, or senseless speech. There are also positive admonitions, such as to cultivate loving kindness and speech that is truthful, kindly, helpful, etc. There are different lists of these precepts, but they generally include the same things. On top of this were the rules for monks, including such things as fasting after midday; no singing or dancing; no garlands, scent, or adornments; no luxurious beds; and a vow of poverty—no accepting gold or silver, the coin of the day. Besides following the precepts, there were various teachings and practices that monks and lay persons can follow. Most common are various techniques of meditation, meant to help open the mind to see beyond the surface of what we can perceive with our eyes and our ears and to transform one’s consciousness. All of this was geared towards the eventual attainment of a state of enlightenment, and eventually, nirvana. Contrary to many popular portrayals, though, nirvana is not some kind of heavenly existence. After all, any existence in this plane, at least as we know it, was still suffering. Instead, to attain nirvana meant to escape the cycle of death and rebirth entirely. How and what that looks like may vary depending on your interpretation, but that is generally agreed upon as the ultimate goal of Buddhist practice. This does not mean that there was not a concept of a heaven or a hell in Buddhism. While some have suggested that much of Buddhism and Buddhist practice is philosophical in nature, or geared more towards mindful practice, it is also steeped in certain cosmological views of the universe, and greatly influenced by the beliefs in the Indian subcontinent. Gods and demons, however, were simply different orders of existence, and even gods and demons could seek their own escape from suffering if they chose to do so. It appears as though Buddhism was originally passed down as an oral tradition amongst the community of Shakyamuni’s followers. Eventually this was written down in texts, describing Buddhism for those who came later. The canonical texts that outline the Dharma, that is to say the teachings of the historical Buddha, are known as sutras. They contain the actual words of the historical Buddha, or so it is believed, and the core of his teachings. Then there are the Vinaya, which are those writings about the community, or Sangha, and the rules for the community and for various monks. These came about as the community grew, and various Buddhists in different areas, without access to the direct disciples of the Buddha themselves, started to vary in their practices. As such, the Vinaya texts were written to try to give some shared reference material. Finally, there are the Abhidharma texts, which are further writings about the teachings, generally with a more scholarly bent. They elaborate upon what is found in the sutras, but are not considered the actual teachings of... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/26406672

The Fate of Nimna 03/16/2023

The Fate of Nimna This episode covers the fate of Nimna, aka Mimana or Imna, and the general destruction and subjugation of the various states on the Korean peninsula between Silla and Baekje, along with the rise of Silla as a a true power. Using references in the Samguk Sagi along with the Nihon Shoki we will try to puzzle out just what was happening in this chaotic but important period. For more, see Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 82: The Fate of Nimna. Before we get into this episode a few notes. First off, this episode deals with war and with the trauma that brings, to include issues of death, sexual assault, and enslavement. I’ll try to be delicate, especially where we don’t need it to get the larger story, and perhaps reference some of it more fully in the show notes at SengokuDaimyo.com/podcast, so go there for more information. That said, I don’t want to just gloss over it, either—these were violent times and history often deals with subjects we’d rather not talk about. We just don’t have to sensationalize it, either. As we discussed last episode, we are into the reign of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou. According to the dates given in the Nihon Shoki, Ame Kunioshi, the youngest son of Ohohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, reigned from 539 to his death in 571. Thirty two years is a respectable reign for any sovereign, especially considering that two of his half brothers had taken the throne ahead of him. Add to this the thought that he may have been co-ruling in some capacity even before then and it is little wonder that he has quite the entry in the Chronicles. And yet, most of his entry is taken up with an almost singular focus on one thing: Nimna, the polity on the Korean peninsula that is also known as Mimana in Japanese or Imna in modern Korean. We’ve talked about Nimna in the past, and it is more than a little controversial. Sometimes it is ignored as a complete fabrication of the Japanese chroniclers, and other times it is equated with the larger Kara confederation. I suspect the truth lies in a complicated middle ground that cannot be fully explained as we only have external accounts regarding its existence. For my part, I think there is enough evidence to suggest that Nimna was a real place, and a place of some import, as it shows up in things like the Gwangaetto Stele, as well as in some of the Sinitic records as well, so it isn’t something that the writers completely made up. At the same time, any talk of “Mimana Nihonfu” suggesting direct control by Japan or Yamato is just as likely made up to support Yamato’s own causus belli, and may have even been included in some of the earlier documents that the Chroniclers themselves were drawing from. There is also the possibility that the term “Nimna” was no longer in use, but still referenced by Yamato, much as they tended to refer to anything in the Yangtze river basin as Kure, or Wu, referencing an old dynasty that had long since been supplanted by others. A lot of what we read about Nimna comes from the Baekje records that the Chroniclers frequently quoted. Unfortunately, there is no extant copy of this record, and all that we have is the fragments quoted in the Nihon Shoki, where the Chroniclers frequently embellished the accounts. They would often equate, for instance the Wa ethnonym—that is the term “Wa” used to refer to people of ethnic Wa descent—as an automatic reference to actual subjects of Yamato. It is much more likely that there were a variety of ethnic Wa polities—or at least multi-ethnic states with a sizeable Wa population—on the peninsula and the archipelago, outside of those territories directly controlled by Yamato, though by the time the Chroniclers were writing Yamato really was the only “Wa” polity around, at least of any major consequence. At the time, though, Yamato likely held a place of prominence and even immense influence across the various Wa polities on the archipelago and, possibly, on the peninsula, but things weren’t as cut and dried as we tend to think of it regarding states and countries today. It is quite possible—even likely—that Nimna was important to Yamato, and most especially to the trade that occurred between Yamato and the rest of the continent. Based on various descriptions, Nimna, or the territory defined as such, bordered both Baekje and Silla, and it may have been made up of smaller polities, possibly with a core polity of Nimna at its head. I could even conceive that there may have been a semi-permanent Yamato embassy set up in Nimna—and possibly with the various other polities as well, though the idea that Yamato was actually controlling these states seems to be too much overreach, to me. Prior to 539, we are told that Nimna had been incorporated into Silla’s territory, around 532, and Aston notes that in the Tongkam the name “Nimna” doesn’t show up after that date. This is also one of the dates generally accepted for the end of any independence of the Kara confederacy as a whole, and when Geumgwan Kara is said to have submitted to Silla. As for the presence of ethnic Wa people on the peninsula, that does seem fairly well-established, assuming some accuracy to the Baekje record being quoted in the Nihon Shoki. There are several members of various families listed in the accounts that feel as if they are clear references to people of ethnic Wa descent. These are listed alongside other family names—likely of Baekje, Silla, or similar backgrounds. People like Mononobe no Makamu, who is listed as having the Baekje court rank of “Siteok” and who is being sent by Baekje with another envoy, whose name is something like Chinmu Kwimun. There is also a “Ki no Omi” who is listed as a Baekje envoy with the Baekje court rank of “Nasol”, who was also sent with other Baekje envoys to the country of Ara, or Alla. There is speculation by a later commentator that Ki no Omi may have been the son of a courtier who had been sent on one of the expeditions from the archipelago, and a Baekje woman. Then there is “Charomato”, who apparently was born of a “Korean” mother—likely meaning ethnically from the peninsula, but not of Wa descent. Charo Mato held the title of Ohomuraji, meaning the head of a prestigious family, but also held the rank of Namanye in Silla and went around wearing quote-unquote “foreign dress”, and yet the records still identify him as being of Wa descent. While we’ve discussed the possibility that there were enclaves of Wa in the peninsula since ancient times it is also possible that members of families from the archipelago emigrated to the peninsula for one reason or another. For example, we have Kawachi no Atahe. This individual is noted in the Chronicles as the “Japanese authority” in the country of Ara, sometimes called Alla, which was one of the polities that was apparently lumped into the larger Kara confederacy. At the same time, it looks like Kawachi no Atahe may have been someone who had been exiled from Yamato—or somewhere in the archipelago—suggesting that he wasn’t actually a “Japanese authority” but rather that he was probably a local official who happens to be of Wa descent. In the case of a name like “Kawachi no Atahe”, that certainly appears to be a locative in the Yamato area, of course, but the whole story leaves me with questions. Now, as I stated, much of this information comes from the Baekje records that the Chroniclers then embellished. For example, the Chroniclers couch almost all of Baekje’s interactions as being subservient to Yamato, rather than as those of an independent ally, and so as we look at this account, I’m going to try my best to address what is going on without too much of the Chroniclers’ biases coming through. But without independent confirmation from another source, that can be somewhat difficult, as many of the stories here are not found in the remaining records in the Samguk Sagi or Samguk Yusa, for example. Now I’d like to start with something out of the Samguk Sagi, which tells us that in 502 the country of Silla finally came to be known by that name. Up to that point it had been known as Sara or Saro, evolving as it had from a coalition of about six city-states on the eastern edge of the Korean peninsula. As you may recall, during the reign of Ohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, there was discussion of Yamato hosting talks in Ara around 514. In reality, those were probably talks hosted by Ara itself, which seems to have risen to some prominence at this point. We talked about that back in episodes 76 and 77. Later, in 529, Baekje gained access to a port to better facilitate communication with their ally, Yamato. This is presented as a gift by Yamato to Baekje, but apparently the King of Kara had other ideas. They had already been on friendly terms with Silla since at least 527, and it seems that after this they turned even more towards Silla’s embrace. Indeed, the Silla annals in the Samguk Sagi tell us that Geumgwan Kara requested a Silla princess around this time, an event that is also recorded in the Nihon Shoki, and would suggest that they were looking for a marriage alliance to cement their position with their powerful Silla neighbor. What began as a marriage alliance, however, quickly turned into outright subjugation by 532. Ara, likewise, seems to have been in Silla’s sphere of influence, if not outright subjugated, by that point, at least if the Nihon Shoki is to be believed. Many considered this the point at which the Kara confederacy had been dissolved, though some histories consider that the individual polities retained some level of independence, resisting complete absorption for another generation or two, until about the early 560s. In the current reign, things start out in 540, one year into Ame Kunioshi’s rule. King Seong of Baekje brought together a bunch of representatives of the smaller polities, ostensibly to talk about re-establishing Nimna. This is sometimes known as the Sabi conferences, named for the Baekje capital where they likely occurred. Against the backdrop of Silla expansion, Baekje wanted to prop up some of the buffer states in between the two kingdoms. They urged on Nimna at multiple times to re-establish themselves, promising aid, but Ara seems to have balked and suggested a more diplomatic route. This may have been because they were already on the side of Silla—Baekje certainly makes that accusation of Kawachi no Atahe, who held some influence in Ara. The Chronicles claim Baekje did this to carry out the whim of the Yamato court. In fact, however, it is much more likely that they were playing their own chess game with Silla. The extent to which their ally, Yamato, was actually involved is hard to say. Certainly we have examples of Baekje and Silla making their own alliances. For example, in 525, Baekje records that they exchanged gifts of friendship with Silla, though Best, who translated the records, suggests that this may be misplaced, chronologically, as there is no corresponding record in the Silla annals of the Samguk Sagi. Then of course in 530, the Nihon Shoki notes that Silla and Baekje teamed up against a rogue Wa commander, Kena no Omi, but then in 537, we have Yamato supporting Baekje against a supposed Silla-Goguryeo alliance. All of these shifting alliances make the accounts read like two very different stories that have been intertwined. On the one hand is the story of Baekje, trying to help the mighty Yamato restore the innocent country of Nimna, despite the pernicious interference of the irreverent Silla. On the other hand we see friendly—or at least tolerable—relations between Silla, Baekje, and Yamato, each agreeing to meet with each other and even ally with the other as the need arose. Unfortunately, we aren’t given many of the deeper thoughts or reasonings, but I lean towards discounting many of the stories that make Silla out to be the bad guy for everything. In fact, it is much more believable that, rather than overarching themes it was a much more complicated and even local situation, where alliances were more matters of convenience and where even during war the various states kept up some kind of dialogue. In addition, we have to remember the biases of Chroniclers who knew what was coming—in the 7th and 8th century it was Silla who was Yamato’s rival, and so here we see them, with the benefit of hindsight, building up to that conflict, which may mean an overemphasis on the threat Silla posed at the time. As for ethnic Wa involvement in events on the peninsula, while they were not all the responsibility of Yamato, there may be more than a few that were. After all, there were those from Yamato who had been sent on raiding parties and in warbands for one reason or another over the past couple centuries. Then there were various envoys, who could spend considerable amounts of time in a foreign land and even settle down and have kids. There was also likely another reason for people to move from the archipelago, which was the expansion of Yamato’s own power. As Yamato exerted greater and greater centralized control, anyone on the outs with the ruling authorities may have wanted to seek refuge elsewhere, and given the fluid nature of things at this point in time, it doesn’t seem unreasonable that they may have moved to Baekje, Silla, or even to some of these states in between. Once there, if they had administrative experience, perhaps they were able to find a place for themselves in their new home’s own government structure. The Nihon Shoki records plenty of examples of Baekje, Silla, and even Goguryeo people coming to live in the island chain, so why wouldn’t some people go in the other direction? This could also explain Yamato’s own somewhat laissez-faire attitude towards Baekje’s considerable entreaties to get a handle on the various Wa people on the mainland, given that they probably had no way to actually compel them to return, let alone listen to what they said. This was likely a source of consternation for the peninsula, much as various pirates and similar independent adventurers would be in later centuries, when the central government often could not, or simply would not, rein in the excesses of those on the periphery. The Yamato court may have also endorsed the behavior of these various Wa folks to some extent. There are hints that they were in close contact with Silla as well as Baekje, though the relationship does feel more tense, in general. We have to remember that our Chronicles are largely from either early Japanese sources or from Baekje sources viewed through an early Japanese lens. Meanwhile the Samguk Sagi tends to take a very pro-Silla point of view, while the other entities involved don’t get much of a voice at all. Speaking of which, there are three other polities mentioned in the attempt to reestablish Nimna and to allow the various members of the Kara confederation to have their independence back. One of these we know as “Teokkwithan”, which we are told lay between Kara and Silla, and so without aid from a powerful neighbor, like Nimna, it was constantly harassed. Then there is South Kara, which was small and weak, and without any real allies that it could call on. While we don’t know the exact situation, one assumes it was probably on the coast, again near Kara and Silla. Then there was the state of Chaksyun, which is frankly depicted as evil and double dealing, and thus basically deserving of their eventual fate. I can’t help but wonder if, in a way, these aren’t just general stand ins for the stories that happened again and again, both in the peninsula but also in the archipelago. Smaller polities ended up as pawns, and often became the ground on which the more powerful states would fight. That meant that most of the damages would accrue to the local lands, and whatever the motives might have been of Silla, Yamato, or Baekje, that was likely disastrous for the local population, and only further hindered their own growth. Now Baekje regularly tried to entreat Nimna to side with them and to effectively break away from Silla control, but there is plenty of evidence that at least some in Nimna were willing partners with Silla. Baekje complains, for example, about one individual, named Isumi, whom we are told is the Omi in Nimna—possibly referring to his role as a minister, or else a mistranslation of the name Isumi no Omi, I’m not quite sure. He is accused, by Baekje, of conspiring with Silla to attack. At the same time, recall that Baekje had annexed territory from Nimna, and refused to give it back, claiming that it was necessary as a buffer in case Silla decided to attack them. Really, I don’t see any shining examples of virtue in any of this. Baekje eventually decided to set up its own fortresses along the river between Ara and Silla—presumably with Ara’s support. Tensions were certainly ramping up, and Baekje’s own reasoning for setting up the fortresses was to make it impossible for the Silla farmers on the other side of the river—presumably the Nakdong river at this point—to be able to tend to their fields. The reasoning given is that if Silla found it too difficult they would just give up the fortresses they themselves had erected and the independent buffer state of Chaksyun, which Silla had also swallowed up, could be restored. Here I’d like to give a blow by blow of what happened, but we have too much happening too quickly. Besides the confrontation between Baekje and Silla over control of the various territories between them, there was still a threat from Goguryeo at the head of the peninsula. In about 546 a succession dispute in Goguryeo led to fighting between some of the elite factions in the court over their preferred candidates to the throne, leading to massive conflict. Several years later, Goguryeo was again threatening areas to the south, possibly with the support of some of the smaller polities, such as Ara, who may have been looking to break out from both Baekje and Silla control. In response, Baekje appears to have requested assistance from Yamato, but the nature of travel across the straits meant that any troops were slow in coming. This may be why Korean sources like the Tongkam note that Baekje allied with Silla to help stop the Goguryeo threat. This appears to go back to a long standing agreement between Baekje and Silla, to at least 493, where they mutually agreed to push back against Goguryeo, even as they continued to bicker with each other over the territories in their own regions. During this latest Goguryeo incursion, Baekje even laid some blame on the quote-unquote “Wa authorities” in Ara, whom they blamed for calling Goguryeo to come in the first place. Yamato, for their part had to deny any complicity—they certainly hadn’t egged on Ara to call for Goguryeo to come help. In fact, Yamato was intending to send their own people to Ara to help repopulate the country. If this all feels like a mess, that really is the sense I’m getting. There was a lot happening, and things could change at a moments notice. Through it all, though, Yamato and Baekje maintained good relations, even if they didn’t always agree. By 551, it appears as though Baekje and Silla had pushed back on Goguryeo, forcing them to abandon... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/26244630

Politics of the Early Yamato Court 02/28/2023

Politics of the Early Yamato Court This episode we start our look at the reign of Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Niha, aka Kinmei Tennō. We’ll start off with a look at his ascension to the throne and some of the politics that we can see going on in the court. We’ll also discuss some of the theories regarding this reign, particularly its chronological placement in the Chronicles, which may not be exactly as it seems. Still, we are in what many consider to be the historical period, meaning that the records the Chroniclers were working from are assumed to be more accurate—they were likely using more written material, including books we no longer have extant. However, that doesn’t mean everything is factual, and it is clear there are still some lacunae in the texts and some additional massaging by the Chroniclers themselves. For more information, check out Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 81, the Politics of the Early Yamato Court. Last episode, before our Nara tour interlude, we covered the life of Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennō. He picked up where his brother, Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, left off, and is said to have reigned for about two and a half years, from 536 to 539. During that time we see more of the rise of the family of Soga no Omi but we also see the Ōtomo no Muraji and the Mononobe going quite strong. The sons of Ōtomo no Kanamura ended up involved with the government in Tsukushi, aka Kyuushuu, as well as the war efforts across the straits, mainly focused on Nimna and the surrounding areas. Indeed, as we talked about last episode—episode 80—it is said that Ohtomo no Sadehiko went to Nimna and restored peace there, before lending aid to . This preoccupation with Nimna and events on the Korean peninsula are going to dominate our narrative moving forward, at least initially. Much of the next reign focuses on events on the peninsula, rather than on the archipelago. Oddly, this preoccupation isn’t found everywhere. In the Sendai Kuji Hongi—and other copies of the same work—there appears only a brief mention of Nimna, aka Mimana, in the record, which otherwise simply talks about inheritance and similar issues. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before we dive into all of that, to include all of the peninsular goodness that we have coming our way, let’s briefly talk about some of the things a little closer to home. Mainly, let’s talk about the succession and who our next sovereign appears to be. So first off, his name is given as Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niha, and he is posthumously known to us as Kimmei Tennō. For my part, rather than repeating the whole thing, I’m going to refer to him simply as Ame Kunioshi, though I’m honestly not sure if the best way to parse his name, assuming it isn't just another type of royal title. He is said to have been the son of Wohodo no Ōkimi, aka Keitai Tennō, and his queen, Tashiraga, a sister to Wohatsuse Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennō. This would all seem pretty straightforward if it weren’t for the fact that two of his half-brothers had taken the throne before him. Prince Magari and his brother, Takewo, were descended through another line, that of Menoko, daughter of Owari no Muraji no Kusaka. Menoko did not appear to meet the Nihon Shoki’s Chroniclers’ strict requirements for being named queen—namely, they don’t bother to trace her lineage back to the royal line in some way, shape, or form. As such, the Nihon Shoki tries to pass off the reigns of the two brothers as though they were just keeping the seat warm while Ame Kunioshi himself came of age. None of the language used, however, really suggests that they were not considered legitimate in the eyes of their respective courts, and in all aspects they played the part of sovereign, and it is quite likely that if they had reigned long enough, or had valid heirs, themselves, we may be reading a slightly different story. As it is, the Chroniclers likely manipulated the narrative just enough to ensure that things made sense in terms of a linear progression. And that manipulation hardly stopped at his ascension. The account of Ame Kunioshi on the throne is filled with questionable narration. Beyond just the fantastical—accounts of kami and of evil spirits—much of the reign is focused on events on the Korean peninsula, and these are almost always portrayed as actions by the Kingdom of Baekje, one of the three largest kingdoms across the straits, along with Silla and Goguryeo. Baekje, in turn, is portrayed in the Nihon Shoki as a loyal vassal state, constantly looking to the sovereign of Yamato as their liege and attempting to carry out their will. For the most part, this is a blatant attempt by the Chroniclers to place Yamato front and center, and in control of events on the mainland. Taken at face value, it has for a long time fueled nationalist claims to the Korean peninsula, and may have even been designed for that very purpose. Remember, a history like this was written as much for a political purpose as it was record for posterity, and the narration is about as trustworthy as that of a certain fictional radio host in a sleepy desert community. And yet, we want to be careful about throwing the proverbial baby out with the bathwater, here. The Nihon Shoki is a treasure trove of stories about this period and what was happening on the mainland, even if we have to be careful of taking everything at face value. The details given in the text are sometimes more than any other sources we have for this period, and they are certainly closer to the source. Korean sources, such as the Samguk Sagi, the Samguk Yusa, and the Tongkam all have their own gaps in the literature of the time, as well as their own political aims and goals, such that even they are suspect. Sure, the flowery speechification is probably a little too much, but much of the back and forth seems reasonable, and there are numerous times where the Nihon Shoki directly quotes the copy of the Baekje annals that they had at the time—a text that is no longer extant, and which seems to have items that did not make it into later collections. By following the back and forth and the flow of allegiances and deceptions, and looking at who was said to have been involved—both the individuals and the countries—we might be able to draw a picture of this era. And what a picture it will be. I probably won’t get to it all today, but there is conflict over Nimna, with Baekje and Yamato typically teaming up against Silla and Goguryeo, but there are other things as well. For one thing, nothing in this era is cut and dried, and while there are overarching themes, alliances were clearly fluid, and could quickly change. Furthermore, all this activity spawned a new level of interaction, particularly between Baekje and Yamato, and we see a new era of Baekje sharing their knowledge with Yamato. For instance, this reign we see the first mention of Yin-Yang Divination studies—the famous Onmyouji—as well as calendrical studies in the archipelago. We also see the arrival of Buddhism to the islands. Well, at least we see the formal introduction of Buddhism; given all of the people in the archipelago who came over from the continent, there were likely more than a few Buddhists already living in the archipelago, but it hadn’t grown, yet, to be a State religion, as it would be in later centuries. To try to do this period justice, I’m going to try to break things down a bit so that we can focus on various themes as we move through the stories here. It will probably take us a few episodes to get through. Furthermore, at some point here I want to talk about this new religion, Buddhism, and how it traveled all the way from India to the islands of Japan. But for now, let’s focus on the Chronicles. Not all of what is talked about in this reign is focused on the mainland, so I’m going to start us off talking about the stories about this period that are taking place in the islands themselves, starting with how Ame Kunioshi came to the throne. Or rather, with some events just before he came to the throne. The first story about Ame Kunioshi comes when he is simply a prince—it is unclear during which reign this is supposed to have happened, only that it happened before he came to the throne. The Chronicles say that Ame Kunioshi had a dream in which he was told to seek out a man named Hata no Ōtsuchi. We’ve seen in the past these kinds of oracular dreams, where the gods, or kami, will speak directly to a person—often to the sovereign or someone close to the sovereign. By all accounts, the ability to act as a conduit for the kami was an important aspect of rulership and political power at this time, and we’ve seen the supposed consequences of not listening to such an oracle as well. And so he sent people out to find this man, who was eventually found in the Kii district of the land of Yamashiro. Now this area is not surprising. It is identified as the area, today, in the modern Fushimi district of Kyoto. In fact, it includes the area of the famous Fushimi Inari Taisha—the Fushimi Inari shrine. That shrine is also connected to the Hata family. For those who don’t recall, the Hata family appear to have been descended from weavers who were brought over from the continent. The kanji used for their name is the same as that of the Qin dynasty, from which we get the modern name of China, though the pronunciation is taken from the word “Hata”, which appears to refer to a type of cloth, and also resembles the word for banners or flags. We mentioned them some time back in episode 63, when we talked about one of the early heads of the Hata, who was given the name Uzumasa. That name is still used to identify a district in Kyoto to this day. And so here we are, back in the Kyoto area, near Fushimi shrine, which is also, as it happens, connected to the Hata family. That story is found not in the Nihon Shoki, but rather it is attributed to fragments of the Yamashiro no Fudoki. In that account we hear tell of a wealthy man named Irogu, whom we are told is a distant relative of Hata no Nakatsu no Imiki—no doubt a contemporary to the Yamashiro Fudoki, and the reason the story made the cut. Irogu, it seems, had made himself wealthy through rice cultivation. In fact, he had so much rice that he was using mochi—pounded glutinous rice cakes—as targets for his archery practice. As he was shooting at the mochi, suddenly one of them turned into a swan and flew up into the sky, up to the top of a nearby mountain. Where it landed rice, or “ine”, began to grow. That mountain is none other than the site of Fushimi Inari Shrine, a shrine that will show up again and again in various stories, as it was quite prominent. Though the shrine was only founded in the 8th century, the story may indicate that there were older rituals, or perhaps that it was a focus of worship much like Mt. Miwa, down in the land of Yamato, to the south, and that shrine buildings were simply added to the mountain at a later date. Fushimi is, of course, the place, and Inari is the name of the god, or kami, worshipped at the shrine. Inari is a god of farming—specifically of rice cultivation—and today small Inari shrines can be found throughout Japan. They are typified by red gates—usually multiple gates, one after the other, often donated by various individuals. In addition, one might see Inari’s servants and messengers, foxes, which take the place of the lion-dogs that often guard shrine precincts. Importantly, these foxes are not the kami themselves, but simply the kami’s messengers. Still people will often bring gifts of oily, deep fried tofu—abura-age—said to be a favorite of foxes, to help ensure that their prayers—their messages to the kami—are swiftly and properly delivered. I could probably do an entire episode on Fushimi Inari and Inari worship in Japan. There is so much material on the phenomenon on foxes, or kitsune, and fox-spirits, especially with the co-mingling of both continental and insular belief, which is sometimes at odds. For now, however, we can confine ourselves to the fact that Fushimi clearly had connections to the Hata family, who have shown up a few times in the past, but are still largely taking bit roles in things at the moment. Nonetheless, since the Chroniclers were writing from the 8th century, things like this, which were no doubt important to the powerful families of their day, were often included. Getting back to our main story, when Hata no Ōtsuchi came before the prince, Ame Kunioshi, he told a story of how he had been traveling the land, coming back from trading in Ise, when he came upon two wolves, fighting each other on a mountain. The wolves were each covered in blood from their hostilities, and yet, through all of that, Hata no Ōtsuchi recognized them as visible incarnations of kami. Immediately he got off his horse, rinsed his hands and mouth to purify himself, and then made a prayer to the kami. In his prayer he admonished them for delighting in violence. After all, while they were there, attacking each other, what if a hunter came along and, not recognizing their divine nature, took both of them? With his earnest prayer he got them to stop fighting and he then cleaned off the blood and let them both go, thus saving their lives. Hearing such a story, Ame Kunioshi determined that his dream was likely sent by the same kami saved by Ōtsuchi, or perhaps another spirit who had seen his good deed, who was recommending this good Samaritan to the prince. And who was he to deny the kami? So when he came to the throne, Ame Kunioshi put Hata no Ōtsuchi in charge of the Treasury. That would have to wait until he actually ascended the throne, however; an opportunity that preserved itself with the death of his half brother, Takewo no Ōkimi. When Takewo passed away in 539, we are told that the ministers all requested that Ane Kunioshi take the throne, but at first he deferred, suggesting that the wife of his eldest half brother, Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, take the throne, instead. This was the former queen, Yamada, daughter of Ōke no Ōkimi, aka Ninken Tennō, so no doubt she had a good sense of how the government should work. Yet she, too, waved off the honor. Her reasoning, though, is a very patriarchal and misogynistic diatribe about how women aren't fit four the duties of running the country. Clearly it is drawn from continental sources, and it always makes me wonder. After all, the Nihon Shoki was being written in the time of rather powerful women controlling the Yamato court – which, I imagine irked some people to no end, especially those learned in classic literature, such as the works of Confucius. So I wonder why this was put in. Did he truly defer to her? Or was this just to demonstrate his magnanimous nature? Was she pushed aside by the politics of the court? I also wonder why they went to her, and not Takewo’s wife. It is also interesting to me that the Chroniclers only note her own objections to her rule, and there isn't a peep out of the assembled ministers. There appears to be another possible angle. Some scholars have pointed out inconsistencies with the timeline and events in the reign of Ame Kunioshi that may have actually happened much earlier, including the arrival of Buddhism. They suggest that perhaps there was a period of multiple rulers, possibly rival dynasties, with Magari no Ohine and his brother, Takewo, handling one court and Ame Kunioshi ruling another. If that were the case, then was Yamada the senior person in the other line? At the very least she represents the transfer of power and authority over to Tashiraga’s lineage. Moving forward, we’re going to want to pay close attention to these kinds of political details. Often we’ll see how how princes of different mothers will end up as pawns in the factional infighting that will become de rigeur in the Yamato court, with different families providing wives in the hopes that they might eventually be family members to the next sovereign. So, however it really happened, Ame Kunioshi took the throne. He reappointed Ōtomo no Kanamura and Mononobe no Okoshi Ōmuraji and named Soga no Iname no Sukune back to his position as Ō-omi. He set up his palace at a place called Shikishima, in the district of Shiki in the middle of the Nara Basin in the ancient country of Nara—still within sight of Mt. Miwa and, by now, numerous kofun built for previous kings, queens, and various nobles. Both the Emishi and the Hayato are said to have come and paid tribute—apparently part of the enthronement rituals—and even envoys from Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo and Nimna are said to have stopped in with congratulatory messages. These were probably fairly pro forma messages to maintain good—or at least tolerable—relations between the various states of the day, not unlike today when various people call a newly elected president or prime minister to congratulate them on their own entry to office. He also took as his Queen his own niece, daughter of his half-brother, the previous sovereign, Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennō. Her name was Ishihime, and she would provide Ame Kunioshi with several children, including the Crown Prince, Wosada Nunakara Futodamashiki no Mikoto, aka the eventual Bidatsu Tennō. By the way, for anyone concerned that Ame Kunioshi was” robbing the cradle”, so to speak, remember that he was already 33 years younger than his brother. It is quite possible, assuming the dates are correct, that he and Ishihime were roughly the same age. To put it another way, if Ame Kunioshi was a Millennial, his brother Takewo had been a Boomer, meaning that Ishihime was likely either Gen X or a Millennial herself, to extend the analogy. Of course, they were still uncle and niece, so… yeah, there’s that. I could point out again that at this time it was the maternal lineage that determined whether people were considered closely related or not. Children of different mothers, even with the same fathers, were considered distant enough that it was not at all scandalous for them to be married, and that we probably should be careful about placing our own cultural biases on a foreign culture—and at this point in history many aspects of the culture would be foreign even to modern Japanese, just as a modern person from London would likely find conditions in the Anglo Saxon era Lundenwic perhaps a bit off-putting. Still, I don’t think I can actually recommend the practice. Now it is true he was coming to the throne at relatively young age. He was probably about 30 years old when he took charge of the state, while his brothers, their father’s eldest sons, had come to the throne much later in life, in their 50s or 60s. And if Ame Kunioshi was actually ruling earlier then he might have been younger, running the state of Yamato—or at least some part of it—when he was still in his early 20s. Along with Ishihime, Ame Kunioshi took several other wives. The first two were Ishihime’s younger sisters, Kurawakaya Hime and Hikage. Then there were two daughters of Soga no Iname—and yes, *that* Soga no Iname, the re-appointed Ō-omi. At least three of the next four sovereigns would come from those two unions, and... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/26079222

Traveling through the ancient Nara Basin, Part 1 02/15/2023

Traveling through the ancient Nara Basin, Part 1 Quick bonus episode talking about my own recent travels around the Nara Basin with some suggestions for those interested in ancient Japanese history. For photos, check out: Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is a special episode: Traveling through the ancient Nara Basin, part 1 First things first, apologies as I had fully intended to jump into the story of Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niha, aka Kimmei Tennō. However, I’ve been recently overcome with a bout of Real Life, which has prevented me from doing the full prep work that such an episode deserves. The entry for Kimmei Tennō in the Nihon Shoki is easily one of the longer entries, and there is a lot to digest, and I don't want to jump in until I've been able to do a bit more research. Instead, I figured I would do something different and introduce you to a little tour of the Nara Basin and all of the wonderful sites that one can go and check out, many of which are still there and quiet accessible. In fact, I recently spent some time there doing *cough* “research”, by which I mean traveling around and walking through the ancient landscape to see what remained. Now many people may be familiar with Nara, the city which gave the basin its name. Founded in 710, it was the site of the first long term, permanent continental style capital on the archipelago. Today it is a beautiful city, nestled against the mountains, with ancient temples, shrines, and the occasional kofun, which predate the founding of the ancient capital. It is also home to what we’ve come to call the Nara attack deer. Within the main historical park area, between Kōfukuji Temple, Tōdaiji Temple, and Kasuga Shrine, hunting is strictly outlawed, and the deer wander boldly throughout the streets. Unafraid of humans, they are generally polite, until they find an easy mark: typically a timid soul who has foolishly purchased a set of Shika Senbei, or deer crackers, hoping to gently feed the deer in an Instagram-worthy video post. The deer, however, often have other ideas, especially the young bucks, who might even use their antlers to prod such people, hoping to startle them into dropping all of the crackers. All joking aside, the deer in Nara are just as much a draw as the rest of the city, which draws thousands of tourists every year, but it is only a small part of a larger area. Today we are going to explore a little bit outside the standard tourist route, in the southeast corner of the basin, between the cities of Tenri and Sakurai. This is the area mentioned in the oldest stories in the Chronicles, from the time of the “first sovereign”, Mimaki Iribiko, and his successor, Ikume Iribiko. Archaeological excavations have turned up evidence of people from across the archipelago living here—or at least interacting—since the third century, which we talked about in Episode 28. That's right around the time of Queen Himiko and the emergence of the giant round keyhole shaped tumuli, or Zenpō-kōen Kofun, thought to contain the remains of the kings of ancient Yamato. Today, this area remains relatively rural. Between the cities of Tenri and Sakurai, they still have less than half the population of Nara, their northern neighbor. Urban areas around the train stations quickly give way to rice fields and fruit orchards. The lack of urban development is often a good thing for archaeologists, suggesting that there remain many potential sites under the soil. It can be a bit of a challenge, however, for the modern traveler. While there are trains and local b uses, expect to experience much of the area as the ancient people of Yamato would have: by walking. To start us off, then, let's imagine ourselves traveling down, by train, to Sakurai, and to the ancient shrine of Ōmiwa. As you approach, keep an eye out for the massive Shintō torii gate that towers over the buildings around it, marking the entrance to the omote-sandō, the outer approach, to Ōmiwa and the sacred Mt. Miwa that is the focus of worship, there. Even today, Miwa dominates the landscape. While the large torii are clearly modern—and even the famous triple torii gates at the foot of the mountain are probably a later addition—it nonetheless demonstrates the continued importance of the shrine and the sacred mountain in this region. Fortunately, today, you need not walk the entire approach, as the train station drops you off much closer to the shrine, along the latter part of the omote-sandō. Speaking of which, I should perhaps describe this common feature at many famous shrines and temples. The omote-sandō, or outer approach, is both a part of the shrine and yet not at the same time. It is typically the main road to the shrine, or at least the traditional approach. Unlike the main ground of the shrine, these are public roads with numerous shops lining the sides, typically geared towards those making a pilgrimage to the shrine itself. You can usually find various souvenirs, restaurants, as well as local sweets and delicacies to take back as gifts. These paths may have one belonged to the shrine, especially if it used to be a larger institution that could then use the land rents to help pay for their own upkeep, and you may find auxiliary shrines or temples along the way, but there seems to have always been a kind of symbiotic relationship with places of worship and the merchants catering to the pilgrims visiting them. It is not dissimilar to how restaurants, motels, and gift shops spring up around various attractions anywhere else in the world. Fortunately, at Ōmiwa shrine, as I said the train station is actually well along the outer approach, meaning you don't have to walk the entire thing if you do not wish. As you approach the main shrine, you'll come to a second torii gate, leading you into the forested area of the main shrine grounds, which leads you to the Edo period haiden, or prayer hall. One of the unique things about Ōmiwa shrine is that they never built an actual building to contain the spirit of the kami of the shrine, which in this case is Ōmononushi. Instead, the kami lives on the mountain itself. This is thought to be the older style of worship, where the kami were thought to live in the mountains, close to the sun and the sky. Many stories talk about the kami alighting from the heavens onto mountains, and early depictions of them taking corporal, or visible, form are often as animals—snakes and other such things—living on or near the mountain. There is a teaching, in fact, that as rice cultivation grew in Japan, many communities would create a sacred space in or near the rice fields, designating a pillar and setting up a sacred fence, and call the kami down from the mountain to reside close to the workers, who were growing there rice. At harvest time, the village would celebrate, offering a part of the harvest to the kami, who had helped it grow, and sending the kami back to the mountain. Over time, the pillar was covered with a roof, to avoid the rot and deterioration that comes with being outside throughout most of the year, and eventually that grew into a building, where ceremonies could be conducted. This is one story for how the modern shrine came to be. In most places, even at sacred mountains, they will have an actual shrine building for the key focus of worship, but, as I said, at Ōmiwa they have maintained an older style of worship. Therefore, where most prayer halls are simply placed in front of the main building, where the spirit is enshrined, the haiden of Ōmiwa sits in front of the entrance to the mountain itself. If you find yourself with the time and the inclination, you can hike the trails up Mt. Miwa, though they are clear to indicate that this is a religious place, and not just a hike through the wilderness, and people are expected to treat it appropriately. Regrettably, when I was there I had limited time, and so I didn't get a chance to hike up, but maybe that will be a trip for another day. From Ohomiwa shrine, you have several options. The most scenic is to travel north along the Yamanobe no Michi, the ancient mountain road. This road—though mostly more a walking path—is touted as the oldest road in all of Japan. This designation comes from the fact that it is the first road mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, with various kofun and ancient palaces sited in relation to it over the years. It travels up along the foot of the mountains all the way to Nara city, and takes you through some absolutely beautiful countryside. I was last there in the fall, and people were walking the trail looking for pictures of fall foliage there and in the mountains. It is unclear to me just how stable the route of this Yamanobe no Michi actually has been over the years. Certainly there have been paths along the foothills, but the designation of this particular path seems, perhaps, arbitrary. What I will not dispute is that this path winds through countryside that has a long history, which you can see all around you. Aside from the larger, more obvious kofun of the ancient kings, the landscape is dotted with smaller examples as well. As I walked along the trail, I made something of a sport of “kofun hunting”—looking for mounds in fields and then checking to see if it was a kofun or a natural feature. Of course, more often then not, it was a kofun—even if it is now in the middle of some farmer’s persimmon orchard. It was fascinating to see just how many were there—especially when you consider that many mounds may have collapsed or been worn away over the years. Not all of the kofun I wanted to see were along the ancient path ways, however. Specifically, I was on the lookout for one of the oldest of the giant keyhole tomb mounds: Hashihaka kofun. Hashihaka is a bit of a detour from the old Yamanobe no Michi—if you take the train it is about halfway between Miwa and Makimuku JR train stations. Coming up on it, and not knowing anything else, you might dismiss it as little more than a large, tree-covered hill, though the water-filled moat might alert you that something is up. Of course, from up above, or looking at a map, one can clearly make out the keyhole shaped features of the kofun mound. As I said, this is thought to be one of the oldest of the keyhole shaped mounds. It has been dated to the mid to late 3rd century, and many people believe that this must be the resting place of the famous Queen Himiko, or at least someone from around her time. The fact that the Chronicles say that there is a woman buried there who demonstrated shaman-like powers in her interactions with the kami lend a lot of credence to that—something we first discussed back in episode 13, when we talked about the evidence for Queen Himiko. When it was new, of course, the mound would not have been covered in trees. The various levels would have been carefully graded, with clear steps showing the levels up to the top of the mound. It may have started out at its core as a small hill that was then reshaped, or it may have been built from the ground up—I’m not sure if we can tell without more intrusive investigations. The surface would have been covered with small stones, which likely inhibited too much growth, although it still would have required maintenance, and likely some number of households were identified to regularly provide labor and rice for the mound’s upkeep. An early kofun like this would not have had the elaborate haniwa of later evolutions. There have been found some haji-ware style pots that have holes drilled into the bottom, thus indicating that they were not likely being used to store anything—or at least not in the way a normal pot would. These were along the squarish front shape of the kofun. Later, we find cylindrical stands, which become the basis for the actual haniwa that cover so many other kofun. Still, even without this, the shape and the material and other such aspects would have called out that this was a special place. Hashihaka kofun sits in the shadow of Mt. Miwa, though it isn’t directly oriented towards it. Possibly there is religious significance in its direction, but some of that may have been dictated by other local features at the time, some of which may no longer be evident, including the shape of any original hill or mound used in the kofun’s creation. It is clear, however, that it would have been visible for quite some distance, and even today it towers over most of the one-to-two storey buildings that surround it. It would also have been clearly visible from the site of our next stop, at Makimuku JR train station. Makimuku is a small station, and mostly just a stop in the region for those living in the area. Still, when you are in a land as steeped in history as the Nara basin, there is always something around, and at Makimuku it is the remains of an ancient third century palace. Uncovered near the JR train lines and the station, the Makimuku palace is largely indicated by postholes, indicating at least three distinct raised buildings on the site. Numerous excavations have been carried out in the area, indicating habitation through the 3rd and 4th centuries, with a shift closer to the mountains in the latter part of the area’s focus. There is indication of trade with people on Korean peninsula, and indication of goods from as far away as Southeast Asia, at least. Many of these excavations are now beneath homes and other buildings that have sprung up over time, but you can still see where the Makimuku palace was, though access is a little strange. From the station, one walks around and through the nearby streets—you actually walk away from the ruins and then eventually back towards them. The actual entrance to the site is more like an empty lot between two buildings, providing access to an area with the location of the main postholes indicated in concrete. There is a small board where someone is ensuring that information about the site is being kept up for any interested travelers. This is definitely a site for someone with a keen interest in history and not necessarily a site that most tourists would likely come to visit. There are no reconstructed buildings—anything that someone did build would simply be conjecture, as it is merely the postholes and some various fragments of pottery and other trade goods that have been found. And yet from there you can get a sense of the size of how large the Makimuku area, at the foot of Mt. Miwa, might have been. From there to Hashihaka kofun is a comfortable walk, and both Hashihaka and the sacred Mt. Miwa would have been clearly visible at the time. Nearby is the Yamato River, to provide another form of early transportation. And all around is flat land that makes for excellent rice farming, which would have spurred on the ancient economy and may explain how Yamato was able to grow so large so quickly. Around the countryside, we have plenty of reminders of this period. Besides Hashihaka kofun, there are numerous others, many of them from the late 3rd to 4th centuries and attributed to some of the figures from the Nihon Shoki, including Mimaki and Ikume Iribiko. Of course, there are also various signposts that detail where tradition states this or that palace was or some other event. Given the lack of detail in the chronicles, it is hard to know how accurate any of this is, but walking around at least gives you some idea of the area and where all of this was taking place. Many of these are just north of Sakurai proper, and in the area of Tenri city, in Nara, but I’m going to hold off on talking about that at this point, as we’ll probably make that the focus of a second part of this little travelogue. I do want to point out, though, a few more things in the area. For instance, there is a shrine to sumou, recounting the supposed first sumou match mentioned in the Chronicles. There are also several supposed palace sites closer to the mountains themselves. Looking away from the mountains, across the Yamato River, we can see the flat plain of the Shiki district. “Shiki” is an area that pops up time and again in the Chronicles, and the area of Tawaramoto is well built up, today. Across the flat plain you can see the mountain ridge that would separate the Nara basin and the land of Yamato from the area of Kawachi and modern Ohosaka proper. Beyond them both is the Seto Inland Sea. I’ll have some photos from this trip up on the podcast website for those who want to get an idea of what it is like on the ground, but it is a fairly easy area to reach from a variety of different locations. North is Tenri and Nara, each with their own areas of historical interest, and west and south you have the areas of Kashihara and Asuka, which both feature prominently in the chronicles, especially in some of the later sections. I’ll try to do a little bit of each of them as I can, interspersing these geographical descriptions in between other episodes to help give a better sense of the area and perhaps give you a bit of guidance for your own travels. And that is going to do it for this episode. Thanks for taking this detour with me - I’m going to keep looking into the reign of Ame Kunioshi, and hopefully we can get to him next time. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at [email protected]. And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/25941108

The Asuka Period Begins 01/31/2023

The Asuka Period Begins This episode we take a look at the reign of Takewo Hiro Oshikuni Tate, aka Senka Tenno, and we take our first steps into what is referred to as the Asuka Period, due to the large number of rulers who had courts in the region of Asuka in the southern Nara Basin. For more information, check out Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 80: The Asuka Period Begins! When last we looked at the Chronicles, we were in the reign of Magari no Ohine, aka Ohoye—though we’ve gone with Ohine so I’m going to stick with that—aka Ankan Tennou. Assuming the dating in the Chronicles is correct, he was born about 465, and would have come of age in the era of Wakatakiru no Ohokimi, aka Yuuryaku Tennou. When his father, Wohodo no Ohokimi, first took the throne in 507, Ohine would would have been in his early forties—his father only in his mid to late 50s. And so when his father passed away about 25 years later, Ohine was already into his late 60s, himself. It is unclear whether his father reigned for 25 or 28 years; the Chronicles say 25, officially, but then note that there is another source that claims it was 28. It goes on to skip over about three years, during which Ohine himself didn’t take the throne, allowing for 28 years to have passed. That discrepancy of three years may not seem like much, but it is still curious. Realistically, though, he had his hand on the tiller of the ship of state for much longer. We see his hand in stories dated to about 513, when he is shown politicking on national issues, taking a royal princess as his wife, and being established as the heir apparent. So he is actively participating in the government, and while it does appear that the long tradition of co-rulership, which we’ve discussed a few times, may have died out around this period, there seems little doubt as to his influence in the court. And yet, Ohine’s reign only lasted two years. He was perhaps 68 or 69 years old when he took the throne, and he would die in the following year. Despite his influence, his father’s long reign had kept him off the throne for much of that time, and he was likely considered venerable even as he took the throne. He was succeeded by his maternal brother, the second eldest son of Wohodo no Ohokimi, who full name was Take-wo Hiro Kunioshi Tate. Based on his age and the dating in the Chronicles, he was only about one year younger than his older brother. So everything I said above about Ohine coming to the throne at a late age applies to Takewo as well - he would have also been through almost 7 decades by that point, so he was no spring chicken. It is unclear what Takewo’s role was, growing up. He was the second son. His older brother was the heir apparent, and had his elder brother had children, no doubt those children would have been expected to inherit. However, such as not meant to be, as Magari no Ohine died childless. Here I should point out that there were other brothers, since in the stories we’ve seen so far there has not necessarily been an insistence on the eldest brother taking the throne. One of these brothers was the young Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa no Mikoto. Born to Wohodo and his formal queen, Tashiraga, he would have been 26 at the time of Magari no Ohine’s death. Young, in comparison to Takewo, but not impossibly so, and certainly old enough to have taken the throne. In fact the Chronicles treat it as a forgone conclusion, though that is likely more twenty-twenty hindsight than anything else. Besides, although his mother was queen, that appears to have been a blatantly political marriage, designed to join Wohodo’s line with that of the previous sovereigns. Even Ohine had married a royal princess from the previous ruling line, and Takewo would be little different. Still, it seems likely that Takewo and Ohine were likely from the more favored line, at least at the time, and as they took the throne, had they had heirs who could follow after them those heirs would have likely been the new royal lineage. So: both Ohine and his brother came to the throne quite late in their lives, and neither would hold it for very long. That doesn’t mean, though, that there aren’t some important tidbits for us in their stories. As we’ve discussed in the last few episodes, a lot happened during Ohine’s reign, particularly with the establishment of various royal granaries. His entry in the Nihon Shoki is over twice the length of Takewo’s, even though the latter’s reign was longer, though not by much—lasting from the twelfth month of 535 to the spring of 539—a little more than three years, all told. Still, Takewo’s reign has a few notable events. First such thing is the enthronement ceremony in the twelfth month of 535, as the Ministers of the court delivered up to Takewo the regalia—the sword and the mirror. Notice that there is no mention of the jewel, and neither is their mention of the seal, which was the item given to Takewo’s father, Wohodo, on *his* ascension, which we discussed back in Episode 75. This continues something of a trend, where the sword and the mirror are the truly public regalia. Then, they moved the palace, as was customary. The Chronicles say that they set it up in Ihorino, in Hinokuma. This has traditionally been identified as being in the Hinokuma district of Asuka, near Omiashi jinja. Omiashi jinja claims to be the family shrine of the Aya, one of the families that trace their lineage back to the weavers brought over from the Korean peninsula. That family, much like the current dynasty, traced their own lineage back to the time of Homuda Wake, and I wonder if there wasn’t some kind of connection that would have made Hinokuma important to the sovereign and the court back in the early 6th century. It is also near the site of the ruins of Hinokuma temple, said to have been established over a century later, in 686. Temples often were their own kind of symbol, and likely spoke to some importance for this area at the time it was founded, though it is likely that was coincidental to the site’s use by Takewo and his court, assuming the Chronicles can be trusted on that point. Now some of you, like me, may have picked up on the location of this palace; that is to say, Asuka. As in the Asuka period. This is the period, between the 6th and 7th centuries, when many of the sovereigns based their capitals out of this region south of Kashihara in the Nara Basin, and hence the name. We’ll talk more on this periodization—as well as the various dates and what they mean—later on in the episode. For now, just know that this area, which is rich in archaeological evidence for this period, is going to be of particular importance to us—so much so that scholars have named an era after this region. After setting up the palace, we are told that Takewo appointed his ministers. Two of the names are no surprise—Ohotomo no Kanamura and Mononobe no Arakahi were still around, and had continued in positions of power. Two new names join the list, however: Soga no Iname no Sukune was made Oho-omi, and Abe no Ohomaro no Omi was made Daibu. Soga no Iname comes from the famous Soga clan. They claimed descent through none other than the famous Katsuragi no Sotsuhiko, and have popped up now and again. For more on Sotsuhiko, check out episode 47. The last mention appears to be during the reign of Wakatakiru no Ohokimi, when they mentioned Soga no Karako—which looks like it may be talking about someone born on the Korean peninsula. Given their connections to the continent and their eventual connection with Buddhism—as we’ll see in later episodes they played a large role in bringing it over and popularizing it in Japan—it seems quite likely that they had ties to the Korean peninsula. Here, we see Soga no Iname being made Ohoomi, the head of the Soga no Omi family, and what appears to be a rank of prime minister, although so far the actual authority of the Oho-omi in State affairs seems a bit hit or miss. Abe no Ohomaro, on the other hand, is being made Daibu. This term is interesting—they are not making Ohomaro the head of the Abe clan, which would also be Ohoomi, one assumes, just like the Ohomuraji of the Ohotomo and Mononobe, though there are a lot of “Omi” ranked families that have been mentioned, but only a handful who have been mentioned as Oho-omi. The term “daibu” has shown up a few times in the Chronicles before, and generally just seems to refer to high ranking court officials, generally, though here it seems to be a specific court title. It would certainly be used that way, later, but it is also possible that, like Omi, it was originally just a more general term for high ranking ministers. The Abe family has shown up here and there. Much like the Mononobe, their family name appears to suggest that they were originally formed as one of the “-Be” corporate family groups, though of course they show up in the Chronicles well before that would seem to have been the case, and have been prominent enough to marry daughters off to various sovereigns, so they at least claim something of a pedigree. They would continue to be important at court, and appear to have been close allies with the Soga clan, at least in this period. There are a host of famous Abe throughout history. From the poet, Abe no Nakamaro, to the famous Onmyoji, or Yin-yang diviner, Abe no Seimei. There was a branch of Abe in the Tohoku region that regularly caused problems for later courts. And of course there is the modern political dynasty, as well, including the late Prime Minister, Abe Shinzo. However, it is somewhat difficult to know just who is actually related. The poet Nakamaro may be named for a village, rather than for his relationship to the court family. There are even different ways of spelling and pronouncing the Abe name, even in the Nihon Shoki itself. The Abe family was large enough that it would not have been difficult for someone to claim a relationship that didn’t exist, particularly in some of the more chaotic times. Still, we’ll try to keep track of them as best we can, at least as they interact with our narrative. In this case, that means keeping an eye on Abe no Ohomaro and his position at court. Besides affirming the ministers, there was also the appointment of a queen. Here we again see the trend to connect this dynasty with the previous, as Takewo’s primary wife was none other than Tachibana no Nakatsu, a daughter of Ohoke no Ohokimi, aka Ninken Tennou. Together they had one son and three daughters, so technically it would appear that he did have an heir when he passed, but as we’ll see, that isn’t quite how the succession ended up working out. One of the major events of this reign seems rather substantial. That’s the creation of a government house—basically an administrative center—in northern Kyushu, specifically in Nanotsu no Kuchi. Ostensibly it was to organize granaries to consolidate and distribute food as necessary. Of course, it can’t be forgotten that rice was not just food, but also the basis of the economy. So granaries were just as much a place that taxes could be collected, and that would have given officials there a tidy sum, some of which was no doubt destined for Yamato, but which I imagine was also used to help grease the wheels of local government. We’ve seen this coming for some time. We see the military subdual of Kyushu in the old stories, and we see various people sent out to bring it to heel or otherwise administer at least the northern areas, which would have been part of the critical trade routes between Yamato and the mainland. Mononobe no Arakahi had been sent down with what we are told was a “battleax” of office to put down the Iwai Rebellion. That was about ten years ago, and we see Arakahi still in the government. Now, however, Yamato seems to be consolidating its hold over the area, instituting economic controls, beyond just the threat of military force. There are also the various areas and families that they drew upon to fund and kickstart this venture. Most of it is from the Yamato region—Mamuta, in Kawachi; Owari, near modern Nagoya; Nihinomi, likely near Ohosaka; and Iga. The families in charge of this include Aso no Kimi, who must have had some leverage in Mamuta; Soga no Iname, who held influence of the Owari no Muraji; Mononobe no Arakahi, who apparently was in charge of the Nihinomi no Muraji; and then the Abe family, who directed the Iga no Omi. Of these, I find the Aso no Kimi most intriguing, as the others are all related to the great ministers of state. Aso no Kimi feels out of place, to me. It may be a reference to Mt. Aso or similar. But I also can’t help but notice that we have one Great Minister missing: Ohotomo no Kanamura, though not for long. The rest of the setup of this government house—what sounds suspiciously like the area we’ll later come to know as the Dazaifu—included commandments that the local regions of the island of Kyuushuu also provide funds, which is to say rice. They consolidated reserves from Tsukushi, Hi, and Toyo, which is mostly northern Kyushu. This was all in the year 536. Whether that is when it was commanded or that is when it was setup is not quite clear to me. One suspects that it would have fallen to Mononobe no Arakahi to administer things from this new government center, if it weren’t for that fact that Arakahi passed away only about a month later. It is unclear who administered this new government house immediately, but in the year following, 537, and with Silla breathing down Nimna’s neck, Takewo’s government assigned Ohotomo no Kanamura’s sons, Iwa and Sadehiko, to assist Nimna. Iwa took charge of the government in Tsukushi, which would have been supplying any adventures on the peninsula, including raising troops and making preparations. Meanwhile his brother, Sadehiko went to Nimna and, we are told, “restored the peace” there, as well as lending aid to Yamato’s ally, Baekje. This is rather vague. I don’t see anything in the Samguk Sagi that clearly equates to this. In 532, the Silla Annals talk about the King of Keumgwan Kara surrendering to Silla, though Kara would continue to be a going concern for at least another sixty years or so. It is possible that this had something to do with this new expedition around 537, but it isn’t clear. Takewo would pass away in 539. His kofun near Mt. Unebi, just a little ways north of his palace at Hinokuma. It is identified as one in modern Toriyacho. It is said that he was buried together with his wife, Tachibana, and one of their children, who died while still quite young. And that’s where we might end things, but there are a few other points to note for this period. For one thing, this is a great time to discuss periodization in Japanese history, since some people claim that the Asuka period started during this reign—specifically referencing the date of 538. Periodization of historical eras often seems straightforward, but more often than not it is anything but. Periods may be designated for political reasons or even cultural. Political reasons may include things like a change in government, or even a change in the location of government. Certainly the Nara period, starting in 710, is based quite squarely on the foundation of Heijo-kyo, the continental style capital in modern Nara city. Likewise the Heian and Kamakura eras are often dated from the founding of the governments in those areas. However, just because the government moved does not necessarily mean that things changed overnight, or even much at all. Likewise there were smaller changes that often happened within these periods, so within the Heian and Kamakura periods, you get terms like the Fujiwara and Insei periods to denote specific aspects of who was controlling the government at any given time. For some, that means that the Asuka period doesn’t start until the reign of Toyomike Kashikiya-hime, aka Suiko Tenno, in 593, and by the narrowest definition only continues until the Taika reforms in 645, which are easily defined political dates with broad agreement across the scholarship for when they occurred. And yet, we know that there were governments based out of the Asuka period before that, if the Nihon Shoki is to be at all believed. So if this is about the location of the capital, why not start it with Takewo and his palace? Shouldn’t that be the start of the so-called “Asuka Period”? After all, during this period the sovereigns continued the practice of building new palaces upon their ascension, with most, though not all, being in the Asuka area. And yet, that probably wouldn’t really help break up the period in the most meaningful ways. After all, if we go with that idea, why not start when Wohodo no Ohokimi built his palace in Iware, just a little to the north? What was so different from one to the other? On the other hand, cultural periods tend to focus on changes in things like art or even thought. These often overlap well, but not exactly, with political periods. For instance, you may hear about the Higashiyama period, a time in the Muromachi when the Higashiyama era of Kyoto was ascendant, and it was influencing artistic growth and evolution across the country. But even that is a hard thing to tack down. For the Asuka period, perhaps the biggest change – and one we will spend a lot of time discussing – was the introduction of Buddhism, that foreign religion from India, transported across Eurasia to the Korean peninsula and then over to Japan. The primary figure to whom the spread of Buddhism in Japan is attributed is the enigmatic Shotoku Taishi, who served as a regent for Toyomike Kashikiya hime, and instituted myriad reforms, often along continental models. And yet, if we want to look at the start of Buddhism, that actually goes further back—and for many it goes back all the way to the years included in this reign—specifically the year 538. Now the year 538 in the Nihon Shoki contains no mention of Buddhism. In fact, the Nihon Shoki wouldn’t have a record of anything related to Buddhist teachings coming to Japan until about 13 or 14 years later, in the reign of the following sovereign, known as Kimmei Tenno, whom we will be getting to shortly. This chronicle states that it was in about 552 when an envoy from Baekje brough an image of the Buddha as well as Buddhist scriptures to the court. However, these days it seems that many scholars prefer a date of 538 for this particular event. The 538 date comes from the records of Gangoji Temple—the Gangouji Garan Engi—as well as the Jouguu Shoutoku Houou Teisetsu, aka the Jouguu-ki. This latter is purported to be a biography of Shotoku Taishi, and comes from the 8th century, so contemporary with the Nihon Shoki, the Kojiki, and the Sendai Kuji Hongi. Both of these sources lend credence to the idea of 538 being when these Buddhist icons first came over, and so many people will start the Asuka period at this date. To be clear, it isn’t as if Buddhism came over once and that was the end of it and everybody became Buddhist. This is just the first recorded instance of Buddhist items and ideas... /episode/index/show/sengokudaimyo/id/25783812

Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

TOPICS