Podcasts about Heian

This episode we kick off a series of episodes following the famous monk Xuanzang, aka the Tripitaka Master of the Law, Sanzang Fashi.  Known in Japanese as Genjo, and founder of the Faxiang school of Yogacara Buddhism, also known as the Hosso school, it was brought back to the archipelago by students who studied with the master at his temple north of the Tang capital of Chang'an.  He was particularly famous for his travels across the Silk Road to India and back--a trip that would last 16 years and result in him bringing back numerous copies of sutras from the land of the Buddha, kicking off a massive translation work.  It also would see his recollections recorded as the Record of the Western Regions, which, along with his biography based on the stories he told those working with him, give us some of the best contemporary information of the various places along the Silk Road in the 7th century. Part 1 focuses on Xuanzang's journey out of the Tang empire, braving the desert, and somehow, against the odds, making it to the country of Gaochang. For more, check out the blogpost page:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-120 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 120:  Journey to the West, Part 1 The monks from far off Yamato were enthralled.  They had journeyed across the waves on a foreign vessel, traversed a greater distance than they probably thought possible growing up in the archipelago, and had finally arrived at the capital of the Great Tang Empire, Chang'an.  They had then been sent north, to a temple where they met others from Yamato. They had come to study the Law, the Dharma, with some of the most famous teachers of the Tang dynasty, and there were few more famous than the Tripitaka Master Genjou himself.   Everyone in the monastery knew his story—he had traveled all the way to India, the birthplace of the Buddha, and returned with copies of the sutras in Sanskrit, which he and the other monks were translating. In between sessions of meditation, sutra readings, and various lectures, the students would gather round the feet of the master as he recounted his journeys.  The stories themselves were fantastic stories, telling of far off cities and people.  There were stories of bandits, and meetings with kings.  The students must have thought about how it mirrored what they, themselves, had gone through—their own Journey to the West. Last episode we talked about Tukara and what that mysterious placename might mean—and where it could be referring to.  For that we traveled all the way to the end of the Silk Road.  In this episode and continuing into the next, we are going to travel that same road with a different perspective, as we take a look at one of the most famous travelers of the Silk Road:  the monk Xuanzang, or Genjou in Japanese.  And as I hinted at in the introduction, if you're at all familiar with the famous Journey to the West, well, this and the following episodes will explore the actual history behind that story, and how intertwined it is with the history of the archipelago. For those who don't know, Xuanzang was a monk, born Chen Hui near present-day Luoyang in Henan.  He is known by many names, but one of his most famous comes from the title “Sanzang Fashi”, aka “Tripitaka Master of the Law”, from which we get the simplified name in some English sources of just “Tripitaka”.  Sanzang, or “Tripitaka”, literally translates to “Three baskets” or “Three storehouses”, referring to the Buddhist canon.  It is quite fitting, given Xuanzang's incredibly famous Journey to the Western Regions and, eventually, to India, where he journeyed to obtain the most accurate version of the Buddhist scriptures to ensure that they had the most accurate versions.  On his journey, Xuanzang apparently took detailed records of the trip, and his   “Records of the Western Regions”  provides a lot of what we know of the towns and cultures that existed there back in the 7th century – even if not all of it was experienced firsthand and  may have come through translators and second or third-hand sources. In addition, Xuanzang's biography and travelogue add a lot more information to his journey, even if they weren't necessarily written by him, but instead by his fellow monks based on his recitations to them  combined with various records that they had access to at the time.  As such, it isn't always the most reliable, but it is still highly detailed and informative.  Xuanzang would return to China and teach for many years, translating the works that he had brought back, and founding a new school of Yogachara Buddhism, known as Faxiang in Chinese, but “Hossou” in Japan.  The Hossou school was particularly popular in the 8th and 9th centuries, having been transmitted by Yamato students who had actually studied at the feet of the venerable teacher.  These included the monk Doushou, who travelled over to the continent in 653.  In 658, there are two others who came over, named Chitatsu and Chiitsu. They had travelled to the Tang court in the 7th month of that year, where they are said to have received instruction from none other than Xuanzang himself.  If this indeed was in 658, it would have been only 6 years before Xuanzang's death. Their journey had almost not happened.  The year previous, in 657, envoys were sent to Silla to ask that state to escort Chitatsu to the Tang court, along with Hashibito no Muraji no Mimumaya and Yozami no Muraji no Wakugo, but Silla refused.  They must have relented, however, as they apparently were escorting at least the monks a year or so later. Chitatsu and Chiitsu would eventually return to Yamato, as would Doushou.  Doushou is also said to have been introduced to a student of the second patriarch of the Chan, or Zen school as well.  He would return to teach at Gango-ji, the later incarnation of Asukadera, spreading the Hossou teachings from master Xuanzang. In fact, Xuanzang's impact would be felt across Asia, and much of the Buddhist world.  He would continue to be known in Japan and in the area of China, Korea, and beyond.  Japanese translations of his journeys were made between the 8th and 10th centuries from texts that had come from Xuanzang's own monastery. Nine centuries after his death, during the Ming Dynasty, Xuanzang would be further immortalized in a wildly popular novel:  Journey to the West.  The “Journey to the West” is an incredibly fantastical retelling of Xuanzang's story.  In it, Xuanzang is sent on his task by none other than the Buddha himself, who also provides three flawed traveling companions.  There is  Zhu Bajie, aka “Piggy”—a half human half pig who is known for his gluttony and lust.  Then there is Sha Wujing, aka “Sandy”—a man with a red beard and blue skin who lived in a river of quicksand.  Despite a rather frightful backstory, he was often the straight man in the story.  And then there is the famous Sun Wukong, aka “Monkey”, the most famous of the three and often more famous than Xuanzang himself.  In fact, one of the most famous English versions of the story is just called “Monkey”, an abridged telling of the story in English by Arthur Waley in 1942. “Journey to the West” is perhaps the most popular novel in all of Asia.  It has spawned countless retellings, including numerous movies and tv series.  The character of “Monkey” has further spun off into all sorts of media.  Of course, his addition was all part of the novel, but nonetheless, that novel had an historical basis, which is where we really want to explore.  Because for all of the magic and fantasy of the Ming novel, the real story is almost as fascinating without it. We are told that Xuanzang was born as Chen Hui—or possibly Chen Yi—on the 6th of April in 602 CE in Chenliu, near present-day Luoyang.  Growing up, he was fascinated by religious books.  He joined the Jingtu monastery and at the age of thirteen he was ordained as a novice monk.  However, he lived in rather “interesting times”, and as the Sui dynasty fell, he fled the chaos to Chengdu, in Sichuan, where he was fully ordained by the age of 20. Xuanzang was inspired reading about the 4th century monk Faxian, whom we mentioned back in Episode 84.  Faxian had visited India and brought back many of the earliest scriptures to be widely translated into Chinese.    However, Xuanzang was concerned, as Faxian had been, that the knowledge of the Chinese Buddhist establishment was still incomplete.  There were still works that they knew about but didn't have, and there were competing Buddhist theories in different translations of the texts.  He thought that if he could go find untranslated versions of the texts then he could resolve some of the issues and further build out the corpus of Buddhist knowledge. Around the age 25 or 27, he began his journey.  The exact date is either 627 or 629, based on the version that one reads.  That has some importance for the events that his story tells, as some of the individuals whom he is said to have met are said to have died by 627 CE, meaning that either the dates of the journey are wrong or the dates we have in other sources are wrong.  As you can imagine, that's rather important for an accurate history, but not so much for our purposes, as I think that we can still trust the broad brush strokes which paint an image of what the Silk Road was like at the time. For context, back in Yamato, this was around the time that Kashikiya Hime—aka Suiko Tenno—passed away, and Prince Tamura was placed on the throne, passing over Prince Yamashiro no Oe, the son of the late Crown Prince, Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  Whoever was on the throne, Soga no Emishi was actually running things, and the Soga family were heavily involved in the establishment of Buddhism in the archipelago.  This is relatively around the time of Episode 103. When Xuanzang took off to the West, his intentions may have been pure, but truth be told, he was breaking the law.  Tang Taizong had come to power in 626, and the routes along the Tarim Basin were under the control of the Gokturks, whom the Tang were fighting with.  As such, travel to the Western Regions was strictly controlled.  Xuanzang and several companions had all petitioned Emperor Taizong for permission to leave, but the Emperor never replied. So Xuanzang did not have permission to leave—but he decided to head out, anyway.  His companions, however, lost their nerve, and so he set out alone. Of course, he didn't simply set off for the West.  At first he went city to city, staying at local Buddhist monasteries and sharing his teachings.  To all intents and purposes, this probably seemed like normal behavior for a monk, traveling from monastery to monastery, but it was actually taking him towards the western border. And it was going well until he reached Liangzhou—known today as Wuwei.  Li Daliang, governor of Liangzhou, enforced the prohibition that "common" people were not permitted to go to the regions of the western tribes.  Word had spread about Xuanzang, and when the governor caught wind of what was going on, he called Xuanzang into an audience to find out what he was planning to do.  Xuanzang was honest and told him he was going to the West to search for the Dharma, but the governor ordered him to return to Chang'an instead. Fortunately, there was a Buddhist teacher, Huiwei, who heard about all of this this and decided to help Xuanzang.  He had two of his own disciples escort Xuanzang to the west.  Since the governor had told him not to go, this was illegal, and so they traveled by night and hid during the day until they reached Guazhou. In Guazhou, the governor, Dugu Da, was quite pleased to meet with Xuanzang, and either hadn't heard about the order for him to return to Chang'an or didn't care.  From there, Xuanzang's path was largely obstructed by the deep and fast-flowing Hulu river.  They would have to travel to its upper reaches, where they could go through Yumenguan--Yumen Pass--which was the only safe way to cross, making it a key to the Western regions. Beyond Yumenguan there were five watchtowers, roughly 30 miles apart.  These watchtowers likely had means to signal back and forth, thus keeping an eye on the people coming and going from Yumen Pass.  Beyond that was the desert of Yiwu, also known as Hami. Xuanzang was not only worried about what this meant, his horse died, leaving him on foot.  He contemplated this in silence for a month.  Before he continued, though, a warrant arrived for his arrest.  They inquired with a local prefect, who happened to be a pious Buddhist.  He showed it to Xuanzang, and then ended up tearing up the document, and urged Xuanzang to leave as quickly as possible. Yumenguan lies roughly 80-90 kilometers—roughly 50 miles or so—from the town of Dunhuang, the last major outpost before leaving for the Western Regions.  Dunhuang had a thriving Buddhist community, and the paintings in the Mogao caves are absolutely stunning, even today—one of the most well-preserved of such collections, spanning the 4th to the 14th century.  However, at this point, Xuanzang was a wanted man, and stopping in at Dunhuang might very well have curtailed his journey before it had even begun.  Instead, he would likely need to find a way to sneak across the border without alerting anyone and then, somehow, sneak past five watchtowers, each 30 miles or so apart, with no water except what he could carry or steal at each point. At this point, one of Xuanzang's escorts had traveled on to Dunhuang, and only one remained, but Xuanzang wasn't sure his remaining companion was up to the strain of the journey, and he dismissed him, deciding to travel on alone.  He bought a horse, and he fortunately found a guide--a "Hu" person named "Shi Pantuo".  "Hu" is a generic term often translated simply as "foreigner" or "barbarian" from the western lands, and the name "Shi" referred to Sogdians from Tashkent.  The Sogdians were a people of Persian descent living in central Eurasia, between the Syr Darya and Amu Darya rivers.  That latter was also known as the Oxus river, hence another name for the region: Transoxiana.  Sogdiana appears as early as the 6th century BCE as a member of the Achaemenid Empire, and the region was annexed by Alexander the Great in 328 BCE.  It continued to change hands under a succession of empires. The Sogdian city-states themselves were centered around the city of Samarkand, and while they did not build an empire themselves, the Sogdians nonetheless had a huge impact on cultures in both the east and the west.  Sogdians became famous as traders along the silk roads, and they built tight knit communities in multiple cities along the route.  Families kept in touch over long distances, setting up vast trading networks.  In fact, there were even Sogdian communities living in Chang'an and elsewhere in the Tang Empire.  The Sogdian An Lushan would eventually rise through the ranks of the Tang dynasty court—but that was almost a century after Xuanzang's travels. There are many material items that the Sogdians helped move across the silk road, but perhaps one of the most striking things were a style of patterned textiles.  Sassanid Persia was known for its silk textiles, often woven in images surrounded by a border of pearl-shapes:  Small circles in a circular pattern around a central figure, often duplicated due to the way the fabrics were woven.  This pearl-roundel pattern was especially taken up by the Sogdians, and their fashion sense made it popular across Eurasia.  Large pearl roundel designs were used on caftans, popular throughout the Gokturk qaghanate, and the Tang court would eventually pick up the fashion of these foreigners—generally classified as “hu” by those in Chang'an.  With a round neck, closing at the side, this western-style caftan-like garment eventually found its way into Japan as the people of the Japanese archipelago adopted Tang dynasty clothing and fashion.  In fact, Japan boasts one of the most impressive collections of silk road artifacts at the Shosoin repository of Todaiji temple in Nara, and it includes clothing and fabric that show the influence of Sogdian and Turkic merchants.  The Shosoin collection contains multiple examples of those pearl roundel patterns, for example, and you can even buy reproductions of the design today in Nara and elsewhere.  The garments themselves would continue to influence the fashion of the court, indeed giving rise to some of the most popular court garments of the Nara period, and the design continued to evolve through the Heian period until it was almost unrecognizable from its origins. Sogdians were so influential that their language—an Eastern Iranian language known simply as “Sogdian”—was the lingua franca, or the common tongue, through most of the Silk Road.  If you knew Sogdian, you could probably find a way to communicate with most of the people along way.  Today, Sogdian is extinct, with the possible exception of a single language that evolved from a Sogdian dialect. Sogdians are often known in Sinitic sources by their names—by the time of the Tang dynasty, it was common practice to give foreigners, whose names didn't always translate well into Chinese dialects, a family name based on their origin.  For the Sogdians, who were quite well known and numerous, they weren't just classified with a single name, but rather they were divided up by seven names based on where they were from.  So the name “Shi”, for instance, indicated that someone was from the area of Tashkent, while the name “An” referred to a Sogdian who was descended from people from the Bukhara, and so on.  This was a practice that went at least as far back as the Han dynasty. So, returning to the story, Xuanzang's new Sogdian guide's name is given as “Shi Pantuo”.  The name "Pantuo", which would have likely been pronounced more like "b'uan d'a" at the time, is likely a version of the name "Vandak", which was indeed a very common Sogdian name meaning something like “servant” and was often used to indicate things like religious devotion, which could be related to his status as a devout Buddhist, though it also might just be coincidental.  Xuanzang was so happy with his guide's offer to help, that he bought him clothes and a horse for his troubles. And so they headed out towards Yumenguan, the Jade Pass or Jade Gate, so called because of the caravans of jade that would head out from the Middle Country ever since the Han dynasty.  In fact, the Jade Gate was originally established as part of the western end of the Han dynasty “Great Wall”.  This was not necessarily the famous Ming Dynasty wall that most people are familiar with, but the Han Dynasty wall would have been impressively high enough, with regular patrols and beacon towers.  So if you tried going over the wall, someone was likely to see you and give chase.  There is also the issue that if you had any amount of supplies you have to bring those as well—this isn't just hopping a fence.  The wall was augmented by natural features—mountains and deep and fast-flowing rivers, for example, which made walls unnecessary.  And then there was also the fact that in many places, it was just open wilderness, which was its own kind of barrier.  Trying to go off the beaten path meant wandering through uncharted territory, which someone like Xuanzang was probably not prepared to do.  It isn't like he had GPS and Google Maps to help him find his way, and if you got lost in the desert, then who knows what might happen to you. By the way, this was true even in relatively settled places, like the Japanese archipelago, up until modern times.  While there were some areas where it was relatively flat, and you could navigate by certain landmarks, if you left the roads and trails you might easily find yourself lost without access to food or shelter.  Maps were not exactly accurate.  The safest way to travel was to stick to the more well-traveled routes. Unfortunately, that meant going through the Yumen Gate itself.  There was a garrison where the road left the territory of the Tang Empire , and that garrison would be responsible for checking the papers of anyone coming into or leaving the empire.  Xuanzang, of course, didn't have the proper papers, since he didn't have permission to be there.  Fortunately, he had a guide, who seemed to know the area, and that would allow him to bypass the official checkpoint, which Xuanzang recalls seeing off in the distance.  Together, Xuanzang and Vandak snuck past the Yumen gate, and traveled several miles up the river.  There, they found a spot where the river was only about 10 feet across, near a grove of trees, and so they chopped down a few of them and made an impromptu bridge for them and their horses to cross. From that point on, until they reached Yiwu, they would have to get past the watchtowers.  Not only were these watchtowers garrisoned with men of the Tang army, but they were also the only place to get fresh water.  The travelers would need to sneak in at night to steal water from the watchtowers without getting caught. The farther they traveled, the more Vandak seemed to be getting cold feet.  Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue had they been normal travelers, but in trying to avoid the watchtowers they were making themselves into fugitives.  If they were caught they could both be killed.  He protested several times that they should just go back, and at one point Xuanzang seemed worried that Vandak was contemplating how much easier this would be for him if he just killed the old monk.  Finally, Xuanzang told Vandak that he should leave, and solemnly swore that if he was caught he wouldn't rat out Vandak for his help.  Vandak, who had been worried about just such a scenario, nonetheless took Xuanzang's word and the two parted ways. From that point on, Xuanzang recounted that the trail through the desert was marked by nothing but skeletons and horse droppings.  He thought at one point he saw an army in the desert, but it turned out to be a mirage.  Finally, he saw one of the watchtowers he had been warned about.  Not wanting to get caught, he lay down in a ditch and hid there until the sun went down. Under cover of darkness, he approached the tower, where he saw water.  He went to have a drink, and maybe wash his hands, but as he was getting out his water bag to refill it and arrow whizzed through the air and he almost took an arrow to the knee.  Knowing the jig was up, he shouted out: "I'm a monk from the capital!  Don't shoot!" He led his horse to the tower, where they opened the door and saw he really was a monk.  They woke up the captain, who had a lamp lit so he could see whom it was they had apprehended.  Right away it was clear that this traveler wasn't from around those parts—not that anyone really was, it seems. The Captain had heard of Xuanzang, but the report that had been sent said Xuanzang had gone back to Chang'an.  Xuanzang, for his part, showed a copy of the petition he had sent to the Emperor--one that he hadn't actually heard back from.  He then told the captain what he planned to do.  The captain was moved, and decided to look the other way.  He gave him a place to stay for the night and then showed him the way to the fourth watchtower, where the captain's brother was in charge, and would give him shelter. Sure enough, Xuanzang made it to the fourth watchtower, but he wasn't sure if he could entirely trust the captain, so again he tried to just secretly steal the water, but again he was caught.  Fortunately, the captain there was also sympathetic.  He let Xuanzang stay and then actually told him how to get around the fifth watchtower, since the captain there might not be as lenient.  He also told Xuanzang about an inconspicuous oasis where he could get water for himself and his horse. Reinvigorated, Xuanzang had another challenge to face.  Beyond the watchtowers was a long stretch of desert.  It was a journey of several hundred miles, and it started poorly.  First off, he missed the oasis that the captain of the fourth watchtower had indicated he could use without anyone firing arrows at him.  Then, he dropped his water bag, such that he was left with nothing.  He thought of turning back, but he continued, chanting mantras to himself.   He was dehydrated and exhausted, but he continued onward.  Some days into his journey, his horse suddenly changed course of its own accord.  Despite his efforts, it kept going, eventually coming to a pasture of grass around a pond of clean, sweet water.  That ended up saving him, and he rested there for a day, before traveling on.  Two days later, he arrived at Yiwu, aka Hami.  He had made it.  He was free. Or at least, he was until he returned to the Tang empire.  After all, Xuanzang did plan to come back, and when he did, he would have to face the music.  That was a problem for future Xuanzang.  Of course, he was also a lone traveler.  He might be free, but he was far from safe.  He was now entering the Western regions, and he would need to be on the lookout. The people of Hami, also known as Yiwu, were known to the Han dynasty as members of the Xiao Yuezhi—the kingdom or coalition that once controlled much of the northern edge of the Tarim basin.  They had been displaced by the Xiongnu, and the area would go back and forth between different hegemons, so that by the time of the Sui and early Tang dynasties they were under the sway of the Gokturks.  Still, as close as it was to the Tang borders, they no doubt had contact, and indeed, Xuanzang was given lodging at a monastery with three other monks who were “Chinese”, for whatever that meant at the time. If you've heard of Hami today you may know it for something that it was famous for even back in the 7th century:  their famous melons.  You can sometimes find Hami melons in stores to this day. Regarding the melons and other such fruits and vegetables—the area of Hami is a fairly arid land.  Hami does get some water from the Tianshan mountains, but in order to have enough for agriculture they instituted a system that is still found today in Hami, Turpan, and other parts of the world, including arid parts of northwest India and Pakistan through the middle east to north Africa.  It is called a Karez, or in Persian it is called a Qanat, and it is thought to have originated in ancient Persia around the first millennium BCE and spread out through the various trade routes. The idea is to basically create underground aqueducts to take water from one place to another.  This would keep them out of the heat and dry air above ground to allow them to continue to flow without losing too much to evaporation.  To do that, however, required manually digging tunnels for the water.  This would be done by sinking wells at regular intervals and connecting the wells to each other with tunnels.  But it wasn't enough for the tunnels to be connected, they had to also slope slightly downwards, but not too much.  You want enough flow to keep the water clear, but if it flows too quickly or creates waves, the water might erode the underground channels in ways that could cause problems, such as a collapse.  All in all, they are pretty amazing feats of engineering and they can carry water a great distance.  Many are under 5 km, but some are around 70 km long. These karez would have been the lifelines of many towns, creating a reliable oasis in the desert.  Rivers were great, but the flow could vary from floods to a mere trickle, and the karez system provided relatively constant flow.  This allowed for agriculture even in the dry areas of the Western Regions, which helped facilitate the various kingdoms that grew up in this otherwise inhospitable region. While eating his melons in Hami and chatting it up with his fellow eastern priests, Yiwu was visited by an envoy from the neighboring kingdom of Gaochang.  Now Hami, or Yiwu, sits at the eastern edge of the Turpan-Hami basin, aka the Turfan depression, a large desert, much of which is actually so low that it is below sea level.  In fact, the basin includes the lowest exposed point in the area of modern China at Ayding Lake, which is 158 meters below sea level.  From Yiwu to Gaochang, you would follow the edge of the mountains west, to an area near a small break in the mountain range.  Follow that break northwest, and you would find yourself at the city of Urumqi, the current capital of the Xinjiang Autonomous Region in modern China. Xinjiang covers much of the area known in ancient times as the “Western Regions” that remains within the modern political boundaries of the PRC. The envoy from Gaochang heard about Xuanzang, and reported back to his lord, King Qu Wentai, who immediately sent a retinue out to escort the Buddhist monk across the desert to his city.  They included multiple horses for Xuanzang, so he could change at regular intervals.  His own horse was left behind, to be brought along later.   After six days on the road, they came to the city of Paili, and since the sun had already set, Xuanzang asked to stop for the night, but the escorts urged him on to the Royal City, which was not much farther on. And so he arrived around midnight, which means he likely couldn't immediately take in the size of the city.  Gaochang was an immense walled city, and even today, ruined as it is, the site of it is quite formidable, and it is so well preserved it is considered a UNESCO world heritage site.  Perhaps since wood was relatively scarce, this is why so much of the construction was made of brick and earthworks.  Fortunately, this means that many of the walls remain, even today—eroded and crumbling, but still towering over those who come to see them.  In places they have also been rebuilt or reinforced.  And in a few, very rare instances, you can still see some of the traces of paint that would have once been so prevalent throughout a city like this.  At this time in history, Gaochang, also known as Karakhoja, was under the command of the Qu family.  The population was largely Han Chinese, and it had often been overseen or at least influenced by kingdoms in the Yellow River basin.  But it was also the home of Turks, Sogdian merchants, local Turfanians, and more.  It was even called “Chinatown” by the Sogdians, and yet attempts to further sinicize the region had provoked a coup only a couple of decades earlier.  Even though he showed up in the middle of the night, Xuanzang is said to have been welcomed by the ruler of Gaochang, Qu Wentai, as he entered the city.  Perhaps this is why the escorts had been pushing so hard—the King himself was awake and waiting for Xuanzang to make an appearance.  The King and his attendants came out with candles in their hands, and they were ushered behind curtains in a multi-storey pavilion.  The king apparently grilled him through the night, asking about his journey until it was almost daybreak, at which point Xuanzang requested rest.  He was finally shown to a bedroom that had been prepared for him and allowed to sleep. The next day king assembled the leading monks of his kingdom before his guest.  These included the monks Tuan Fashi and Wang Fashi.  Tuan Fashi had studied in Chang'an for many years, and he knew his Buddhist scholarship. And Wang Fashi was a superintendent, and it was his duty to look after Xuanzang and butter him up with the hope that he might stay and provide the king with the prestige of having such an esteemed monk.  They put him up at a monastery next to the royal palace—the “daochang”, aka “dojo” in Japanese, which would be a whole different diversion. Ding Wang suggested that this might be the same as the Chongfu Monastery mentioned in a colophon on a 7th century copy of the Sutra of Perfection of Wisdom for Benevolent Kings. It was found by a German expedition at a site in the Turfan basin in the early 20th century, and now sits in the possession of Shitenno-ji, in Osaka—rather appropriate given that Shitenno-ji was around at the same time all of this was happening.  The colophon is attributed to a “Xuanjue”, and a “Xuanjue” from Gaochang, in the Turpan basin, was associated with helping Xuanzang in his later years.  Perhaps this Xuanjue first met Xuanzang during this first trip to Gaochang. Qu Wentai tried his best to dissuade Xuanzang from continuing on.  This may be simple platitudes from his biographers, but it also may have been genuine.  Having a learned foreign monk from the Tang dynasty staying at the palace monastery would likely have added to Qu Wentai's prestige by association, and it would have potentially brought more individuals to the city of Gaochang. Speaking of which, all of this first part of the journey—up to Gaochang—comes primarily from Xuanzang's biography by the monk Huili.  Xuanzang's own “Records of the Western Regions” didn't include much on it, probably because by the time that he returned to the Tang empire, Tang Taizong had annexed Yiwu and Gaochang, so all those were now considered part of the empire, rather than foreign regions to the West. After staying a month at Gaochang, Xuanzang decided it was time to continue his journey.  Disappointed though Qu Wentai may have been that his guest would be leaving, he nonetheless outfitted him handsomely.  He provided goods, including coins, as well as 24 letters to the 24 countries that he would pass along the road, adding a roll of silk to each as a sign that they came from the King of Gaochang.  He also gave him food, a small retinue, and horses to help carry everything.  Letters of introduction would have been important across the Silk Road.  There was, after all, no way to contact someone ahead of time, unless you sent runners. Merchant communities, in particular, would often be connected across long distances through regular caravans, which carried letters to their relatives, facilitating communication across vast distances.  Merchants who were bringing in a caravan of goods would know that there was a friendly community waiting to help them when they arrived, and would likely even have an idea of what was happening and what to bring. For someone traveling alone, however, having a letter of introduction would have been important, as they didn't necessarily have access to those communities by themselves.  The letters would provide introduction and let people know who you were and may even ask for assistance on your behalf.  It may seem a small thing, but it was the kind of gesture that was likely a great help to a traveler like Xuanzang.  Remember, he was not on an official mission from the Tang court—almost expressly the opposite, as he had not been given permission to leave.  So he wouldn't have had anything identifying him, and after Gaochang he likely couldn't count on being able to communicate with his native tongue. And so he was sent on his way.  As he left the city of Gaochang, the king and others accompanied Xuanzang about 10 li, or about 3 or 4 miles, outside of the city.  As they watched him head off, who could have known if he would complete his quest?  Or would he just end up another ghost in the desert? Next episode, we'll pick up Xuanzang's story as he strikes out for Agni and beyond.  Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Hva innebærer våpenhvilen i Gaza, vil den vare og hvilken framtid vil den gi palestinerne i området? Biden og Trump har begge spilt en rolle på oppløpet – hvordan var dramaet i kulissene? Hvorfor har ikke USA klart å presse fram en avtale tidligere? Vil Gulf-statene ta mer ansvar, og er det andre ting som nå endelig kan gi håp til det som er blitt kalt den evige krigen?

22.12.2024 | Søndagsmøte på Fossnes

Paul Martin is a Japanese sword expert who has worked at the British Museum and traveled extensively in Japan to study swords and armor. Martin's new book Japanese Swords and Armor covers 30 famous samurai warriors and their swords, armor, and other artifacts associated with them, from antique sets to modern treasures, each with its own historical and cultural significance. The book was originally published in both Italian and French, and will now be available in English from by Tuttle Publishing in Oct. 2024.He discusses the history and significance of Emperor Go-Toba, who was exiled to the Oki Islands but continued making swords there. The swords he made were marked with a chrysanthemum, which became the basis for the current Imperial seal.In this podcast episode, Paul Martin highlights some of the most notable pieces in his book, including a wooden sword made by Miyamoto Musashi and sword fittings attributed to him. Martin provided recommendations on the best places in Japan to see historical Japanese swords.Empeor Go-Toba was known for his poetry, much of it written while in exile on Oki Island. One particular poem involves the poet banishing the frogs from a nearby pond:"Frogs, croaking in the pond,Go away, banish your noise;In this world of sorrow,There is no need for your song." (translation generated from ChatGPT)This poem highlights Go-Toba's despair and the heavy burden of his exile. The imagery of banishing the frogs from the pond serves as a metaphor for his own banishment and desire for peace amidst his suffering.Paul also talks about the beginning lines of the Tale of the Heike, an epic that recounts the history of the late Heian period, including the life and exile of Go-Toba“The sound of the Gion Shoja temple bells echoes the impermanence of all things; the color of the sala flowers reveals the truth that to flourish is to fall. The proud do not endure, like a passing dream on a night in spring; the mighty fall at last, to be no more than dust before the wind.” Helen Craig McCulloughLastly, Paul's favorite books are:1. They Came to Japan by Michael Cooper, a collection of Jesuit records from the 17th century.2. The Tale of the Heike, (version translated by Helen Craig McCullough) a classic Japanese epic poem that reflects the concept of impermanence.“The sound of the Gion Shoja temple bells echoes the impermanence of all things; the color of the sala flowers reveals the truth that to flourish is to fall. The proud do not endure, like a passing dream on a night in spring; the mighty fall at last, to be no more than dust before the wind.” Helen Craig McCullough3. The documentary "The Emperor's Naked Army Marches On" by Kazuo Hara, which explores the ambiguities of Japanese culture and the horrors of war.Be sure to pick up his book: Japanese Swords and Armor: Masterpieces from Thirty of Japan's Most Famous Samurai Warriors (Tuttle, Oct. 2024)You can follow Paul Martin by clicking on the following links:Website: The Japanese Sword (thejapanesesword.com)YouTube: Paul Martin: The Japanese SwordFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/The.Japanese.SwordInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/thejapanesesword/Twitter: @thejapaneseswrd (https://x.com/thejapaneseswrd)LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/thejapanesesword/ The Books on Asia Podcast is sponsored by Stone Bridge Press. Check out their books on Japan at the publisher's website.Amy Chavez, podcast host, is author of Amy's Guide to Best Behavior in Japan and The Widow, the Priest, and the Octopus Hunter: Discovering a Lost Way of Life on a Secluded Japanese Island.Books on AsiaTwitter: @BooksOnAsiaSubscribe to the BOA podcast at https://linktr.ee/booksonasia

This is the first in a two part series on the people living to the Northeast of Yamato, in the areas of Tohoku and Hokkaido.  They are called in the Chronicles, the Emishi and the Mishihase, and these designations appear to refer to areas that include the Epi-Jomon and later Satsumon cultures as well as members of the Okhotsk Sea Culture, all archaeological designations for various people whom we know primarily through their archaeological remains.  We also discuss a bit about how all of this ties in (or doesn't) with the modern Ainu, and why we don't necessarily use that term until much later in the historical record. For more, check out our podcast blog at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-116   Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 116: The People of the North, Part 1   A soldier stood watch on the Nutari Barrier.  It was only a few years old—built to define and defend the boundaries between the lands under Yamato rule and the untamed wilds, beyond.  Looking behind him, the soldier could see the smoke from the nearby settlement, also newly constructed, which would supply him and his fellow guards with food and clothing while they took their turn at the border. Looking outwards, the soldier wondered what life beyond the barrier was like.  He had seen people crossing through, mostly with various trade goods.  For the most part, they didn't seem all that different, but he had heard stories: stories of wild men and women who lived in caves and slept under the trees.  They were hunters who knew the woods and could easily slip through areas that didn't even have roads. As one traveled further north, things grew only more wild and untamed—or so the stories said.   Giant bears with paws as large as a human head roamed the land—he'd seen a skin once and it was massive.  The people of the north fought with them and, or so he'd heard, even kept them as pets. Further, well beyond the pale, there were people who lived on the sea.  They traveled between islands in the frozen north, and hunted the beasts of the ocean.  They were few, but they were mighty people. A chill went through the soldier's spine.  He'd only ever heard stories of most of these outsiders, and even then it was hard to tell what was truth and what was merely exaggeration.  He had never actually gone out to see it himself, though he'd met some who claimed they had. It gave him some sense of worth that he was out here, defending the settled, civilized lands of his people from the wild, ungoverned tribes beyond the border.  That said, he hoped with all his heart that things remained peaceful.  Yes, it would certainly be better that way for all involved.   We are just starting out the second reign of Takara Hime, which started in the year 655.  For her first reign, the Chroniclers would give her the title of Kougyoku Tennou, but when she retook the throne they named her Saimei.  As we talked about in the last couple of episodes, there was a lot going on at this point, not just on the archipelago, but in the rest of Asia as well.   We'll summarize that briefly just to set the stage for the beginning of Takara Hime's reign, but this episode we're going to primarily focus on the expansion of Yamato authority throughout the rest of the archipelago, or at least the rest of Honshu.  In this context, we'll be talking extensively about the people that the Chronicles call the Emishi, since this section of the Chronicles contains numerous entries that give us our clearest look, to date, at who they were, at least from a Yamato perspective.  We'll also be looking at another group in the north, known to us as the Mishihase, for whom we have even less information. As this whole episode got a bit long, we are going to be doing this in two parts.  This episode, I'd like to introduce you to some of the terms, discuss some of the problems and considerations around these topics, and touch on what we know based largely on the archaeological record.  In the second episode we'll focus on the narrative as it appears in the Nihon Shoki, which hopefully will be something that makes more sense once we have that archaeological context.  While there are certainly some things that appear to coincide between the two narratives, there are a lot of differences.  Archaeology can help us understand the material culture, and give us some insights into the lifeways of a particular group of people, but it doesn't let us know what they said, and rarely gives us information about a particular event. Before we dive into this, I think it would be useful to touch on terms that we are going to be using this episode, and next.  I mention this because while we are dealing with the past, our story of the past is very much affecting the lives of people in the present.  Most specifically, the lives of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, and how their history and experience intertwines with the concept of the “Emishi” that we see in the Chronicles.  So let's explore these terms, and see where it takes us. First, I should probably make a note about the difference between “Wa” and “Yamato”, at least as I'm using it in this episode.  When I use “Wa” I'll be referring to the ethnic group, while “Yamato” refers to the state.  For the most part, as we are focused on the historical state forming in central Honshu, we'll talk about Yamato, or the State of Yamato. That is a political entity that is majority Wa in its make-up, but that doesn't mean that there weren't Wa people outside of the Yamato state, nor that Yamato was made up of only people who identified, ethnically as Wa.  As we've seen, the Yamato state also included immigrants who identified as people of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and even Emishi. Next, the Emishi.  The term “Emishi” is an exonym used by Yamato to describe those who are outside of Yamato's borders and controls, especially up in Tohoku.  By “exonym”, I mean that it's a term imposed from outside – in this case, by Yamato – on the group of people known as the Emishi, because we really don't know what they called themselves. Moreover, the term “Emishi” is complex, and doesn't necessarily describe a single, monolithic ethnic group or culture – more a group of possible ethnicities, that occupied a particular “slot” relative to Yamato cultural identity, namely that of outsiders.  The Chronicles refer to several different geographic regions as “Emishi”, situated relative to the core of the Yamato polity -- but the archeological evidence is much more nuanced.  A prime example are the studies carried out on the “Emishi” mummies of the Oshu Fujiwara, a 12th century ruling elite who lived in Hiraizumi and who were considered “Emishi” by the court in Heian-kyo—modern Kyoto.  In studying the mummies, it was determined that they were closely related to the Wa people of Japan and the Kinki region.  This finding is important and I'll come back to it in a bit, but the takeaway is that “Emishi” doesn't automatically mean physical or cultural differences like we might assume.  There were likely ethnic Wa Emishi, along with Emishi who were more closely connected with the indigenous people—descendants of the Jomon and possible ancestors to the later Ainu people. Finally, the Ainu.  It's extremely likely that some of the people that the Chroniclers called “Emishi” may have been the ancestors of the Ainu people of today.  But the correspondence is definitely not one-to-one, as some historians used to think.  And since this is a sensitive topic with ongoing patterns of inequity and silenced voices, it's important to lay some groundwork before going further. For my part, I would like to do my best to introduce the people and the history as we know it with as little bias as I can manage, but please realize that there are certainly controversies around this area and open wounds that have not yet healed. The modern Ainu are the indigenous inhabitants of Hokkaido, Sakhalin, and Kuril islands.  They also once inhabited the very northern part of Tohoku.  In their own language, Ainu Itak, these islands are part of Ainu Mosir, the Lands of the Ainu, and “Ainu” itself is simply a word for “humans” or “people”.  While there are many cultural and linguistic ties to the Japanese—they have been neighbors for centuries—they are culturally distinct, and their language, Ainu Itak, is considered a linguistic isolate, with no known relatives outside of the Ainu homelands. The relationship between the Ainu and the Wa people—the general term for ethnic Japanese—has been one of tension and conflict born of colonization.  In the 19th century in particular, the nation of Japan claimed Hokkaido and began to settle it.  The wide open spaces were great for new industries, such as cattle ranching, which could supply dairy and beef, two things that had come into vogue with other aspects of Western culture.  I won't get into the entire history of it, but the Japanese government used tactics similar to those used in the United States against indigenous populations, often forcing people to speak Japanese instead of their native language in a paternalistic attempt to quote-unquote “civilize” the Ainu people.  Only relatively recently have the Ainu been accorded some protections in Japanese law. For our part, the study of Ainu history has long been one conducted by outsiders looking in, which of course has come with all sorts of baggage.  For instance, as I alluded to above, there has long been a tendency to equate the Ainu with the Emishi, which along with everything else cast the Ainu as somewhat less culturally evolved.  Much of this study was also taking place during a time when Marxist concepts of societal evolution were in vogue.  Add to that the generally patronizing and Colonialist concepts that were rampant in Western anthropology at the time—things like the stereotype of the “noble savage” and even the concept of “primitive” societies—and there were definitely some problematic concepts that continue to echo through into modern discussions.  Another complexity in understanding Ainu culture and history has been that the Ainu people do tend to be physically distinct from many other Japanese, which has been linked to outdated ideas about physical types and ethnicity.  Many Ainu people show more tendency towards body and facial hair than mainland Japanese, with bushy beards being common among men, and blue eyes aren't uncommon – which, combined with overall light skin, led to early identification of Ainu people as being of “Caucasian stock” according to outdated racial classifications.  The theory was that they traveled from the west across Asia in the distant past and somehow settled in the islands north of Japan.  This ties into how much of the archaeological fervor of the 19th and 20th centuries in Japan was wrapped around ethno-nationalist ideals and looking to find the origins of the Japanese people, often using concepts of eugenics to seek out physical and cultural differences between the Japanese and “other” people, such as the Ainu, to help better define who are—and who are not—Japanese.  For example, remember those Oshu Fujiwara mummies and how they were from a group described by the Chronicles as “Emishi” but ended up being more physically similar to modern Wa than modern Ainu?  Some scholars took this finding to mean that all of the Emishi were Wa people, effectively denying any ancestral claims or links that Ainu people may have had to Honshu, other than those historically attested to from about the 15th century onwards.  In similar ways, for each instance of some new “finding”, there have often been those who would use it as a further reason to discriminate against the Ainu. There is a lot of important archaeological work that has been done in Tohoku and elsewhere to help shed more light on the people living in areas that the Chronicles associate with the Emishi and beyond.  But while archaeological digs in places like Honshu and Kyushu were often done with great public support, archaeological work in places like Hokkaido often involved investigating burials of potential ancestors without consent, and even today there is some contention over how various artifacts were acquired.  As with too many places in the world, the data was not always gathered under what we may consider, today, the strictest of ethical standards.  So as important as the archeological perspective is – at least we are going off of physical items that we find rather than on the narrative imposed on the region by those in Yamato – it's important to keep that context in mind. Even recent attempts to better contextualize Ainu history at places like the Upopoy National Museum in Shiraoi, while apparently doing their best to provide that context, are still hampered by the weight of previous missteps in the relationship between the Ainu and the government.  Activists have noted that even Upopoy, the first such national museum devoted to the Ainu themselves, is still built on colonialist policies and artifacts and human remains acquired without all of the necessary consent and consultation with local Ainu.  Upopoy, for its part, appears to have reached out to those willing to work with them, and for all that there may be some controversy, it certainly has a lot of information for those interested in it. So, given these caveats, what does the archeological record tell us about the wide range of people and areas called “Emishi” by the Chronicles, including both those areas closer to the Yamato heartland, and the areas we know today as Ainu Mosir? To understand the patterns of settlement and cultural trends that we see up north – in Tohoku and Hokkaido --let's go back to the end of the Jomon period and the very start of the Yayoi.  As wet rice paddy cultivation (and accompanying pottery styles and other material goods) began to make its way into the archipelago, up through about the Kinki region—the original land of Yamato, or Yamateg—it was brought by a people that seem quite strongly connected to other people in east Asia, and these people largely replaced the indigenous Jomon era populations in western Japan.  However, the new material culture traveled faster and farther than the new people themselves, and it appears that in eastern Honshu, at least, much of the new farming technology, pottery, and other lifeways of the Yayoi culture were adopted by people that appear to share a great deal in common, physically, with the previous Jomon populations, suggesting that local populations were, themselves, adopting the new technology and being absorbed into the Yayoi culture.  This expansion of Yayoi culture and rice farming initially exploded all the way up to the very northern edge of Tohoku, but over time it started to decline in the northernmost regions.  Whether due to a change in the climate or simply the fact that the colder, snowier regions in Tohoku were not as hospitable to farming, we see that rice cultivation fell into disuse, and people seem to have once again picked up the lifeways of their ancestors in the region, returning to a more hunter-gatherer style of subsistence.  Indeed, in northern Tohoku and Hokkaido we see the continued evolution of Jomon culture in a phase that is generally known as the Epi-Jomon, or, in Japanese, the Zoku-Jomon period, which generally lasted through the end of the 7th century.  This Epi-Jomon or Zoku-Jomon cultural region lay far outside the “official” Yamato borders according to the Chroniclers in an area considered to be part of “Michinoku” – literally past the end of the road – so it's understandably commonly associated with the Emishi.  But once again, it's not that simple, because we do see Yayoi and Kofun culture extending up into this region.  In fact, there are even keyhole shaped kofun up in Tohoku, the largest of these being Raijinyama kofun, thought to have been built between the late 4th and early 5th centuries.  It sits south of modern Sendai, and there are numerous other tombs there as well, suggesting it was well connected to Yamato and the kofun culture of central Honshu. Another complication is that we have regions officially designated Emishi that were much closer in – on the borders of Yamato itself.  Based on simply the written record, it would seem that “Emishi” resided as close to Yamato as the lands of Koshi and the land of Hitachi, at the very least.  The Emishi in Koshi are mentioned several times in the Chronicles, and both the Nihon Shoki and works like the Hitachi Fudoki mention Emishi or people who are at least outside of the Yamato cultural sphere.  This area bordering Yamato seems to have been the most affected by kofun and even Yamato culture, and also would have likely come into the most direct conflict with Yamato itself.  It is also the area most likely to include those who, for one reason or another, decided to yet themselves outside the growing reach of the Yamato state, a pattern that would continue for centuries to come.  On top of that, there is something else going on in northern Hokkaido, where, starting around the 5th century, we see different archeological assemblages from the south, indicating further cultural distinctiveness from the Tohoku and southern Hokkaido inhabitants.  These are mostly found on the coast in the northern part of Hokkaido, and match closely with the culture we see first in the Sakhalin island, and later the Kurils, along the edges of the Okhotsk Sea.  Hence the name we've given to this unknown culture:  The Okhotsk Sea Culture, or just the Okhotsk culture. From what we can glean, the people of the Okhotsk culture subsisted largely off the hunting of marine mammals, such as seals, sea lions, sea cows, and whales.  In contrast, the Epi-Jomon people appear to have subsisted more on inland hunting strategies, along with coastal fishing, which is represented in their settlement patterns, among other things.  This latter description likewise tracks with descriptions of the Emishi as subsisting largely off of hunted game. It is unclear what exactly happened to the Okhotsk Sea Culture, but they appear to be one of the ancestral groups of the modern Nivkh people, on the northern part of Sakhalin and the lower Amur River and coastal regions, though the Okhotsk Sea Culture also seems to have had a large influence on the development of the people known today as the Ainu.  Modern DNA testing of Ainu demonstrate connections both with the earlier Jomon people of Japan—a connection that is much stronger than in most Japanese—but also with people from the Okhotsk Sea region.  Still, how and in what ways those people came together is not clear. The connection to the Jomon and Epi-Jomon people appears to be strengthened by the fact that throughout Tohoku there are placenames that appear to be more closely related to the Ainu language than to Japanese.  For example, in Ainu itak, terms like “nai” and “pet” refer to rivers and streams, and we find a lot of placenames ending with “nai”, “be”, or “betsu”.  These are often written with kanji that would be understandable to Japanese speakers, but the prevalence and location of these names often make people think that they are likely related to Ainu itak, in some way—possibly a proto-Ainuic language or dialect that is now lost. While I can't discount the fact that some this could be due to false etymologies, we can add to it the fact that the term “Emishi” was eventually changed to “Ezo”, which itself came to be used primarily for Hokkaido and the people there, including the people we know of today as the Ainu.  However, it isn't clear that the term Emishi, or even “Ezo”, was consistently applied to only one group, and its usage may have changed over time, simply being used in each period to refer to the people of the Tohoku and Hokkaido regions outside of the control of the Japanese court. Another aspect of the archaeological record is the change in the Epi-Jomon culture to what we know as the Satsumon culture around the time of our narrative.  Satsumon, like Jomon, is derived from the distinctive pottery styles found.  “Jomon” means “cord-marked”, referring to the use of pressed cords and similar decoration on the pottery, and starting in the 7th century we see a new style using wood to scrape designs, instead.  Thus the term “Satsumon”.  It first pops up in Honshu, but by the 9th century it had spread to Hokkaido and eventually even spread to areas associated with the Okhotsk Sea Culture.  It would last until roughly the 13th century, when it was replaced by a culture that is more clearly related to the modern Ainu people. But the Satsumon culture wasn't just new types of pottery.  We see more ironwork appearing in the Satsumon culture, as well as the cultivation of millet and other types of agriculture.  Tohoku and Hokkaido were still a bit cold for the ancient forms of wet rice agriculture that were prevalent in more southern regions, and millet and other crops likely fit more easily into the lifeways of the people in these areas. Likewise, by the 8th century, we also see a new type of stove appearing in Satsumon villages.  This “kamado” seems clearly related to the type of stove that came over to Honshu from the Korean peninsula around the 5th century, reaching Hokkaido by the 8th, and eventually finding purchase on Sakhalin by the 11th, demonstrating a slow yet continuous adoption. Some of these changes might be explained by greater contact with Wa people and the trade networks that extended through Honshu and over to the mainland, but there were also trade routes through Sakhalin island over to the Amur River delta and beyond that should not be overlooked, even if they weren't as prevalent in the written histories of the time. I previously mentioned that in the next episode, we'll dive into more of what the Chronicles have to say about the Emishi, but to give a preview, the Chronicles have already mentioned the Emishi several times as trading and treating with the Yamato state.  Back in the era before the Isshi Incident, Naka no Oe's coup in 645, Soga no Emishi himself had dealings with the Emishi of the land of Koshi, which we covered in episode 107.  Then, in the previous reign, Emishi had attended court, but the court had also erected barriers and barrier towns in Nutari and Ihabune in 647 and 648 to protect the border areas from purported raids by the Emishi.  Hence the episode opener, imagining what it might be like for a soldier at one of these barrier towns.  But, there is also another people that we've already talked about, mentioned in the Chronicles:  The Sushen people, also glossed as either the Mishihase or Ashihase people.  In the Nihon Shoki, they first appeared in an entry in the reign of Kimmei Tennou, when a group of them came ashore on Sado island, which we discussed back in episode 86.  In this period, however, the  appear to be referencing a people who were living in the north of Hokkaido, and who were putting pressure on the people to their south, much as Yamato was putting pressure on the people to their northeast. The Sinitic characters, or kanji, used to name them in the Nihon Shoki uses a term from mainland writings for the Sushen people.  This name is first given to people mentioned in early Warring States documents, such as the Classic of Mountains and Seas, as living on the Shandong peninsula.  Eventually, however, as empires expanded, the term was used to refer to people along the Amur river region and the coast, in modern China and Russia—the eastern areas of what we know as “Manchuria”.  These were probably not the same people originally referred to as living in Shandong, and instead seems to apply to the Yilou people, and likely also is cognate with the later term “Jurchen”. In the ancient Sinic documents, the Sushen are described as hunter-gatherers who live in the open, using caves and other such natural features for temporary shelter.  They hunted with bows and arrows, which were tipped with stone arrowheads.  To the settled cultures of the Yellow River basin, they were considered a primitive and barbaric people. As for the people mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, it is quite likely that the term “Sushen” was used differently.  Rather than referring to Jurchen people, or someone from mainland northeast Asia, it is thought that the characters were used because of the similar role played by the people of northern Hokkaido and Sakhalin island—and possibly because of connection with the Amur river region, including the area referred to in older documents as “Su-shen”.  Still, the people referred to in the Nihon Shoki were probably what we know as the Okhotsk Sea culture, especially based on what we know from later descriptions.  From Yamato's point of view, they were likewise living in the extreme northeast and they were a hunter-gatherer society that used stone arrowheads in their hunting.  The fact that it is glossed as either Mishihase or Ashihase by later commentators suggests that this was the name by which the Yamato knew these people, and the kanji were just borrowed for their meaning of a people in the northeast. And so in the 7th century we have both the Emishi and the Mishihase, at least in the northeast.  There are also the Hayato, another group of people in the southern reaches of Tsukushi.  We are told that they and the Emishi both attended the court in 655 in great numbers.   Discussion of who the Hayato were is probably best left for another episode.  Suffice it to say that they appear to be culturally distinct from the groups in the northeast, at least at this point. And that's where we are going to pause things for now.  The archaeological record gives us some idea of the people inhabiting the areas of Tohoku and up to Hokkaido, but it only tells part of the story—and it is a story that we are continuing to uncover.  Even today people are working on archaeological sites that just may turn up new information that will change how we see things. Next episode, we'll dive into the narrative of the Nihon Shoki and take a look at the actions of individuals—especially the actions of Abe no Hirafu, a key player in what was to happen in the north. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Bien que le kimono soit aujourd'hui considéré comme un symbole emblématique de la culture japonaise, ses origines sont en réalité enracinées dans l'histoire de la Chine ancienne. L'évolution du kimono tel que nous le connaissons s'est fortement inspirée des vêtements chinois, en particulier de la période de la dynastie Tang (618-907). À cette époque, les échanges culturels et commerciaux entre la Chine et le Japon étaient florissants, et la mode chinoise exerçait une influence profonde sur les tenues vestimentaires japonaises. Au cœur de cette influence se trouve un vêtement traditionnel chinois appelé hanfu, qui se caractérise par ses longues manches amples et ses robes fluides avec un col croisé. Le hanfu a été largement adopté et adapté par la cour impériale japonaise, surtout au cours de l'époque de Heian (794-1185), une période de grande fascination pour la culture chinoise. C'est alors que le Japon a commencé à modifier ces vêtements importés pour les adapter à son propre climat, à sa culture et à ses valeurs esthétiques. Au fil du temps, ce qui était initialement un style importé a évolué pour devenir le kimono japonais distinct. Les ajustements incluaient la simplification de la structure vestimentaire, l'accent sur des motifs brodés spécifiques qui correspondaient à la saison ou à la classe sociale, ainsi qu'une coupe plus droite qui permettait de superposer plusieurs couches de tissu. De plus, la manière de porter ces vêtements a aussi été modifiée pour s'harmoniser avec les sensibilités japonaises, et des accessoires comme l'obi (ceinture) ont été introduits pour parfaire le style. Le kimono est donc un excellent exemple de la manière dont les influences étrangères peuvent être réinterprétées et transformées dans le contexte local pour devenir quelque chose de nouveau et de unique. Bien que les origines du vêtement soient indéniablement liées à la Chine, le Japon a développé une esthétique et une identité culturelle propres autour du kimono. Ce processus de transformation souligne l'importance des échanges interculturels dans l'histoire de l'Asie de l'Est et montre comment un symbole national peut émerger d'une base étrangère pour devenir une part essentielle de l'identité d'un pays. Ainsi, même si le kimono tel qu'il existe aujourd'hui est profondément japonais, il porte en lui une histoire de migration culturelle et d'assimilation, rendant hommage à ses racines chinoises tout en incarnant l'esprit japonais. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Send us a textThe key considerations for staying healthy, happy, and enjoying the second half of life can be related to various age-old Japanese philosophical concepts of well-being. For example, Ikigai, a popular concept talked about and used widely today, is not new. It has existed in Japanese culture, along with the other concepts, as far back as the Heian period, 794-1185.    Okinawa, Japan, a renowned "blue zone,” region whose inhabitants live to a happy, healthy, vibrant old age regularly follow and practice these beliefs in their daily lives.  Renée visited the area in the 1980s while living in Japan and observed and learned many of these simple well-being exercises and spiritual beliefs from the people there, enough for her to create a well-being roadmap on how to use them to enhance health, happiness, and longevity. She noticed that not just in Okinawa, but throughout Japan, these philosophical concepts for well-being were actively embraced by the older population.  When Renée returned home, she incorporated her roadmap, based on these well-being concepts, into her counseling practice to guide her clients through the stresses related to aging and retirement.  In this episode, you will discover: the five most prominent Japanese philosophical practices for helping to enrich health, happiness and success in the second half of life.  simple steps to create an ongoing practice to include each of these powerful, ancient Japanese concepts in your daily activities.About Renée Rosenberg:Renée Lee Rosenberg, MA, Positivity Pro, is a  Career Management Counselor, Licensed Mental Health Counselor, Emotional Intelligence Coach and Intergenerational Communication Speaker who works with organizations and individuals to foster engagement, multi-generational understanding, well-being, and career happiness at work.  An eighteen-year member of NSA-US, Renée presents virtually and in-person, and has been interviewed in media, print, and online (ABC Eyewitness News, MSNBC, Italian TV, and Forbes.com, to name a few).Renée lived in Japan in the 1980s where she studied Japanese metal making, worked for fashion designer Kansai Yamamoto and met David Bowie. While there she learned valuable Japanese insights and perspectives for sustaining happiness and well-being, which she incorporates in her national and international presentations as well as in her virtual and in person career counseling practice.  Her book, Achieving the Good Life After 50, has helped many overcome the stresses of aging and approaching retirement.  Clients describe Renée , a native New Yorker, as passionate, authentic, inspiring, and funny.Get in touch with Renée Rosenberg:Download Resources Discussed:  https://revolutionizeretirement.com/rosenbergresources Visit Renée's website: https://positivitypro.com/ What to do next: Click to grab our free guide, 10 Key Issues to Consider as You Explore Your Retirement Transition Please leave a review at Apple Podcasts. Join our Revolutionize Your Retirement group on Facebook.

Esta noche estrenamos relato de vampiros inspirado en la mitología Yokai de Kimetsu No Yaiba , una historia de Ignacio Pillonetto en homenaje al universo de Demon Slayer: "La flor Vampiro". Esta es una historia de orígenes, un relato antiquísimo, imposible de datar, pero cuyo desenlace, tiene lugar en el último período de la época clásica de la historia de Japón, la era Heian. En los años comprendidos entre el 794 y el 1185; un período especialmente notable por ser significativo para el desarrollo de la mitología de los Yokai; espíritus vengativos y diversos monstruos de pesadilla. No se pierdan el ensayo completo publicado por Héroes de Papel en el que podrán encontrar las referencias mitológicas y el folclore japonés de los Cazadores de Demonios... Entre cuyas historias hemos rescatado esta Flor Vampiro... https://www.heroesdepapel.es/productos/de-cazadores-y-demonios-314 Sigan a Ignacio Pillonetto en su instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reymonoz/ Escucha el episodio completo en la app de iVoox, o descubre todo el catálogo de iVoox Originals

Esta noche estrenamos relato de vampiros inspirado en la mitología Yokai de Kimetsu No Yaiba , una historia de Ignacio Pillonetto en homenaje al universo de Demon Slayer: "La flor Vampiro". Esta es una historia de orígenes, un relato antiquísimo, imposible de datar, pero cuyo desenlace, tiene lugar en el último período de la época clásica de la historia de Japón, la era Heian. En los años comprendidos entre el 794 y el 1185; un período especialmente notable por ser significativo para el desarrollo de la mitología de los Yokai; espíritus vengativos y diversos monstruos de pesadilla. No se pierdan el ensayo completo publicado por Héroes de Papel en el que podrán encontrar las referencias mitológicas y el folclore japonés de los Cazadores de Demonios... Entre cuyas historias hemos rescatado esta Flor Vampiro... https://www.heroesdepapel.es/productos/de-cazadores-y-demonios-314 Sigan a Ignacio Pillonetto en su instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reymonoz/

In this episode, I have the pleasure to chat with Heian Karate owners Emily and Paul Musolf, couple that made bringing community and taking personal control their mission. Check the links below to all the things we discussed in the podcast. Courses: Paul Musolf's Kakiya: The Essential Guide: https://bit.ly/kakiyaessentialguide Paul Enfield's Iron Palm: https://gkcglobalshop.com/collections/hojo-undo/products/iron-palm-online-workshop-recommended Les Bubka's Kata Bunkai Courses: https://payhip.com/LesBubka Connect with Emily and Paul: Heian Karate Do Website: https://www.heiankaratedo.net Facebook: https://m.facebook.com/shotokanheiankaratedo/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/heian_karate_do/ Tik Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@heiankaratedo Kitsune Defense Website: https://www.kitsunedefense.org Facebook: https://m.facebook.com/kitsunedefense/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kitsunedefense/ Don't forget to grab your Karate Journal to document your journey: Amazon Karate Journal Link: https://amzn.to/3l9spmt If you found value in this episode or enjoyed it, please consider sharing it with your friends on social media. And if it didn't resonate with you, feel free to pass it along to your enemies – perhaps they'll find it enlightening! Support the show at no extra cost to you by shopping on Amazon through my affiliate link, where I receive a small commission on your purchases. It's a win-win! Find the link below. Amazon Affiliate Link: https://amzn.to/3qqfuhy You can also support the Karate For Mental Health Programme by purchasing our merchandise or donating via Buy Me a Coffee: www.buymeacoffee.com/KFMH And check out our shop for exclusive merchandise, including the Anxious Black Belt Mug: Les Bubka's Shop: https://lesshop.ammhub.com/accessories/anxious-black-belt-mug About Les Bubka: Author, Karate coach, entrepreneur, and creator of the #Hikite4ever T-shirt. Les promotes inclusive Karate with a focus on the mental health aspects of training. Teaching nationally and internationally. Let's connect: info@lesbubka.co.uk Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Fluent Fiction - Japanese: From Rivals to Partners: A Culinary Festival Tale Find the full episode transcript, vocabulary words, and more:fluentfiction.org/from-rivals-to-partners-a-culinary-festival-tale Story Transcript:Ja: 京の活気あふれる市場には、灯籠が美しくかかり、夏の空気には祭りの音楽と笑い声が響いていました。En: In the vibrant market of Kyoto, lanterns hung beautifully, and the sounds of festival music and laughter echoed through the summer air.Ja: 平安時代の真っ只中、京都の市場ではお盆祭りが盛大に開かれていました。En: During the height of the Heian period, the Obon festival was being grandly celebrated in Kyoto's market.Ja: 市場の中ほどにある二つの屋台には、二人の若者が忙しく働いていました。En: In the middle of the market, two stalls were bustling with activity, where two young people were busy at work.Ja: 一人は笑顔が魅力的なエミコ、もう一人は競争心に燃えるヒロシでした。En: One was Emiko with her charming smile, and the other was Hiroshi, driven by competition.Ja: エミコは家族の伝統料理を売っていました。En: Emiko was selling her family's traditional dishes.Ja: 彼女の屋台には特別な香辛料を使った料理が並んでいます。En: Her stall showcased dishes made with special spices.Ja: エミコはもっと多くの客を引きつけ、家族の料理を広めようと思っていました。En: Emiko aimed to attract more customers and spread her family's cuisine.Ja: 一方、ヒロシはカラフルな装飾を施した屋台で、大声で呼び込みをしていました。En: Meanwhile, Hiroshi, with his colorfully decorated stall, was loudly calling out to passersby.Ja: 彼は市場で一番の売上を目指し、自分の家族の料理が一番であることを証明したかったのです。En: He aimed to achieve the highest sales in the market and prove that his family's dishes were the best.Ja: しかし、エミコとヒロシの目標は同じ客たちを競い合うことでした。En: However, Emiko and Hiroshi found themselves competing for the same customers.Ja: エミコは新しい秘伝の調味料を加えた料理を作り始めました。En: Emiko began to create dishes with a new secret seasoning.Ja: それに対して、ヒロシは無料の試食を提供し、さらに目立つように屋台を装飾しました。En: In response, Hiroshi offered free samples and made his stall even more eye-catching with decorations.Ja: 祭りが進むにつれ、二人の屋台にはどんどん人が集まってきました。En: As the festival progressed, more and more people gathered around their stalls.Ja: エミコの料理の香りが人々を引きつけ、ヒロシの試食と派手な装飾が注目を集めました。En: The aroma of Emiko's dishes attracted people, while Hiroshi's samples and flashy decorations drew attention.Ja: 市場はますます賑やかになり、エミコとヒロシの屋台は大混雑となりました。En: The market grew increasingly lively, and Emiko and Hiroshi's stalls became extremely crowded.Ja: お祭りの絶頂で、両方の屋台には行列ができ、顧客対応に追われました。En: At the peak of the festival, both stalls had long lines and were swamped with customers.Ja: 汗をかきながら働くエミコとヒロシは、一瞬の間だけ目が合いました。En: Sweating as they worked, Emiko and Hiroshi's eyes met for a split second.Ja: その瞬間、互いの努力と技術を認め合いました。En: In that moment, they acknowledged each other's efforts and skills.Ja: 「一緒にやってみませんか？」エミコは息を切らしながらヒロシに問いかけました。En: “Want to try working together?” Emiko asked, breathless.Ja: 「それがいいかもしれませんね。」ヒロシも微笑みながら答えました。En: “That might be a good idea,” Hiroshi replied with a smile.Ja: 二人は力を合わせ、エミコの秘伝の調味料とヒロシの華やかなプレゼンテーションを融合させました。En: The two joined forces, combining Emiko's secret seasoning with Hiroshi's vibrant presentation.Ja: 結果として、二人の屋台はさらに多くの客を引き寄せ、大成功を収めました。En: As a result, their stall attracted even more customers and became a massive success.Ja: 祭りが終わると、エミコとヒロシは並んで座り、満足感に浸りました。En: When the festival ended, Emiko and Hiroshi sat side by side, basking in satisfaction.Ja: 「競争もいいけど、協力はもっと素晴らしいです」とエミコが言いました。En: “Competition is good, but collaboration is even more wonderful,” Emiko said.Ja: 「そうだね。二人で一緒に成功するのは、もっと楽しい」とヒロシは頷きました。En: “Yeah, succeeding together is much more fun,” Hiroshi nodded.Ja: こうして、エミコとヒロシは競争から協力へと移行し、お互いの技術を生かした新たな友好関係を築きました。En: Thus, Emiko and Hiroshi transitioned from rivals to partners, forging a new friendship that leveraged both their skills.Ja: 市場の灯籠が消え、夏の夜空に星が輝く中、二人は心温まる結末を迎えました。En: As the market's lanterns went out and the stars sparkled in the summer night sky, the two enjoyed a heartwarming conclusion. Vocabulary Words:vibrant: 活気あふれるlanterns: 灯籠echoed: 響いていましたbustling: 忙しくcompetition: 競争心charming: 魅力的spices: 香辛料aimed: 目指しcolorfully: カラフルなpassersby: 客prove: 証明seasoning: 調味料samples: 試食eye-catching: 目立つdecorations: 装飾aroma: 香りflashy: 派手なlively: 賑やかswamped: 大混雑basking: 満足感に浸りますacknowledged: 認め合いましたcollaboration: 協力presentation: プレゼンテーションmassive: 大satisfaction: 満足感transitioned: 移行しましたpartners: 協力forging: 築きましたsparkled: 輝くconclusion: 結末

Ito-koku and Na-koku were the next two countries on the path of the Wei envoys noted in the Gishiwajinden.  They likely refer to the areas known today as Itoshima and Fukuoka, so what do we know about these places in the Yayoi period, and how is it that by the 3rd century Yamato seemed to have taken the foremost position on the archipelago and not one of these other countries, where wet paddy rice agriculture and other continental technologies first arrived in the archipelago. For more see our podcast blog post at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/itoandna Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Gishiwajinden Part Five: Ito-koku and Na-koku This episode we are finishing up our Gishiwajinden Tour, focusing on our journey to Ito-koku and Na-koku, or modern day Itoshima and Fukuoka. We'll talk about what we know from the records of these two areas in the Yayoi and early Kofun periods, and then look at some of the later history, with the development of the Dazaifu, the build up of Hakata and Fukuoka, and more.  A key thread through all of this will be our discussion about why it was Yamato, and not these early states, who eventually became paramount.  If this is where things like wet paddy rice agriculture started, and they had such close ties to the continent, including sending a mission to the Han dynasty, why did the political center shift over to Yamato, instead?  It is certainly something to wonder about, and without anything written down by the elites of Na and Ito we can only really guess based on what we see in the histories and the archaeological record. We ended our tour in Na for a reason: while the Gishiwajinden—the Japanese section of the Wei Chronicles—describes the trip from the continent all the way to Yamatai, the locations beyond Na are largely conjecture.  Did ancient travelers continue from Na along the Japan Sea coast up to Izumo and then travel down somewhere between Izumo and Tsuruga to the Nara Basin?  Or did they travel the Inland Sea Route, with its calmer waters but greater susceptibility to pirates that could hide amongst the various islands and coves?  Or was Yamatai on the island of Kyushu, and perhaps the name just happens to sound similar to the Yamato of Nara?  Unfortunately, the Wei Chronicles have more than a few problems with accuracy, including problems with directions, meaning that at most we have some confidence in the locations out to “Na”, but beyond that it gets more complicated.  And even “Na” has some questions, but we'll get to that later. Unlike the other points on our journey, we didn't stay overnight at “Ito-koku”, , and we only briefly stayed at Na—modern Fukuoka, but I'll still try to give an account of what was going on in both places, and drawing on some past visits to the area to fill in the gaps for you.   Both the Na and Ito sites are believed to be in the modern Fukuoka prefecture, in Itoshima and Fukuoka cities.  Fukuoka prefecture itself actually spans all the way up to the Shimonoseki straits and includes the old territory of Tsukushi—Chikuzen and Chikugo—as well as the westernmost part of Buzen, the “closer” part of the old land of “Toyo” on the Seto Inland Sea side of Kyushu.  When it comes to locating the country of Ito-koku, we have lots of clues from current place names.  The modern Itoshima peninsula, which, in old records, was known as the country of Ito, and was later divided into the districts of Ito and Shima.  Shima district, at the end of the peninsula, may have once been an island—or nearly so.  It is thought that there was a waterway between the two areas, stretching from Funakoshi bay in the south to Imazu Bay, in the north, in Fukuoka proper.  Over time this area was filled in with deposits from the local rivers, making it perfect for the Yayoi style wet rice paddy agriculture that was the hallmark of the growth in that period.  And indeed there are certainly plenty of Yayoi and Kofun era ruins in the area, especially in eastern reaches of the modern city of Itoshima, which reside in the valley that backs up to Mt. Raizan.  There you can find the Ito-koku History Museum, which tells much of the story of Ito. The Weizhi, or the Wei Chronicles, note that Ito-koku had roughly a thousand households, with various officials under their own Queen, making it one of the few Wa countries that the Chroniclers specifically noted as being a “kingdom”, though still under the nominal hegemony of the queen of Yamatai or Yamateg.  If you continue eastward along the coast from Itoshima, you next hit Nishi-ku, the Western Ward, of modern Fukuoka city, which now continues to sprawl around Hakata Bay.  Nishi-ku itself used to also be known as “Ito”, though spelled slightly differently, and you can still find Ito Shrine in the area. So was this part of Ito-koku also? It's very possible.   Na-koku, or the country of Na, was probably on the eastern edge of modern Fukuoka, perhaps around the area known as Hakata down to modern Kasuga.  Much like in Karatsu, this area features some of the earliest rice fields ever found in Japan – in this case, in the Itazuke neighborhood, just south of Fukuoka airport.  The land here is mostly flat, alluvial plains, formed by the rivers that empty out into Hakata Bay, another great area for early rice agriculture. Locating the country of Na is interesting for several reasons.  For one, unlike all of the other Wei Chronicles sites we've mentioned, there is no clear surviving placename that obviously matches up between “Na” and the local area.  It is a short enough name that it may simply be difficult to distinguish which “Na” is meant, though there is a “Naka” district in Kasuga that may show some promise.  There certainly is evidence for a sizeable settlement, but that's much more tenuous than the placenames for other areas, which remained largely in use in some form up to the modern day, it would seem. The name “Na” shows up in more than just the Weizhi, and it is also mentiond in the Houhan-shu, or the Record of the Later Han, a work compiled later than the Weizhi, but using older records from the Late Han dynasty period.  There it is asserted that the country of Na was one of the 99 some-odd countries of Wa, and they sent an embassy to the Later Han court, where they received a gold seal made out to the “King of Na of Wa”.  We talked about this in Episode 10: The Islands of the Immortals: That seal, made of gold, was seemingly found in the Edo period—1784, to be precise.  A farmer claimed to have found it on Shika island, in Hakata Bay, which is quite prominent, and connected to the mainland with a periodically-submerged causeway.  The description of the find—in a box made up of stones, with a large stone on top that required at least two men to move it—seems like it could have been an old burial of some kind.  The island certainly makes sense as an elite burial site, overlooking Hakata Bay, which was likely an important feature of the lifeways of the community.  While there have been questions about the authenticity of the seal, if it is a forgery, it is quite well done.  It looks similar to other Han era seals, and we don't really have a way to date the gold it is made of.  Without the actual context we can't be quite sure. This certainly seems like pretty strong evidence of the country of Na in this area, somewhere – probably not on the island itself, then close by.So unless something else comes along, I think we can say that this is at least the vicinity of the old country of Na.  Okay, so now that we've talked in general about where these two places were, let's go back and look at them in more detail. The Ito-koku site is just up the coast from where we stayed for Matsuro-koku, in Karatsu, which all makes sense from the position of the Chronicles in that it says the early envoys traveled overland from one place to the other.  Of course it also says they traveled southeast, which is not correct as the route is actually northeast.  However, they had traveled southeast from the Korean peninsula to Tsushima and then Iki and Matsuro, so that direction was well established, and this is an easy enough error that could have been made by the actual envoys or by later scribes, as it would be a one character difference. For Ito-koku, as with Matsuro-koku, we have no large, reconstructed sites similar to Harunotsuji on Iki or Yoshinogari, further inland in Saga prefecture, where we have an entire, large, so-called “kingly” settlement.  There is evidence of settlements, though, both near the major burial sites as well as around the peninsula.  And as for those burial sites, well, Ito has a few, and they aren't merely important because of their size.  Size is often an indication of the amount of labor that a leader must have been able to mobilize, and so it can be used to get a general sense of the power that a given leader or system was able to wield, as they could presumably turn that labor to other users as well. However, it is also important to look at other factors, like burial goods. What kind of elite material was the community giving up and placing with the deceased? That is the case with the first site we'll discuss, the Hirabaru burial mound.  At first glance it isn't much—a relatively unassuming square mound, about 12 by 14 meters, and less than 2 meters in height.  It was discovered in 1965 by a farmer who started digging a trench to plant an orchard and started pulling up broken pieces of a bronze mirror, one of the first clues that this was someone important.  They later found various post holes around the site, suggesting that it was more than just an earthen mound, and as they excavated the site they found pottery, beads, mirrors, and more. Let's start with those post-holes.  It looks like there was at least one large pillar set up due east of the burial.  We don't know how tall it was, but it was likely of some height given the size of the pillar hole—I've seen some estimates that it could have been up to 70 meters tall.  A tall pole would have provided visibility, and it may also be significant that it was east, in the direction of the rising sun.  We know that the ancient Wa had a particular connection with the sun, and this may be further evidence of that.  There are other holes that may be a gate, and possible a storehouse nearby, presumably for various ritual items, etc.  Suddenly, even without knowing exactly what was there, we start to see a picture of a large, manmade complex that seems to be centered on this burial and whomever is there. On top of that, there was a mirror in the tomb that was larger than any other ever found in Japan at that time—certainly the largest round mirror of that period.  It is not one of the triangular rimmed mirrors that Yamato is known for, but may have been part of another large cache brought over from the mainland.  About 40 mirrors in total, many of them very large, were found buried in the tomb, some of which appear to have been broken for some reason.  Furthermore, the large mirrors appear to fit within the dimensions given the Great Mirror—the Yata no kagami—housed at the sacred Ise Shrine.  There is a document in 804, the “Koutai Jingu Gishiki Chou”, detailing the rituals of Ise shrine, which describes the sacred mirror sitting in a box with an inner diameter of 1 shaku, 6 sun, and 3 bu, or approximately 49.4 centimeters, at least using modern conversions.  The same measurements are given in the 10th century Engi Shiki.  So we can assume that the mirror in Ise, which nobody is allowed to actually see, let alone measure, is smaller than that, but not by much, as the box would have been made to fit the mirror, specifically.  It isn't like you can just grab a box from Mirror Depot.  The mirrors found at Hirabaru Mound measure 46.5 centimeters, and have a floral pattern with an eight petaled flower on the back.  Could this mirror be from the same mold or the same cache, at least, as the sacred mirror at Ise?  At the very least, they would seem to be of comparable value.   In addition, there were many beads, jars, etc.  Noticeably absent from the burial were swords and weapons.  Based on this, some have argued that this was the burial of a queen of Ito-koku.  There is evidence that this may be the case, but I don't think the presence of weapons, or the lack thereof, is necessarily a good indicator. After all, we see in the old stories that women were also found wielding swords and leading troops into battle. So it's dangerous to make assumptions about gender based on this aspect alone. I wonder if the Hirabaru tomb assemblage might have more to do with something else we see in Yamato and which was likely applicable elsewhere in the archipelago: a system of co-rulership, where one role might have to do more with administrative and/or ritual practice, regardless of gender. This burial assemblage or mirrors and other non-weapons might reflect this kind of position. The Weizhi often mentions “secondary” or “assistant” positions, which may have truly been subordinate to a primary ruler, or could have just been misunderstood by the Wei envoys, who saw everything through their particular cultural stratification.  In a similar fashion, early European explorers would often name people “king”—from the daimyo of Sengoku era Japan to Wahunsenacawh, known popularly as “Powhatan” for the name of his people, on what would become known as North America.  That isn't to say that these weren't powerful individuals, but the term “king” comes with a lot of Eurocentric assumptions and ideas about power, stratification, etc.  Is there any reason to believe that the Wei envoys and later chroniclers were necessarily better at describing other cultures? And of course we don't have any physical remains of the actual individual buried there, either. However, there is a good reason to suggest that this may have been a female ruler, and that *is* because of something in the Weizhi, which specifically says that the people of Ito lived under the rule of a female king, aka a queen, using a description not unlike what is used for Queen Himiko.  In fact, Ito gets some special treatment in the record, even though it isn't the largest of the countries.  Let's look at those numbers first: Tsushima is said to have 1,000 households, while Iki is more like 3,000.  Matsuro is then counted at 4,000 families, but Ito is only said to have 1,000, similar to Tsushima.  Just over the mountains and along the Bay, the country of Na is then counted at a whopping 20,000 households, so 20 times as many.  These numbers are probably not entirely accurate, but do give an impression of scale, at least. But what distinguishes Ito-koku in this is that we are told that it had a special place for envoys from the Korean peninsula to rest when they came.  It makes you wonder about this little place called Ito. Hirabaru is not the only kingly tomb in the area.  Walk about 20 to 30 minutes further into the valley, and you might just find a couple of other burials—in particular Mikumo-Minami Shouji, discovered in 1822, and Iwara-Yarimizo, which includes artifacts discovered in the 1780s in the area between Mikumo and Iwara as they were digging a trench.  Based on evidence and descriptions, we know that they pulled out more bronze mirrors and other elite goods indicative of the late Yayoi paramounts. In these areas they have also found a number of post holes suggesting other buildings—enough to perhaps have a relatively large settlement. As noted earlier, we do not have a reconstructed village like in Harunotsuji or Yoshinogari, given that these are private fields, so the shape of the ancient landscape isn't as immediately impressive to people looking at the area, today.  The apparent dwellings are largely found in the triangle created between two rivers, which would have been the water source for local rice paddies.  The tombs and burials are found mostly on the outskirts, with the exception of the kingly burial of Mikumo-Minami Shouji.  This is also interesting when you consider that the later Hirabaru mound was situated some distance away, raising a bunch of questions that we frankly do not have answers for. The area of these ruins is not small.  It covers roughly 40.5 hectares, one of the largest Yayoi settlements so far discovered.  Of course, traces of other large settlements—like something in the Fukuoka area or back in Yamato—may have been destroyed by later construction, particularly in heavily developed areas.  This is interesting, though, when you consider that the Weizhi only claimed some 1,000 households. There are also other graves, such as various dolmens, across Ito and Shima, similar to those found on the peninsula, and plenty of other burials across both ancient districts.  And as the Yayoi culture shifted, influence of Yamato can be seen.  While Ito-koku clearly had their own burial practices, which were similar to, but not exactly like, those in the rest of the archipelago, we can see them start to adopt the keyhole style tomb mounds popular in Yamato. During the kofun period, the area of Itoshima built at least 60 identified keyhole shaped tombs, with a remarkable number of them from the early kofun period.  Among these is Ikisan-Choushizuka Kofun, a large, round keyhole tomb mound with a vertical stone pit burial, estimated to have been built in the latter half of the 4th century.  At 103 meters in length, it is the largest round keyhole tomb on the Genkai coast—that is to say the northwest coast of Kyushu. All of these very Yamato-style tombs would appear to indicate a particular connection between Ito and  Yamato—though what, exactly, that looked like is still up for debate.  According to the various early Chronicles, of course, this would be explained because, from an early period, Yamato is said to have expanded their state to Kyushu and then even on to the Korean peninsula.  In particular, the Chronicles talk about “Tsukushi”, which is both used as shorthand for the entirety of Kyushu, while also indicating the area largely encompassing modern Fukuoka prefecture.  On the other hand, this may have been a sign of Ito demonstrating its own independence and its own prestige by emulating Yamato and showing that they, too, could build these large keyhole tombs.  After all, the round keyhole shape is generally thought to have been reserved, in Yamato, for members of the royal family, and Ito-koku may have been using it similarly for their own royal leaders.  It may even be something in between—Ito-koku may have recognized Yamato's influence and leadership, but more in the breach than in actuality.  Afterall, until the standup of things like the various Miyake and the Dazai, we aren't aware of a direct outpost of the Yamato government on Kyushu.  The Miyake, you may recall, were the ”royal granaries”, which were basically administrative regions overseeing rice land that was directly controlled by Yamato, while the Dazai was the Yamato government outpost in Kyushu for handling continental affairs.  On top of a lack of local control in the early Kofun, the Weizhi appears to suggest that the Yamato paramount, Himiko, was the “Queen of the Wa” only through the consensus of other polities, but clearly there were other countries in the archipelago that did not subscribe to her blog, as it were, as they were in open conflict with Yamato.  This all leads into something we've talked about in the main podcast at various times, but it still bears discussing:  How did Yamato, over in the Nara Basin, become the center of political life in the Japanese archipelago, and why not somewhere in Kyushu, like ancient Na or Ito?  While we don't entirely know, it is worth examining what we do and some of the factors that may have been in play.  After all, Kyushu was the closest point of the main Japanese islands to the mainland, and we see that the Yayoi culture gets its start there.  From there, Yayoi culture spread to the east, and if we were to apply similar assumptions as we do on the spread of the keyhole shaped kofun, we would assume that the culture-givers in the west would have held some level of prestige as groups came to them to learn about this new technology, so why wasn't the capital somewhere in Kyushu?  We likewise see other such things—Yayoi pottery styles, fired in kilns, rather than open fired pottery; or even bronze items brought over from the continent.  In almost every instance, we see it first in Kyushu, and then it diffuses eastward up to the edge of Tohoku.  This pattern seems to hold early on, and it makes sense, as most of this was coming over from the continent. Let's not forget, though, that the Yayoi period wasn't simply a century: by our most conservative estimates it was approximately 600 years—for reference, that would be roughly equivalent to the period from the Mongol invasions up to the end of the Edo period, and twice as long as the period from Mimaki Iribiko to the Naka-no-Oe in 645, assuming that Mimaki Iribiko was ruling in the 3rd century.  So think about all that has happened in that time period, mostly focused on a single polity, and then double it.  More recent data suggests that the Yayoi period may have been more like an 1100 to 1300 year range, from the earliest start of rice cultivation.  That's a long time, and enough time for things in the archipelago to settle and for new patterns of influence to form.  And while Kyushu may have been the first region to acquire the new rice growing technology, it was other areas around the archipelago that would begin to truly capitalize on it. We are told that by the time the Wei envoys arrived that the state of Yamato, which we have no reason not to believe was in the Nara Basin, with a focus on the area of modern Sakurai, had approximately 70,000 households.  That is huge.  It was larger than Na, Ito, and Matsuro, combined, and only rivaled in the Weizhi by Touma-koku, which likely referred to either the area of Izumo, on the Japan Sea coast, or to the area of Kibi, along the Seto Inland Sea, both of which we know were also large polities with significant impact in the chronicles.  And here there is something to consider about the Yayoi style agriculture—the land determined the ultimate yield.  Areas with more hills and mountains are not as suited to wet rice paddy agriculture.  Meanwhile, a flat basin, like that in Yamato, which also has numerous rivers and streams draining from the surrounding mountains into the basin and then out again, provided the possibility for a tremendous population, though no doubt it took time to build. During that time, we definitely see evidence of the power and influence of places like Na and Ito.  Na sent an embassy to the Han court—an incredible journey, and an indication of not only their interest in the Han court and continental trade, but also their ability to gather the resources necessary for such a journey, which likely required some amount of assistance from other, nearby polities.  Na must have had some sway back then, we would assume. Meanwhile, the burial at Ito shows that they were also quite wealthy, with clear ties to the continent given their access to large bronze mirrors.  In the absence of other data, the number and size of bronze mirrors, or similar bronze items, likely only useful for ritual purposes, indicates wealth and status, and they had some of the largest mirrors as well as the largest collection found for that period.  Even into the stories in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki we see how mirrors, swords, and jewels all are used a symbols of kingship.  Elite status was apparently tied to material items, specifically to elite trade goods.  Assuming Yamato was able to grow its population as much as is indicated in the Weizhi, then by the 3rd century, they likely had the resources to really impress other groups.  Besides things like mirrors, we can probably assume that acquisition of other goods was likewise important.  Both Ito and Yamato show evidence of pottery shards from across the archipelago, indicating extensive trade networks.  But without any other differentiating factors, it is likely that Yamato, by the 3rd century, at least, was a real powerhouse.  They had a greater production capacity than the other states listed in the Weizhi, going just off of the recorded human capital. And this may answer a question that has been nagging me for some time, and perhaps others:  Why did other states acquiesce to Yamato rule?  And the answer I keep coming back to is that it was probably a combination of wealth, power, prestige, ritual, and time. For one thing, wealth: Yamato had it.  That meant they could also give it.  So, if Yamato was your friend, you got the goods, and you had access to what you need.  You supported them, they could help you with what you needed.  These transactional alliances are not at all uncommon, and something I think most of us can understand. There is also power—specifically military power.  With so many people, Yamato would likely have been a formidable threat should they decide that violence was the answer.  That said, while we read of military campaigns, and no doubt they did go out and fight and raid with the best of them, it's expensive to do so.  Especially exerting control over areas too far out would have been problematic, especially before writing AND horses.  That would be costly, and a drain on Yamato's coffers.  So while I do suspect that various military expeditions took place, it seems unlikely that Yamato merely bested everyone in combat.  Military success only takes you so far without constant maintenance. And so here is where I think prestige and ritual come into play.  We've talked about how Yamato did not exactly “rule” the archipelago—their direct influence was likely confined to the Kinki region for the longest period of time.  And yet we see that they influenced people out on the fringes of the Wa cultural sphere: when they started building large, keyhole shaped kofun for their leaders, and burying elites only one to a giant mound, the other areas of Japan appear to have joined in.  Perhaps Yamato was not the first to build a kofun for a single person, but they certainly were known for the particular shape that was then copied by so many others.  But why? We don't know for certain, but remember that in Yamato—and likely the rest of the Wa cultural sphere—a large part of governance was focused on ritual.  The natural and what we would consider the supernatural—the visible and invisible—worked hand in hand.  To have a good harvest, it required that workers plant, water, harvest, etc. in the right seasons and in the right way.  Likewise, it was considered equally important to have someone to intercede with the kami—to ensure that the rains come at the right time, but not too much, and a host of other natural disasters that could affect the crop. And if you want to evaluate how well ritual works, well, look at them.   Are you going to trust the rituals of someone whose crops always fail and who barely has a single bronze mirror?  Or are you going to trust the rituals of someone with a thriving population, multiple mirrors, and more?  Today, we might refer to this as something like the prosperity gospel, where wealth, good health, and fortune are all seen as stemming from how well one practices their faith, and who's to say that back in the day it wasn't the same?  Humans are going to human, after all. So it makes sense that one would give some deference to a powerhouse like Yamato and even invite their ritualists to come and help teach you how it is done.  After all, the local elites were still the ones calling the shots.  Nothing had really changed. And here is where time comes in.  Because over time what started as an alliance of convenience became entrenched in tradition.  Yamato's status as primus inter pares, or first among equals, became simply one of primus.  It became part of the unspoken social contract.  Yamato couldn't push too hard on this relationship, at least not all at once, but over time they could and did demand more and more from other states. I suspect, from the way the Weizhi reads, that Yamato was in the early stages of this state development.  The Weizhi makes Queen Himiko feel like something of a consensus candidate—after much bickering, and outright fighting, she was generally accepted as the nominal paramount.  There is mention of a male ruler, previously, but we don't know if they were a ruler in Yamato, or somewhere else, nor if it was a local elite or an earlier paramount.  But not everyone in the archipelago was on board—Yamato did have rivals, somewhere to the south (or north?); the directions in the Weizhi are definitely problematic, and it may refer to someone like the Kuma or Kumaso people in southern Kyushu or else people that would become known as the Emishi further to the east of Yamato. This lasted as long as Yamato was able to continue to demonstrate why they were at the top of this structure.  Theoretically, anyone else could climb up there as well, and there are certainly a few other powerful states that we can identify, some by their mention and some by their almost lack of mention.  Izumo and Kibi come to mind almost immediately. The Weizhi makes it clear that Himiko's rule was not absolute, and part of her reaching out to the Wei in the first place may have been the first attempt at something new—external validation by the continent.  A large part of international diplomacy is as much about making people believe you have the power to do something as actually having that power.  Getting recognition from someone like the Wei court would further legitimize Yamato's place at the top of the heap, making things easier for them in the long run. Unfortunately, it seems like things did not go so smoothly, and after Himiko's death, someone else came to power, but was quickly deposed before a younger queen took over—the 13 year old Toyo.  Of course, the Wei and then the Jin had their own problems, so we don't get too many details after that, and from there we lose the thread on what was happening from a contemporary perspective.  Instead, we have to rely on the stories in the Nihon Shoki and Kojiki, which are several hundred years after the fact, and clearly designed as a legitimizing narrative, but still present us something of a picture.  We don't see many stories of local elites being overthrown, though there do seem to be a fair number of military campaigns.  Nonetheless, even if they were propped up by Yamato, local elites likely had a lot of autonomy, at least early on, even as they were coopted into the larger Yamato umbrella.  Yamato itself also saw ups and downs as it tried to figure out how to create a stable succession plan from one ruler to the next.  At some point they set up a court, where individuals from across the archipelago came and served, and they created alliances with Baekje, on the peninsula, as well as with another polity which we know of as Nimna.  Through them, Yamato continued to engage with the continent when the dynastic struggles there allowed for it.  The alliance with Baekje likely provided even more legitimacy for Yamato's position in the archipelago, as well as access to continental goods. Meanwhile the court system Yamato set up provided a means for Yamato to, itself, become a legitimizing factor. Hierarchical differences in society were already visible in the Yayoi period, so we can generally assume that the idea of social rank was not a new concept for Yamato or the other Wa polities.  This is eventually codified into the kabane system, but it is probably likely that many of the kabane came about, originally, as titles of rank used within the various polities.  Yamato's ability to claim to give—or even take away—that kabane title, would have been a new lever of power for Yamato.  Theoretically, other polities could just ignore them and keep going on with their daily lives, but if they had already bought into the social structure and worldview that Yamato was promoting, then they likely would have acquiesced, at least in part, to Yamato's control. Little by little, Yamato's influence grew, particularly on those closer to the center.  Those closer, and more affected, started to listen to Yamato's rules about kofun size and shape, while those further on the fringes started to adopt Yamato's traditions for themselves, while perhaps maintaining greater independence. An early outlier is the Dazai.  It is unclear whether this was forcibly imposed on the old region of Na and nearby Ito, or if it was more diplomatically established.  In the end, though, Yamato established an outpost in the region early on, almost before they started their practice of setting up “miyake”, the various royal granaries that appear to have also become local Yamato government offices in the various lands.  The Dazai was more than just a conduit to accept taxes in the form of rice from various locals—it was also in charge of missions to the continent.  Whether they were coming or going, military or diplomatic, the Dazai was expected to remain prepared.  The early iterations were likely in slightly different locations, and perhaps not as large, but still in roughly the area near modern Fukuoka and Dazai.  This was a perfect place not only from which to prepare to launch or receive missions from the continent, but also to defend the nearby Shimonoseki straits, which was an important entryway into the Seto Inland Sea, the most direct route to Naniwa and the Yamato court. The first iterations of direct Yamato control in Tsukushi—modern Fukuoka—claim to have been focused largely on being a last point to supply troops heading over to fight on the peninsula, not unlike the role of Nagoya castle on the Higashi-Matsuura peninsula in the 16th century.  Over time, though, it grew into much more.  The Weizhi, for its part mentions something in the land of Ito, where there were rooms set up for envoys from the continent, but the Dazai was this on steroids. Occasionally we see evidence of pushback against Yamato's expansion of powers.  Early on, some states tried to fool the envoys into thinking that they were Yamato, perhaps attempting to garner the trade goods for themselves and to take Yamato's place as the interlocutor between the Wa polities and the continent.  We also see outright rebellions—from Iwai in Kyushu, in the 6th century, but also from various Emishi leaders as well.  The Iwai rebellion may have been part of the impetus for setting up the Dazai as a way to remotely govern Tsukushi—or at least help keep people in line.  For the most part, though, as time goes by, it would seem that Yamato's authority over other polities just became tradition, and each new thing that Yamato introduced appears to have been accepted by the various other polities, over time.  This is likely a much more intricate process than even I'm describing here, but I'm not sure that it was necessarily a conscious one; as the concept of Yamato as the “paramount” state grew, others ceded it more and more power, which only fed Yamato's self-image as the paramount state.  As the elites came under the Yamato court and rank system, they were more closely tied to it, and so Yamato's increased power was, in a way, passed on to them as well.  At least to those who bought in. By the 5th century, we know that there were families sending people to the court from as far away as Hi no Kuni in Kyushu—near modern Kumamoto—and Musashi no Kuni in the east—including modern Saitama.  All of that said, while they may have subordinated themselves to Yamato in some ways, the various polities still maintained some independent actions and traditions.  For example, whatever their connection to Yamato, the tombs at Itoshima also demonstrate a close connection to the peninsula.  The horizontal entry chamber style of tomb—something we saw a lot in Iki, and which seems to have been introduced from the continent—started to become popular in the latter half of the 4th century, at least in the west of the archipelago. This is well before we see anything like it in Yamato or elsewhere, though it was eventually used across the archipelago.  Itoshima appears to have been an early adopter of this tomb style, picking it up even before the rest of the archipelago caught on, making them the OG horizontal chambers, at least in Japan. Ultimately, the image we have of Ito-koku is of an apparently small but relatively influential state with some influence on the cross-strait trade, with close ties to Yamato. The history of the region seems a bit murky past the Kofun period.  There are earthworks of an old mountain castle on Mt. Raizan that could be from the Asuka period, and in the 8th century the government built Ito castle on the slopes of Mt. Takaso, possibly to provide some protection to the Dazaifu, which was the Yamato outpost in Kyushu, and eventually became the main administrative center for the island.  It seems, then, that whatever power the country of Ito may have once had, it was subsumed by the Dazai, which was built a little inland, east of the old Na territory.  Furthermore, as ships grew more seaworthy over time, they could make the longer voyages straight to Iki or Tsushima from Hakata.  For the most part, the area of the Itoshima peninsula seems to have been merely a set of districts in the larger Tsukushi and then the Chikuzen provinces.  The area of Na, meanwhile, which is said to have had 20,000 households in the 3rd century—much larger than nearby Ito—was completely eclipsed by the Dazaifu after the Iwai rebellion.  After the fall of Baekje, the Dazaifu took on even greater administrative duties, and eventually took over all diplomatic engagement with the continent.  They even set up a facility for hosting diplomatic envoys from the continent.  This would come to be known as the Kourokan, and they actually found the ruins of it near the site where Maizuru castle was eventually built in what is now Chuo-ku, or the central ward, of Fukuoka city. From the Heian period onwards, the Harada family eventually came to have some power in the area, largely subordinate to others, but they built another castle on Mt. Takaso, using some of the old Ito Castle earthworks, and participated in the defense of the nation during the Mongol invasions. The Harada family rose briefly towards the end of the Sengoku Period, pushing out the Otomo as Hideyoshi's campaign swept into Kyushu.  They weren't quite fast enough to join Hideyoshi's side, though, and became subordinate to Kato Kiyomasa and eventually met their end during the Invasions of Korea. The Ito district at some point after that became part of the So clan's holdings, falling under Tsushima's purview, along with a scattering of districts elsewhere, all likely more about the revenue produced than local governance.  In the Edo period, there were some efforts to reclaim land in Imazu bay, further solidifying links with the Itoshima peninsula and the mainland, but that also fits in with the largely agricultural lifestyle of the people in the region.  It seems to have remained largely a rural backwater up into modern times, when the Ito and Shima districts were combined into an administrative district known as “Itoshima city”. Meanwhile, the Dazaifu continued to dominate the region of modern Fukuoka.  Early on, worried about a Silla-Tang alliance, the Yamato state built massive forts and earthworks were built around the Dazaifu to protect the region from invasion.  As the Tang dynasty gave way to the Song and Yuan dynasties, however, and the Heian court itself became more insular, the Dazaifu's role faded, somewhat.  The buildings were burned down in the 10th century, during the failed revolt of Fujiwara no Sumitomo.  The government never rebuilt, and instead the center of regional government shifted to Hakata, closer to the bay. Appointed officials to the Dazai were known as the Daini and the Shoni.  Mutou Sukeyori was appointed as Dazai Shoni, the vice minister of the Dazaifu, in the late 12th century.  Though he had supported the Taira in the Genpei wars, he was pardoned and made the guardian of Northern Kyushu, to help keep the region in check for the newly established Kamakura Bakufu.  He would effectively turn that into a hereditary position, and his family became known as the “Shoni”, with their position eventually coming to be their family name.  They would provide commendable service against the Mongol invasion, and eventually became the Shugo Daimyo over much of western Kyushu and the associated islands, though not without pushback from others in the region. Over time, the power of the Shoni waned and various other daimyo began to rise up.  The chaos of the Sengoku period saw the entire area change hands, back and forth, until Hideyoshi's invasion of Kyushu.  Hideyoshi divided up control of Kyushu, and Chikuzen, including the areas of Hakata and modern Itoshima, was given to Kobayakawa Takakage.  Hideyoshi also began to redevelop the port of Hakata.  After the battle of Sekigahara, Kobayakawa Hideaki, Takakage's adopted son and nephew to the late Hideyoshi, was transferred to the fief of Okayama, and the area of modern Fukuoka city was given to Kuroda Nagamasa, creating the Fukuoka Han, also known as the Kuroda Han. Nagamasa would go on to build Maizuru Castle on the other side of the Naka river from the port of Hakata, creating two towns with separate administration, each of which fell under the ultimate authority of the Kuroda.  Hakata, on the east side of the river, was a city of merchants while Fukuoka was the castle town, and largely the domain of samurai serving the Kuroda.  The Kuroda would remain in control of the Fukuoka domain through the Edo period, and only lost control at the very start of the Meiji, as the domain system in general was dissolved. Over that time, Hakata remained an important port city, and the samurai of Fukuoka were known for maintaining their martial traditions. In the Meiji era, samurai from the Kuroda Han joined with other Kyushu samurai, rising up during Saigo Takamori's rebellion.  Later, it would be former samurai and others from Fukuoka who would form the Gen'yosha, an early right wing, nationalist organization that would greatly influence the Japanese government heading into the latter part of the 19th and early 20th century. But that is getting well into more modern territory, and there is so much else we could discuss regarding the history of this area, and with any luck we will get to it all in time.  For now, this concludes our Gishiwajinden Tour—we traveled from Kara, to Tsushima and Iki, and then on to Matsuro, Ito, and Na.  From here the envoys traveled on to Fumi, Toma, and then Yamato.  Fumi and Toma are still elusive locations, with various theories and interpretations as to where they were.   For us, this was the end of our journey. Next episode we will be back with the Chronicles and getting into the Taika era, the era of Great Change.  There we will really see Yamato starting to flex its administrative muscles as it brings the various polities of the archipelago together into a single state, which will eventually become known as the country of Nihon, aka Japan. Until then, thank you for listening.  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 reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Moving on with our third part of the Gishiwajinden Tour, we head to the old area of Matsuro, which, for us, means modern Karatsu.  Here we have some of the oldest rice paddies in all of Japan, but Karatsu is so much more.  It was part of Matsura, where the Matsura family (aka league, factions, or pirates, depending on how you saw it) arose.  It is also a short hop from Nagoya, which briefly became the capital of Japan; Nagaoka-kyo gets a mention in the histories, but Nagoya rarely merits it, since it was just the Taiko and every actually important person minus the Tenno. For more photos and others such things, check out: https://www.sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/matsuro-koku/   Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour, Part Four:  Matsuro-koku So far on this tour through the locations listed in the Weizhi's Wa Record, the Gishiwajinden, following the route to Queen Himiko of Wa, we've hit the area of Gaya, or Gara; Tsushima—or Tuma-koku; Iki, aka Iki-koku; and now we are arriving at Karatsu, thought to be the location of Maturo-koku. Now before we go any further, let's talk about the name.  After all, up to this point in the account, the names haven't been too far off.  Well, Tsushima was recorded as something like Tuma in the Chinese record, which seems reasonable, and “Iki” was actually recorded as something like “I-dai”, though we are pretty sure that was a transcription error based on other evidence. But Karatsu and Maturo, really don't seem related.  Also, didn't we earlier equate Matsuro with Matsuura, Matsura?  But if you look for Matsuura on a map it is quite some distance away from Karatsu—in fact, it is in modern Nagasaki prefecture as opposed to Karatsu, which is in modern Saga prefecture. First off, Karatsu is a later name for the city, not the area.  It literally means “Tang Port”, and that name seems to appear in the 15th century in the form of Karatsu Jinja, or Karatsu Shrine.  So no, the names Karatsu and Matsuro are not related.  Prior to being called Karatsu, though, it was part of a larger area called Matsura.  It sits at the head of the Matsura River, which spills out into what is now called Karatsu Bay.  In ancient times this seems to have been the heart of the area known as Matsura or Matsuro.  Over time it was incorporated into the larger area known as Hi no Kuni, and when Hi no Kuni was divided up by the Ritsuryo state into Hizen and Higo, we see the Matsura district, or Matsura-gun, is a part, along the coast.  The fact that it is spelled as “Matsu” and “Ura”, meaning “pine beach”, might hint at the original name of the place or could be a false etymology, imposed by the need to record the location in kanji, the Sinitic characters used at the time.  Fun fact time:  Hizen refers to the area of the land of Hi that was closer to Yamato, while Higo refers to the area of the land of Hi that was further away.  If you look at a modern map of where these two ancient provinces were, however, you'll notice that by a slight technicality, Higo is actually closer, as the crow flies.  But remember, people are not crows, at least not in this life, and in all likelihood, most of the travel to and from Yamato would have been via sea routes.  So Hizen is closer to Yamato from that perspective, as you would have to sail from Higo, around Hizen, or take the long way south around Kagoshima. But where were we? So Matsura district in Hizen started at Matsura-gawa and the area around Karatsu bay, and included modern areas of Hirado all the way out to the Goto islands.  That was a pretty large area.  It later got further subdivided into East, West, North, and South Matsura subdistricts, with Karatsu in the Eastern subdistrict, and some portion of the west.  Eventually, Karatsu city became its own administrative district, in modern Saga prefecture, and so did Hirado city, in what was the old Northern Matsura sub-district, joining Nagasaki prefecture.  The western sub-district went to Karatsu or incorporated as Imari, known for their Imari-ware pottery.  And that left a small portion of the northern sub-district. The incorporated villages and islands eventually came together as Matsuura city, in Nagasaki prefecture, which is what you'll see, today.  And that is why, looking at a modern map, “Matsura” and modern “Matsuura” are not precisely in the same place. That history also helps demonstrate the historical connections between Karatsu, Hirado, Iki, and Tsushima—as well as the Goto islands.  This region was where the Matsura clan arose, which controlled at least out to Iki, Hirado, and the Goto archipelago, and it was known for its strong navy, among other things. For our trip, heading to Karatsu was originally borne out of convenience:  Our goal was to take the ferry so that we could travel along the ocean routes.  We had traveled the route from Izuhara, on Tsushima, to Ashibe port, on Iki island.  During that trip it was interesting to watch as Tsushima disappeared and then eventually Iki appeared on the horizon, but it wasn't immediate, and I suspect you would have wanted an experienced crew who knew the route and knew what to look for.  Conversely, from Indoji port, on Iki, to Karatsu I felt like we were constantly in sight of one island or another, or at least could see the mountains of Kyushu to get our bearings.  There wasn't really a time that felt like we were that far out from land.  Even so, it would still have been a treacherous crossing back in the day. Coming in to Karatsu from the ferry, the first thing you will notice is the castle.  Karatsu castle, also known as Maizuru Castle, is a reconstructed castle, but it really does provide a clear view of what one would have seen.  The original was abandoned in the Meiji period and sold off in 1871.  The main keep was later demolished and made into a park.  In 1966 they built a new, 5-storey keep on the original base, and from 1989 onward have continued to make improvements to various parts of the castle moats and walls.  You can still see the layout of the Ninomaru and honmaru sections of the castle, encompassing the old samurai districts of the jokamachi, or castle town, of Karatsu during the Edo period. Our primary goal in Karatsu, however, was not castle focused.  We wanted to go back to an earlier time – the Yayoi period, to be precise - and Karatsu and the Matsuro-kan did not disappoint.  While not quite as extensive as the reconstruction at other Yayoi sites like Harunotsuji or Yoshinogari, the site at the Matsuro-kan is still impressive in its own right. What is the Matsuro-kan, you might ask?  It is the building and grounds of what is also known as the Nabatake site.  In 1980, construction workers were excavating for a road through the Nabatake section of Karatsu when they noticed they were pulling up artifacts.  An investigation between 1980 to 1981 determined that the artifacts were from the late Jomon to middle Yayoi period.  Further investigation discovered the presence of old rice paddies.  In 1983 the site was designated as a national historic site, further excavations were carried out, and the Matsurokan was built to house the artifacts and also provide some reconstructions of what the rice paddies would have looked like.  For context these are some of the oldest rice paddies found in Japan, along with the nearby Itazuke rice paddies, in neighboring Fukuoka prefecture, and are key for giving us insights into what we know about early rice field cultivation. Here I should point out that these fields were in use through the middle Yayoi period, while the mission to Yamato—or Yamatai—recorded in the Weizhi would have been in the late Yayoi or early Kofun period, so likely several hundred years later.  There are other Yayoi settlement remains found up and around the peninsula, and there are Kofun in the area, especially along the banks of the Matsura river.  Given how built up much of the area is, it is possible that any large scale settlement may have been destroyed by subsequent settlements, or is somewhere that there just hasn't been a good reason for a full excavation.  Still, who knows what we might eventually find.    The Matsurokan appears to stick with the dating of the Yayoi period from about 300 BCE.  This is based largely on assumptions regarding the development of different pottery styles.  Recent research has suggested that this should be pushed back to about 800 or even 1000 BCE, suggesting a more gradual development.  For our purposes, it is enough to note that this site appears to cover from the final Jomon era in Kyushu to the coming of wet rice agriculture with the advancing Yayoi culture. Based on what was found at the site, the wet rice paddies were created in what at least one scholar has suggested as a “primitive” wet rice paddy.  The paddies themselves appear to have been placed in a naturally swampy area, irrigated by a natural stream.  This would have made flooding the fields relatively simple, without the large ponds or waterworks required to cover a more extensive area.  This may have sufficed for a small village, possibly only a handful of families living together and working the land. Besides the impressions of the paddies themselves, various tools, pottery, and more were also found at the site.  Stone harvesting knives were plentiful—a semicircular stone knife that was held in the fingers of one hand, allowing a harvester to grasp the stalks and cut them quickly.  This was the standard method of harvesting prior to the arrival of the sickle, or kama, and is still in use in some parts of China and Southeast Asia.  It is more labor intensive than the sickle, but provides some benefits in the consistency and lack of waste product. The Matsurokan demonstrates how a lot of the Yayoi tools are, in fact, still in use in one form or another in different cultures that also absorbed rice cultivation, showing how widespread it became. In addition, there are artifacts such as shards of pottery showing what looks to be the imprint of a woven fabric, and various equipment for weaving and sewing.  We have some beams and posts from buildings, which give us something at least try to guess at how things were put together. There are bones of various animals as well as stone arrowheads.  There are also fish and even dugong bones, suggesting they also made a living from the nearby sea.  And there are various bits of jewelry, including magatama, and what appears to be a shark's tooth with holes drilled in so it could be worn on a cord.    There are also carbonized rice grains found at the site, likely grown there. We don't have any ancient strains of rice that can be proven to come from these fields, but in their reconstruction, outside the museum, they have rebuilt some of the rice fields and grow old rice variants in them.  This is used, in part, to teach local schoolchildren about rice cultivation – in fact, local schools are allocated individual paddies each growing season. Besides the rice paddies, the Matsurokan also boasts several reconstructed dwellings.  These are similar to ones you might find elsewhere depicting what life was like back in the Yayoi period. As the Yayoi period gave way to the kofun, we do see some mounded tombs in the area, though not quite as many as in others.  Matsura appears to be rather rural. Around the Heian period, we see the rise of a local group that comes to be known as the Matsura group, or Matsura-tou, which eventually consolidated into the Matsura family.  There are several lineages claiming that the Matsura family descended from the Minamoto or Abe clans or through branch families thereof.  Matsura-to itself is sometimes called the 48 factions of Matsura.  It wasn't as much a family as an alliance of local warriors, each with their own base of operations.  I can't quite tell if the lineage of the later Matsura clan, as they were known, were meant to represent a single lineage or the various lineages that came together.  For all we know, they may have married into official families or otherwise concocted lineages to help legitimize them as much as anything else—this far out from the center, in the 11th century, there wasn't necessarily as much oversight. Early in the 11th century they also had a chance to prove themselves with the Toi invasion – that was the Jurchen invasion we mentioned last couple episodes.  After the Toi invaders attacked Tsushima and Iki, they set their sites on Hakata Bay, which was the closest landing to the Dazaifu, the Yamato government in Kyushu.  They were chased off and headed down the coast.  Minamoto Tomo is said to have led the forces that repelled the Toi invaders, who finally departed altogether, striking one more time on Tsushima before heading back to wherever they came from. Minamoto Tomo is said, at least in some stories, to have been the founder of the Matsura clan, or at least the leader of the 48 factions, which then coalesced into the Matsura clan, which eventually would run the Hirado domain. Over two hundred and fifty years after the Toi Invasion would come the Mongols.  If the Toi were bad, the Mongols were much worse.  The Toi were a band of marauders, who caused a lot of havoc, but do not appear to have had state backing.  The Mongols were perhaps more appropriately the Yuan empire, who had already conquered the Yellow river valley and were working on the Song dynasty along the Yangzi.  While the Toi had brought with them Goryeo warriors as well—who may or may not have joined up willingly—the Mongols had huge armies from all over that they could throw at a problem. As we talked about in the past two episodes, the Mongols swept through Tsushima and Iki and then headed straight for Hakata, the closest landing zone to the Dazaifu, the government outpost in Kyushu.  Even during the height of the Kamakura shogunate, this was still an important administrative center, and would have given the Mongols a huge advantage on holding territory and eventually sweeping up the archipelago. Fortunately, they were stopped.  Whether it was the gumption, skill, and downright stubbornness of their samurai foes or the divine wind that swept up from the ocean, the Mongols were turned back, twice. During each of these invasions, the Matsura clan and others rushed to the defense of the nation, but unlike with the Toi invasions, there do not appear to have been any serious battles along the Matsuura coastline—not that I can make out, anyway. After the Mongol invasion, Kyushu was not left out of the troubles that would follow, including the downfall of the Hojo, the rise of the Ashikaga, and the eventual breakdown of the shogunal system into the period known as the Warring States period.  Through it all the Matsura continued to ply the seas and encourage the trade from which they and others, like the Sou of Tsushima, came to depend on.  They also allied with other entrepreneurial seafarers, known to others as pirates, and they started trading with a group of weird looking people with hairy beards and pale skin, who came to be known as the Nanban, the southern barbarians—known to us, primarily, as the Portuguese. One faction of the Matsura were the Hata—no relation to the Hata that set up in what would become the Kyoto region in the early periods of Yamato state formation.  The Hata ruled the area that would become Karatsu, but eventually they were taken over by the Ryuzoji, who were allied with Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi's interest in the Karatsu and Matsura area had to do with its easy access to the continent.  And so Hideyoshi began to pay attention to Nagoya, at the end of the peninsula down from Karatsu.  And no, not *that* Nagoya.  If you hear Nagoya, today, you are probably talking about the bustling metropolis in Aichi, which was where Toyotomi himself got his start, growing up and going to work for the local warlord, named Oda Nobunaga.  Due to a quirk of Japanese names and how they read particular characters, this is a different Nagoya. The Kyushu Nagoya had been one of the Matsura trading posts, run by a sub-branch of the Hata family, who had built a castle on the site.  Hideyoshi had much grander plans for the area.  In 1591 he began work on a massive castle and associated castle town.  This castle was to be his new headquarters, and he moved his entire retinue there from Osaka, with an expectation that all of the daimyo would follow him.  Sure enough, they showed up with their own vassals, setting up camps around the peninsula and in the new city-to-be. The castle was the base of operations from which Hideyoshi coordinated the invasions of Korea.  It was a massive undertaking, and extremely impressive.  The city itself sprung up, and although the wood was still new, and the buildings somewhat hastily put together, it was soon a bustling metropolis and briefly became the center of art and culture in the entire archipelago. Hideyoshi himself had a teahouse built within the confines of the castle, where he apparently spent most of his days, even when receiving reports on how things were going across the sea on the archipelago.  The city had a Noh theater, as well.  It must have been a sight to see. As for the castle itself, based on the remains, it was massive.  It appears to use the contours of the hill upon which it sits.  It seems there was a previous castle there of some kind, and it is unclear how much this was merely expanded, but Hideyoshi's new castle was truly monumental, with a labyrinth of gates to get in -- similar  to Himeji Castle, for anyone who has been there, but with a serious vertical incline as well.  Nagoya Castle was second only to Osaka castle, and yet it was erected quickly—only 8 months.  I guess that's what you can do when you can mobilize all of the daimyo across Japan.  Even today, ruined as it is, the walls tower over you, and you can spend hours wandering the grounds. For all that it was impressive, the good times at Nagoya Castle lasted only for a brief seven years—when Hideyoshi passed away, the council of regents moved back to Osaka, and Nagoya castle was deliberately destroyed, stones removed from the walls such that it could never survive a true siege. This was a sign to the Korean peninsula – the Joseon court - that, with the death of the taiko, Japan had given up any pretext of conquering the peninsula. Today, only the stones and earthworks remain of the briefly thriving city, but on the grounds is a wonderful museum that catalogs this particular slice of Medieval life.  The Nagoya Castle Museum of Saga prefecture is off the beaten path—there is no train, so you'll need to take a bus or private car to get there—but it is well worth it. The museum itself is dedicated to Japanese and Korean cross-strait relations, which feels a bit like atonement given that the castle was built with conquest in mind. Of course, the centerpiece of the Museum is the castle, but it also does a good job telling the story of relations between the peninsula and the archipelago.  It starts in the ancient times, talking about how, even during the Jomon period, there were commonalities in fishhooks and similar equipment found from Kyushu up through the Korean peninsula.  From there, of course, trade continued, as we've seen in our journey through the Chronicles.  It talks about some of the shared cultural items found from the Yayoi through the Kofun, and also demonstrates how some of the earliest Buddhist statues have clear similarities to those found in Silla.  It goes over the various missions back and forth, and even gives a map of the Toi Invasion that we talked about hitting Tsushima and Iki. The Mongol invasion is also heavily talked about, but not nearly so much as the invasion of Korea.  There is another reproduction of the letter of King Sejeong, with the faked seal from the Sou clan in Tsushima.  This of course, was the period when they built Nagoya-jo into a castle and city of at least 100,000 people, almost overnight.  Even the Nanban were there, trading in the city while supplies from across the country were gathered and shipped off to keep troops fed on the invasion of Korea. There are plenty of images from this time—from a Ming envoy to Nagoya castle to images of the invasion from the Korean perspective, with Koreanized samurai manning the walls of the castles they had taken.  They don't exactly lionize the samurai, but they don't accentuate some of the more horrific things, either, like the piles of ears taken from those killed because taking their heads, as was standard practice in older days, was too cumbersome. There is also some discussion of relations afterwards—of the Joseon embassies, though those went through Hakata, Nagoya-jo having long been abandoned at that point.  For reasons one can probably understand, it doesn't go into the post-Edo relations, as that is much more modern history. After the destruction of Nagoya castle, the area was largely abandoned, but the city of Karatsu proper really thrived during the Edo period.  Karatsu was also a castle town, as we've mentioned, but a bit out of the way.  As sailing ships were now more sturdy and able to handle longer sea crossings, it was now often Hakata, in Fukuoka, that received much of the trade, and the Dutch traders who had replaced the Portuguese, were limited to Dejima, in Nagasaki. When Hideyoshi swept through, the Hata were not exactly considered trustworthy, and were placed under the Nabeshima, a branch of their rivals, the Ryuzouji.  During the invasion of Korea, the Hata rebelled, and were destroyed for it in 1593.  Their territory was given to Terazawa Hirotaka, who had been put in charge of the construction of Nagoya castle and later put in charge of the logistics for the invasion effort from the Kyushu side.  As a result, he was granted the lands formerly controlled by the Hata, including Karatsu, and what would become the Karatsu domain. Hirotaka could see which way the wind blew—in more ways than one.  After Hideyoshi's death, he supported Tokugawa Ieyasu, allowing him to keep and even expand his fief.  He redirected the Matsura river—then known as the Hata river—to its present course, and he built a pine grove along the northern beach that is the third largest such grove in all of Japan.  Known as the “Niji no Matsubara”, or the ”Rainbow Pine Forest” for its shape, it was erected as a windbreak to protect the precious farmland just on the other side.  It is still there today, still managed, and quite famous.  You can drive through the pine trees or stop and walk through them, even out to the beach.   And there is even a fantastic burger truck that parks along the main road through the pine grove, so you can enjoy a lovely picnic among the trees. The Terazawa would not remain in place for very long.  During the Shimabara rebellion of the early 17th century—a rebellion based on either taxes or Christianity, depending on whom you ask—the Terazawa line was extinguished.  Terazawa Katataka, then ruler of the Karatsu domain, was held liable for mismanagement of the domain and loss of a castle to the rebels.  He had land confiscated and he felt publicly humiliated, and so he took his own life while he was in Edo.  As he had no heir, the Terazawa line died out. Karatsu domain went through a variety of hands after that.  Its value fluctuated, but it is generally thought that the real value of the domain, thanks to the ability to trade, was well beyond what it was assessed to produce.  As such it was a lucrative position, and also held sway as a check against Nagasaki, watching the trade there with the Dutch merchants.  Because of all of this, the lord of Karatsu was also banned from holding certain government positions, so as not to distract from their duties, making the position something of a blessing and a curse. Through the years, Karatsu thrived.  They were and are still known for a type of traditional pottery, known as Karatsumono, or Karatsuware, and they maintain elaborate festivals.  One of the festivals, the Karatsu Kunchi, is considered a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage.The Karatsu Kunchi is an annual parade where neighborhood associations carry giant floats through the city from Karatsu Shrine down to the shore.  It was inspired, in the early 19th century, by the famous Gion Matsuri of Kyoto—a wealthy merchant saw that and donated the first lion-head float to Karatsu Shrine.  Later, others would create their own floats. These floats, known as “Hikiyama” or “pulled mountains” can be five or six meters high and weigh anywhere from two to five tons.  There appear to be 14 hikiyama, currently, though there used to be 15—a black lion is currently missing.  The floats have gone through a few iterations, but are largely the same, and often have some relationship to the neighborhoods sponsoring them. From Matsura, aka Matsuro-koku, we went north along the coast of Kyushu to Itoshima, thought to the be old country of Ito-koku, and beyond that, the Na-koku of Fukuoka.  We'll cover both of those in our next and final installment of our Gishiwajinden tour. 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 reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Før Gaza-krigen brøt ut i oktober 2023, var den lille landstripen ved Middelhavet hjemsted for mer enn 2 millioner mennesker. Med krigen ble alle disse livene lagt i ruiner. Hvordan kunne dette skje?I september i fjor var Marte Heian-Engdal i Gaza for å gjøre research til en bok om storpolitikkens påvirkning rundt et vanlig kjøkkenbord i Gaza. Den 7. oktober ble situasjonen brutalt endret. I sin nye bok, Et Gaza-liv, følger Heian-Engdal hverdagslivet til familien Al-Rantisi gjennom generasjoner, og vever samtidig inn Gazas politiske og historiske bakteppe.I denne podcasten hører vi Marte Heian-Engdals foredrag på Litteraturhuset Fredrikstad 3. jun i 2024. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

On your knees with the queens in the poetry darkroom,  poetic pleasures await! Then we wipe off our kneecaps before hitting the Pride Parade.If you'd like to support Breaking Form:Review the show on Apple Podcasts here.Buy our books:     Aaron's STOP LYING is available from the Pitt Poetry Series.     James's ROMANTIC COMEDY is available from Four Way Books.NOTESTess Gallagher's "Stopping Place" is from her book Willingly.Donna Stonecipher's "Inlay 18 (Sei Shõnagun)" is from her book The Cosmopolitan. Read a bit about the book here. Sei Shōnagon's actual given name is not known. It was the custom among aristocrats in those days to call a court lady by a nickname taken from a court office belonging to her father or husband. Sei Shōnagon (c. 966–1017 or 1025) was a Japanese author, poet, and a court lady who served the Empress Teishi (Sadako) around the year 1000 during the middle Heian period. She is the author of The Pillow Book.The Dick Dock in Provincetown is so popular it has its own Facebook page. Or check out this Youtube video called "Provincetown's Dick Dock: Making Gay Sex Magic!"If you want to know more about the history of the Meat Rack on Fire Island, here's a good starting place. Read Ocean Vuong's poem "Theology"Marilyn Nelson's "For Mary, Fourth Month" is available in her The Fields of Praise: New and Selected. Jim Powell did indeed win a MacArthur in 1993. Read more poems by Powell here.Read Frank Stanford's "Blue Yodel of the Desperado"Read more about Osip MandelstamKevin Prufer's book of poems The Fears won the Rilke Prize. Read the judges' citation here. Visit Michelle Tea's website here. Or read an excerpt from her poem "I Used to Be Straight" here (scroll down).Read Franny Choi's "Unlove Poem" Read "Prayer/Oracion" by Francisco X. Alarcón, trans. Francisco Aragón Read "American Wedding" by Essex HemphillHere's June Jordan's fiery "Poem About My Rights" You can read torrin a. greathouse's "Aubade Beginning in Handcuffs" here. 

16.06.2024 | Søndagsmøte på Fossnes

On this week's episode the OAS team goes all in and tries to recreate your favorite dishes from Anime. Notably the team worked on an appetizer/snack dish, and a full meal. Listen in on each dish's significance in anime and Japenese culture, as well as thr process on bringing these dishes from 2D to real life! Mitarashi Dango Description: Rice flour dumplings that are skewered onto sticks in groups of 3–5 and covered with a sweet soy sauce glaze. Preparation: Form glutinous rice flour and water into balls, then drop them into boiling water until they float. Dress/cover with desired toppings. Anime Reference: Toriko: In this anime, Toriko, a Gourmet Hunter, searches for rare and diverse foods to complete a full-course meal. The Mitarashi Dango Planet (みたらし団子星 Mitarashi Dango Boshi) is a collection of edible skewered planets resembling mitarashi dango, seen as they leave Earth. Demon Slayer: ⁠Mitarashi Dango in Demon Slayer⁠. History: Originally, dumplings were used as offerings for gods in shrines. During the 13th - 14th century, the Japanese emperor visualized dango while purifying himself and used this image to create offerings for the gods. Earliest written record dates back to the Heian period (794-1185). Cultural Significance: Hanami: During the sakura (cherry blossom) season, people enjoy picnics under the trees, often serving dango. Hinamatsuri: Also known as Girls' Day or Doll's Day, celebrated on March 3rd in Japan, where dango is a popular treat. Anpan Description: A Japanese pastry filled with sweet red bean paste. History: First created by Yasubei Kimura, a former samurai turned baker, who founded Bun'eido bakery in 1871. Considered one of the “seven tools for the opening of civilization” in Japan, alongside newspapers, postal service, and gas lamps. Japanese Style Curry Description: Curry served over rice, udon noodles, or as curry bread. Ingredients: Basic vegetables: onions, carrots, and potatoes. Popular meats: beef, pork, and chicken. Preparation: Curry sauce is made by frying curry powder, flour, and oil to make roux, then adding it to stewed meat and vegetables, simmering until thickened. Recipe: Japanese Curry Recipe. History: Introduced to Japan by the British from India during the Meiji Restoration (1868–1889). Became popular in Japanese households in the early 20th century. Additional References: Japanese Curry on Wikipedia. Curry in Anime Culinary. Apple Risotto History: Originated in the 16th century in northern Italy (regions like Lombardy, Piedmont, and Veneto). Tied to the history of rice in Italy, introduced by the Arabs during the Middle Ages. The Mediterranean's humidity was ideal for growing shorter-grained rices. Created as "Risotto alla Milanese" using slow-cooking techniques combined with local rice. Episode Reference: Season 1, Episode 16: Soma vs. his father.

“Archipelag Japonia” – w każdą sobotę, na antenie Radio RAMPA 620 AM po godz. 5 p.m., a także na www.RadioRAMPA.com. Personalna historia Teresy Myśliwiec, reporterki Radio RAMPA, która dzieli się swoimi obserwacjami z dwu-tygodniowej podróży po Japonii.  Zwiedzanie Kioto rozpoczęliśmy od Kinkaku-ji, czyli Złotego Pawilonu, który jest chyba najbardziej znaną wizytówką miasta. Złoty Pawilon, to zabytkowa świątynia, będąca jednym z najbardziej rozpoznawalnych symboli japońskiej architektury. Jest to trzypiętrowa budowla otoczona malowniczym ogrodem. Dwa górne piętra pawilonu są pokryte złotem, co nadaje mu wyjątkowego blasku i może symbolizować czystość w buddyzmie, a także jest wyrazem bogactwa i władzy.  Każde piętro Złotego Pawilonu reprezentuje inny styl architektoniczny: pierwsze piętro jest w stylu pałacu cesarskiego Heian, drugie piętro przypomina styl budowli mieszkalnych wojowników samurajskich, a trzecie piętro jest zbudowane w stylu zen, typowym dla świątyń buddyjskich. Kinkaku-ji ma bogatą historię, która zaczyna się od XIV wieku, gdy budowla pełniła funkcję willi szoguna Ashikagi Yoshimitsu. Po jego śmierci, zgodnie z jego życzeniem, została przekształcona w świątynię Zen. Pawilon był odbudowywany po różnych katastrofach, w tym po pożarze w 1950 roku. Świątynia i jej otoczenie odzwierciedlają głębokie japońskie poczucie estetyki i harmonii z naturą. Ogrody wokół pawilonu, z ich starannie przyciętymi drzewami i krzewami oraz małymi mostkami i stawami, są doskonałym przykładem tradycyjnego japońskiego ogrodnictwa.

Den japanska samurajen representerade en unik krigarkultur som saknar en självklar europeisk motsvarighet, och har idag en stark närvaro i populärkulturen. Samurajerna var krigare som tjänade i det feodala Japan från 900-talet till 1800-talet.Samuraj-klassen växte fram ur lantliga miliser och kom med tiden att få ärftlig adelsstatus. Under århundraden dominerade samurajerna det japanska samhället, fram till Meijirestaurationen 1868 när de förlorade sina privilegier.I detta avsnitt av Historia Nu samtalar programledaren Urban Lindstedt med Ingemar Ottosson, docent i historia vid Lunds universitet som bland annat skrivit Japans historia.Under 900-talet var samurajerna vasaller som svor lojalitet till kejsaren och tjänade honom. De tjänade ofta under en länsherre, känd som en daimyō. En herrelös samuraj kallades för en ronin. Deras betydelse och roll i samhället förändrades dock över tid.Under den japanska senklassiska Heian-perioden (794–1185) var samurajens huvudsakliga vapen pilbågen, Yumi (弓), som de använde till häst. Vid närstrid användes naginata, ett svärdliknande vapen. Samurajen var också utrustade med föregångaren till det kända katana-svärdet, det så kallade tachi-svärdet, samt ett kortare, knivliknande svärd som kallades för tantō.Det fanns även kvinnliga samurajer i det feodala Japan. Under åtta århundraden stred kvinnor i otaliga slag och belägringar. Utgrävningar från japanska slagfält bekräftar att närmare 30 procent av krigarna var kvinnor.Efter de två mongoliska invasionsförsöken av Japan (1274 och 1281) blev det uppenbart att samurajernas traditionella krigföring var otillräcklig för att kunna försvara landet mot ytterligare invasioner från det asiatiska fastlandet. En större betoning började läggas på tätpackade formationer av uppbådade bönder, och samurajen började strida mer i formation, som en enhet, istället för som individ.Under slutet av Ashikaga-perioden fram till början av Edoperioden befann landet sig i nästan konstant ofred. Den japanska överhögheten, i formen av den militära härskaren shogunen, hade förlorat all sin auktoritet och sitt inflytande; därmed också kontrollen över landet. Detta tillät mäktiga länsherrar, Daimyō, att utan konsekvenser föra krig mot sina grannar i hopp om att expandera sina domäner, och därmed sin makt och sitt inflytande.Under 1600-talet, efter sengoku-jidai-perioden (bokstavligen "tiden då landet var i krig"), minskade samurajernas militära betydelse. Under Edoperioden (1603–1867) ägnade samurajerna sig allt mer åt byråkratiska sysslor. De blev igen en slags aristokrati, men nu runt shogunen istället för kejsaren. Hierarkin var mycket strikt och icke-samurajer var rättslösa gentemot samurajer.Vid Meijirestaurationen 1868 avskaffades samurajernas privilegier, bland annat rätten att bära två svärd. Detta ledde till en rad samurajuppror, varav det största och sista var Satsumaupproret 1877. Under Meijiperioden omorganiserades ståndssamhället och samurajfamiljerna blev till den nya klassen shizoku.Bild: Samurajer från Satsuma-klanen, under Boshinkrigsperioden (1868–1869), av Felice Beato, Wikipedia, Public Domain.Musik: Japanese Hotchiku Flute av Psystein, Storyblock Audio.Lyssna också på Meijirestauration – världens snabbaste modernisering.Klippare: Emanuel Lehtonen Vill du stödja podden och samtidigt höra ännu mer av Historia Nu? Gå med i vårt gille genom att klicka här: https://plus.acast.com/s/historianu-med-urban-lindstedt. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sugawara no Takasue no musume (1008 - c. 1059), or Takasue's daughter, was the author of “Sarashina Nikki,” or “Sarashina Diary,” a well-known book providing an in-depth look at life during Japan's Heian period. While the book remains prolific and relevant even today, we don't know the author's name.  For Further Reading: Heian Period (794–1185) The Sarashina Diary: A Woman's Life in Eleventh Century Japan The Tale of Genji: A Japanese Classic Illuminated Historically, women have been told to make themselves smaller, to diminish themselves. Some have used that idea to their advantage, disappearing into new identities. For others, a disappearance was the end to their stories, but the beginning of a new chapter in their legacies. This month we're telling the stories of these women: we're talking about disappearing acts. History classes can get a bad rap, and sometimes for good reason. When we were students, we couldn't help wondering... where were all the ladies at? Why were so many incredible stories missing from the typical curriculum? Enter, Womanica. On this Wonder Media Network podcast we explore the lives of inspiring women in history you may not know about, but definitely should. Every weekday, listeners explore the trials, tragedies, and triumphs of groundbreaking women throughout history who have dramatically shaped the world around us. In each 5 minute episode, we'll dive into the story behind one woman listeners may or may not know–but definitely should. These diverse women from across space and time are grouped into easily accessible and engaging monthly themes like Educators, Villains, Indigenous Storytellers, Activists, and many more. Womanica is hosted by WMN co-founder and award-winning journalist Jenny Kaplan. The bite-sized episodes pack painstakingly researched content into fun, entertaining, and addictive daily adventures. Womanica was created by Liz Kaplan and Jenny Kaplan, executive produced by Jenny Kaplan, and produced by Grace Lynch, Maddy Foley, Brittany Martinez, Edie Allard, Lindsey Kratochwill, Adesuwa Agbonile, Carmen Borca-Carrillo, Taylor Williamson, Sara Schleede, Paloma Moreno Jimenez, Luci Jones and Abbey Delk. Special thanks to Shira Atkins. Original theme music composed by Miles Moran. Follow Wonder Media Network: Website Instagram Twitter See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Ain't no party like a cloud moon party; this week Kim and Alice are discussing the gorgeous Japanese animation, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya. We reveal our preferred method of baby-making (it's Bamboo-based), discuss some fierce Heian period fashion and congratulate Mt Fuji on sticking to her New Year's resolutions.Sound Engineer: Keith NagleEditor: Keith Nagle / Helen HamiltonProducer: Helen HamiltonSources'Sei Shonagon and the Heian Court'; Stuff You Missed in History Class 'Princess Kaguya'; Zusetsu.com'Slow on the draw: Takahata Isao's long road to the Tale of the Princess Kaguya'; Sight&Sound April 2015'Isao Takahata: Inspiring Visual Styles of Japanese Film & Anime Aesthetics'; Dahlan Bin Abdul Ghani, Nur Athirah Bt. Ahmad Azizi, Luqman Zulhilmi Bin Abdul 'Alim'; International Journal of Innovative Technology and Exploring Engineering, Volume 8, Issue 11S2'

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 setting out on such a campaign, it would have been expected that Li Shimin and his other brothers turn out to wish Li Yuanji success in his campaign.  That would have put Li Shimin in an extremely vulnerable position, where he could be arrested or even killed, without the usual protection of his own forces.  And so Li Shimin decided to be proactive. Before the campaign could set out, Li Shimin submitted accusations against Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji that they were having illicit relations with the concubines of their father, the emperor.  This got Li Yuan's attention, and he called both of his sons back to the palace to investigate what was going on.  This is what led to that fateful incident known as the Xuanwu Gate Incident.  Unbeknownst to Li Yuan or his other sons, Li Shimin had forces loyal to him take over the Xuanwu gate the night before Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji were to have their audience.  Ideally, at least from Li Shimin's position, they would have both been assassinated at Xuanwu gate, but as I noted at the start of the episode, things did not go exactly to plan.   There were several moments where a single stray arrow could have completely changed the course of things, but in the end, Li Shimin was triumphant. As the fighting was going on, Li Yuan heard the commotion.  Apparently he had been out in a boat on the lake in the palace enclosure—and yes, you heard that right, the palace included a lake, or at least a very large pond, such that the emperor could partake in a lazy morning upon the water.  When he heard the commotion, he guessed that the tensions between his sons must be at the heart of it, and even surmised that Li Shimin was likely behind it.  He got to shore and surrounded himself with courtiers, including known comrades and acquaintances of his son, Li Shimin. Eventually, a representative of Li Shimin arrived, and he told the court that Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji had risen up in rebellion, but that Li Shimin had had them both put to death.  With Li Shimin's troops literally at the gates of the palace, and Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji not exactly able to defend themselves, the accusation stood.  Several days later, no doubt under pressure from Li Shimin, Emperor Tang Gaozu, aka Li Yuan, officially made Li Shimin the Crown Prince.  Two months later, he abdicated in favor of Li Shimin, who came to power as Tang Taizong in 626 CE.  Li Yuan himself took on the title of Retired Emperor, and continued to live life in the palace, but with a much reduced impact on the political affairs of the empire. Li Shimin himself took the reins of power immediately, and set about cementing his rule in several different ways.  First off, to offset his particularly unfilial method of coming to the throne, Li Shimin engaged in performative Confucian virtue signaling.  He played the part of the dutiful son, at least in public, providing for his retired father and attempting to act the part of the sage ruler.  This was somewhat impeded by the cold relationship he and his father appear to have maintained after that point—apparently killing your siblings and forcing your father to abdicate are not exactly the kinds of bonding experiences that bring a father and son closer together.  Still, that was mostly kept in the confines of the private areas of the palace.  Publicly, he gathered accomplished military and civilian officials, and made sure to seek out their opinion.  The era of emperor Tang Taizong is known as the Zhenguan era, lasting from roughly 627 to 649, and it was considered to be synonymous with good governance by later historians and philosophers.  Granted, most of the examples of good governance only lasted long enough for Li Shimin to establish himself in his position as emperor.  Once he had solidified his power, and felt secure in his position, his rule changed to a more traditional and authoritarian model. Regarding the threat of invasion from the Eastern Turkic Khaganate, Li Shimin met the Turks at the Wei River, where he accused them of invading Tang territory and demanded restitution.  The Turks were impressed enough by his forces that they agreed to settle, offering thousands of horses and other goods, but Li Shimin declined their attempts to make it good.  Eventually, Li Shimin supported some of the more disaffected members of the Turkic Khaganate in a coup, and by 630 the Eastern Turkic Khaganate and their gateway to the Silk Road was under Tang dynasty control.  The Turks granted Li Shimin the title of Heavenly Khagan, placing him over both the Tang dynasty and the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. He then went about resettling surrendered Eastern Turks while sending agents to foment rebellions and civil wars in the Western Turkic Khaganate, which controlled the area from Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, west of Dunhuang, all the way to Sassanid Persia.  Dunhuang is an oasis city at the western end of the Gansu corridor, and the Jade Gate was considered to be the entry way to the Western Regions. As Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin placed a puppet Khagan on the throne of the Western Turkic Khaganate in 642, and then sent numerous campaigns against the Western Turks in a series of wars against those who hadn't simply given in to his will—first against the kingdom of Gaochang, a city cut from the rock of a giant plateau, and then on to the cities Karashr—known today by the Chinese name of Yanqi—and on to Kuqa.  The campaigns would outlive Emperor Taizong himself, and the khaganate was completely annexed by 657, giving the Tang dynasty complete mastery over at least one part of the silk road out to Sassanid Persia and the west. This would be huge, not only for the Tang dynasty, but for all of the cultures on the far eastern end of that silk road.  There would be an increase in material and cultural items that traversed the routes.  Chinese court dress even came to incorporate Turkic and Sogdian dress and clothing styles, which would eventually make their way to the Japanese archipelago, where they would take the tailored, round-necked collar designs for their own, eventually changing them, by the late Heian era, into their own distinctive garments. It also opened a route to India for those Buddhist scholars who wished to go and study at the source, such as it was.  As for Emperor Taizong, by the 630s, with his title as Heavenly Khagan, Li Shimin seems to have stopped worrying about performative Confucian virtues.  He took more direct control, and more often would quarrel with his ministers on various issues.  In 637 he also reworked the Tang legal code, further refining the law. At the same time, there were family matters he also had to attend to.  It seems like father, like son—while Li Shimin's eldest son, Li Chengqian was the Crown Prince, Shimin appeared to favor another son, Li Tai.  As such, these two brothers became bitter rivals.  Li Chengqian started to worry about his position as Crown Prince, and he consulted with some of his close advisors and confidants.  Their solution was not to take his brother out of the picture, but rather to take his own father out of the picture.  And so Li Chengqian reportedly entertained the idea of overthrowing his father, Emperor Taizong, at least as a thought experiment. And really, at this point, I have some suspicions that Li Shimin might very well have been a bit of an absentee father, because does Chengqian even know whom he is talking about trying to coup? Sure enough, Li Shimin learned about his sons extracurricular activities in 643 and he was less than happy with all of this.  Li Chengqian's defense, appears to have been that they only discussed it, they never went through with anything.  As such, some of Chengqian's conspirators were put to death, but Chengqian himself was simply reduced in rank to commoner status, stripped of his titles.  When he died a few years later, though, Li Shimin had him buried as a Duke, and a later emperor would even posthumously restore his rank as an imperial prince. Of course, the question came up as to just what to do about the Crown Prince.  Li Tai seemed the obvious choice, as he had clearly impressed his father with his apparent talent and skill.  However, it was pointed out that Li Tai's competition with his brother is what had led to Chengqian's fear and thoughts of rebellion in the first place.  He hadn't exactly been the model of filial virtue. In fact, if he hadn't been scheming, none of this would have taken place.  And so it was decided to pass him over and to create Li Zhi, a younger brother, as Crown Prince.  Li Tai himself was demoted, though only down to a minor princely state, and exiled from Chang'an, making it extremely difficult for him to influence politics.  Records of the time suggest this was an extremely difficult decision by his father, but one that he considered necessary for the responsible administration of government. All of this was taking place in the early 640s, but it wasn't the only thing that Li Shimin had on his mind.  With the Turkic threat being handled in the west, the emperor let his ambitions get the better of him, and he turned his eyes towards Goguryeo, to his northeast.  Previously, Emperor Yang of Sui had failed in his campaigns against Goguryeo, and that was one of the things that had led to the popular uprisings and rebellion that had taken down the dynasty.  Now, Emperor Taizong seemed determined to succeed where the prior dynasty failed. And so the Tang dynasty allied with the kingdom of Silla, hoping to force Goguryeo into a war on two fronts.  Silla was already expanding on the Korean peninsula, and a natural ally for the Tang dynasty.  Furthermore, they were far enough away that they weren't an immediate threat if they decided to go back on their part of the deal. Unfortunately for the Tang, these campaigns in 645 were not exactly a cake walk, and they handed Li Shimin his first defeat since the attempts to unify everyone under the Tang dynasty.  Not exactly a great look.  Relations with Goguryeo were normalized for a brief time, but then Emperor Taizong decided to give it another try.  They started gathering ships and men for another invasion, no doubt having played out why they had lost the previous go round and hoping that it would be better in round two. The invasions, however, would come to naught.  As it was being prepared, Tang Taizong grew ill.  He called off the invasion, and then, in 649, he passed away.  His youngest son, the Crown Prince Li Zhi, came to the throne as Emperor Gaozong.  The reign of him and his wife, Empress Wu Zetian, would have an enormous impact on the rest of the 7th century. Through all of this fighting, bloodshed, and politics, this set the stage for the future of the Tang dynasty, which would once again place the area of modern China in the center of what many considered to be the civilized world.  Besides being a center for Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist religion, Chang'an became an extremely cosmopolitan city, with Sogdian and Turkic traders visiting the markets and establishing themselves in the city.  Many foreign families would adapt over time, integrating into the culture of their new home. These foreigners brought other ideas with them as well.  Zoroastrianism, a Persian religion, may have come eastward much earlier, but in the 6th and 7th centuries, both Manichaeism and Christianity—at least an eastern version of Christianity—had made inroads into the capital of Chang'an.  Manichaeism would have its ups and downs, especially in conflict with Buddhism.  Christianity, on the other hand, was not necessarily the Christianity of Rome, but typically connected with the Syriac church that existed in the Persian empire, where it was a decidedly minority religion.  Later proponents of Rome and the Latin rite would connect it with the supposed heresies of Nestorius, referring to the Church of the East as Nestorian Christianity, but this is not a term they would have used for themselves.  These religions kept some of their traditions, but also incorporated some aspects of the culture of their new home, such as the use of rice in place of bread in some rituals. This was an exciting time, and the court at Chang'an was fascinated with various customs of the Western Regions.  Music, clothing, and even pasttimes were influenced by contact with the western lands.  This would, in time, be passed on even to the archipelago.  For instance, the pipa was an instrument that had origins in the Western regions.  It is found in the area of modern China in at least the Northern Wei dynasty, but no doubt it grew more popular over time.  A version of this same instrument traveled west to Persia, where it became the oud, and further on to Europe, where it became the famous lute.  In the archipelago, the pipa became the Biwa, and while we can never be one hundred percent certain about early music, we have instructions from the Tang dynasty on music for the pipa, and Tang dynasty and early music, along with music from Goguryeo, came over to the Japanese courts in the form of gagaku, traditional Japanese court music, in the early 8th century. Moving forward in our story about the Japanese archipelago, we are going to see more and more about the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang dynasty, and just what they would bring back.  At the same time, we will also see the reaction of the court to the alliance between the Tang and Yamato's largest competitor on the Korean peninsula, Silla.  That alliance, which outlived emperor Taizong and even the king of Silla, would dramatically shift the balance of power on the peninsula and in all of northeast Asia. But we need to get there, first.  For now, let's move our gaze back across the waters to the archipelago, where Prince Tamura was about to take the throne, later becoming known as Jomei Tennou.  Of course, he was dealing with his own politics, especially regarding the Soga house and the powerful hold they had over government.  Next episode we will get back to just what was happening over there. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Faites un don et recevez un cadeau : http://don.storiavoce.com/ Malgré la diffusion de certains éléments culturels japonais (les mangas, les sushis, les bonsaïs) et par la même occasion la popularisation de certaines anciennes réalités (les geishas, les samouraïs), l'histoire globale de l'archipel reste méconnue. Quels sont les événements qui ont structuré l'histoire du Japon ? Comment s'est mis en place l'État japonais ? Quelle forme de gouvernement a prédominé ? Comment définir une culture proprement japonaise malgré l'influence de la Chine ? L'histoire du Japon peut-elle se lire indépendamment des événements continentaux ? Qui étaient les samuraïs et quel a été leur véritable rôle dans l'histoire du Japon ?  L'auteur : Pierre-François Souyri est historien spécialiste du Japon médiéval, ancien directeur de la maison franco-japonaise de Tokyo et professeur honoraire à l'université de Genève. Ses ouvrages ont largement contribué à populariser cette histoire encore méconnue. Il vient de publier avec Laurent Nespoulous, Le Japon ancien. Des chasseurs-cueilleurs à Heian (- 36 000 à l'an mille) (Belin, coll. « Mondes anciens », 560.p, 49 €) et sa Nouvelle histoire du Japon vient d'être rééditée (Perrin, 2023, 640 p., 29 €). *** Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/HistoireEtCivilisationsMag Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/histoireetcivilisations/ Twitter : https://twitter.com/Storiavoce

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: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-nara-part2 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, the “Setchin” stone, fell down, possibly due to some kind of local event—a landslide or earthquake, or something similar.  Needless to say, there is nothing left of the grave other than these two giant stones, with any goods having long been taken. Continuing on along the path past that is the giant keyhole shaped kofun designated as that of Kinmei Tennou, aka Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa.  The tomb is large, and impressive, and a good example of the kind of royal tomb that was the norm up to that point.  Perhaps more intriguing is something I mentioned, earlier, because there are satellite kofun nearby.  Satellite kofun are often assumed to be people related to the main kofun in some way—it could be family members, consorts, or even special courtiers who served them well.  In this case, the tomb has been identified as that of Kibi Hime, and, unrelated to that as far as we can tell, it has become the home of the saruishi, the monkey stones I mentioned earlier.  They are behind a barrier, so you can't get too close, but it is neat to see them there, bearing silent witness to an age long past. At that point, the sun was setting behind the mountains.  I followed the road back to the Asuka train station and from there headed on to my next destination.  I left nearby Takamatsuzuka, which, as I said, I had seen on a previous trip, as well as many other sights.  After all, just to the west is Katsuraki, and to the north is Kashihara, which is not only home to Temmu's Fujiwara capital, but also to the three sacred mountains and numerous other kofun dotting the landscape.  Farther north still and you can visit Houryuuji Temple, and the nearby Chuuguuji temple, both of which have treasures from the Asuka and Nara periods, including the oldest extant wooden buildings in the world.  I highly recommend it. There is also more to explore.  There are old castle ruins—mostly just earthworks—and other temples and buildings from ages to come after the Asuka period.  While it was never exactly built up, that doesn't mean that Asuka remained completely untouched throughout the centuries. I'll put up some photos on the podcast webpage so that you can see things for yourself, and I hope that one day you all get a chance to visit Asuka.  It truly is a beautiful place, nestled amongst the hills and looking out into the Nara Basin.  There is a feeling as if, despite the roads and modern vehicles, time still moves a bit slower there.  And though the ancient buildings that once marked the capital of Yamato are no longer there, the traces and their presence can still be felt. Next episode we'll get back into the narrative.  I want to dive a little deeper into what was going on over on the continent before we start to unravel everything happening in Yamato, as the Tang dynasty had come to power, and it was just beginning a period that would come to be known as its golden age.  Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Welcome to Bri Books! From sexy fiction to fascinating history, here's a look at what I'm reading in 2024. For a book lover, the new year is the definition of a blank slate. The books of 2024 offer escapes of all kinds. Below, I'vm nominating 8 books I can't wait to read in January and February. In this episode, I'm rounding up 8 titles I can't wait to read. 1:05: ‘From Slave Cabins to the White House: Homemade Citizenship in African American Culture' by Koritha Mitchell. I'm a cottagecore princess, and I wanted to get to the roots of domesticity in the US. In high school I was obsessed with domestic/ Victorian values during the Industrial Revolution, and noticed the glaring absence of free Black American women from this history. But that doesn't mean we weren't there. In the book, Koritha Mitchell analyzes canonical texts by and about African American women to lay bare the hostility these women face as they invest in traditional domesticity. Tracing how African Americans define and redefine success in a nation determined to deprive them of it, Mitchell plumbs the works of Frances Harper, Zora Neale Hurston, Lorraine Hansberry, Toni Morrison, Michelle Obama, and others. These artists honor black homes from slavery and post-emancipation through the Civil Rights era to "post-racial" America. Mitchell follows black families asserting their citizenship in domestic settings while the larger society and culture marginalize and attack them, not because they are deviants or failures but because they meet American standards. ‘From Slave Cabins to the White House' illuminates the links between African American women's homemaking and citizenship in history and across literature. 4:15: ‘The Temp Economy: From Kelly Girls to Permatemps in Postwar America' by Erin Hatton. Everyone knows that work in America is not what it used to be. Layoffs, outsourcing, contingent work, disappearing career ladders—these are the new workplace realities for an increasing number of people. But why? In ‘The Temp Economy,' Erin Hatton takes one of the best-known icons of the new economy—the temp industry—and finds that it is more than just a symbol of this degradation of work. Succinct, highly readable, and drawn from a vast historical record of industry documents, ‘The Temp Economy' is a one-stop resource for anyone interested in the temp industry or the degradation of work in postwar America. 6:50: ‘New York, New York, New York: Four Decades of Success, Excess, and Transformation' by Thomas Dyja. A lively, immersive history by an award-winning urbanist of New York City's transformation, and the lessons it offers for the city's future. Dyja's sweeping account of this metamorphosis shows it wasn't the work of a single policy, mastermind, or economic theory, nor was it a morality tale of gentrification or crime. Instead, three New Yorks evolved. Dyja weaves New Yorkers famous, infamous, and unknown—Yuppies, hipsters, tech nerds, and artists; community organizers and the immigrants who made this a truly global place—into a narrative of a city creating ways of life that would ultimately change cities everywhere. 9:12: ‘Fashion Killa: How Hip-Hop Revolutionized High Fashion' by music journalist Sowmya Krishnamurthy was released in October of 2023. A cinematic narrative of glamour, grit, luxury, and luck, ‘Fashion Killa' draws on exclusive interviews with the leaders of the fashion world to tell the story of the hip-hop artists, designers, stylists, and unsung heroes who fought the power and reinvented style around the world over the last fifty years. In the book, Krishnamurthy explores the connections between the DIY hip-hop scene and the exclusive upper-echelons of high fashion. She discusses the sociopolitical forces that defined fashion and tracks the influence of music and streetwear on the most exclusive (and exclusionary) luxury brands. At the intersection of cultural commentary and oral history, ‘Fashion Killa' commemorates the contributions of hip-hop to music, fashion, and our culture at large. 11:10: ‘Prayer and Our Bodies' by Flora Slosson Wuellner. Written in 1987, this book explores the very real relationship that exists between the bodily self and the spiritual self. Readers will heighten their awareness of the interactions among body, mind, and spirit. If you're someone who struggles to appreciate your body, this book is an important touchstone toward healing our relationships with ourselves and others. It talks about how prayer isn't just what we say, but how we live our lives. Flora Slosson Wuellner, a retired ordained minister of the United Church of Christ, is well known throughout the United States and Europe for her writings and retreat leadership that focus on the inner healing that God freely offers through Christ. She has written 14 books on inner healing and renewal. 12:36: ‘You Learn By Living: Eleven Keys for a More Fulfilling Life' by Eleanor Roosevelt. This wise and intimate book on how to get the most of out life was gifted to me by a lovely friend named Carrie. At the age of seventy-six, Roosevelt penned this simple guide to living a fuller life—a powerful volume of enduring commonsense ideas and heartfelt values. Offering her own philosophy on living, she takes readers on a path to compassion, confidence, maturity, civic stewardship, and more. 14:30: ‘The Pillow Book' by Sei Shonagon. Written by 10th century court gentlewoman Sei Shonagon, ostensibly for her own amusement, ‘The Pillow Book' offers a fascinating exploration of life among the nobility at the height of the Heian period, describing the exquisite pleasures of a confined world in which poetry, love, fashion, and whim dominated, while harsh reality was kept firmly at a distance. Moving elegantly across a wide range of themes including nature, society, and her own flirtations, Sei Shonagon provides a witty and intimate window on a woman's life at court in classical Japan. 16:30: ‘Homebodies' by Tembe Denton-Hurst is already a fantastic read. An insightful, propulsive, and deeply sexy debut novel about a young Black writer whose world is turned upside down when she loses her coveted job in media and pens a searing manifesto about racism in the industry. A meditation on identity, self-worth and the toll of corporate racism, Homebodies is a portrait of modern Black womanhood with a protagonist you won't soon forget.

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 https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-101 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.  After that, they were able to safely harvest the rest of the timber and build the ships. While we may have some doubts as to the veracity of the story, or may even wonder if a particularly violent storm hadn't picked up fish from a nearby water source, an event that has been known to happen, it still holds some clues about how the people of the time thought and how they believed the world worked.  Even today, older trees and even rocks are thought to house spirits.  In some cases, shrines are built up, and people will worship the spirit of a particular tree or rock, so it isn't so far fetched to think that they were harvesting ancient trees that were believed by locals to contain some kind of spirit, which, if aroused, could bring serious harm to Kawabe no Omi and his men.  This is probably why they made their offering in the first place, hoping that would be enough to placate the spirit. At the same time, we see them drawing on the power of the sovereign, who isn't even present.  Kawabe no Omi's protection is in that he is following the sovereign's commands, and that alone is his shield.  Heck, he even goes so far as to raise up his sword.  I know we are still an eon from Ben Franklin and his kite, but I'm pretty sure that people had figured out certain things about lightning, beyond just “don't be out in it”, namely “don't wave around pointy metal things in the middle of a storm”. As for the symbolism of the kami turning into a fish, well, who knows just how kami think about these things?  They don't always do things that make sense.  For instance, there is one story where a man prayed for a boat, and the kami gave him one, but put it on top of a nearby mountain.  Maybe they just weren't that accurate, or maybe they didn't quite get how the visible world works, sometimes.  It is also possible that the kami turned itself into a helpless fish on purpose, as a sign that it was giving up, since it clearly had not been able to best Kawabe no Omi, and the burning of the fish may have also had some significance. Whatever the reason, the boats were built and not even the kami could defy the will of the sovereign. Now there were a few other things that happened the following year—more strange and bizarre happenstances.  The first was the on the fourth day of the fourth month, when there came a report of a creature shaped like a man in the Kamo river in Afumi.  Who knows what it was?  Perhaps it was some kind of kappa or other river spirit.  Or perhaps it was some stranger skinny-dipping and he just really put everyone off.  Or it was just a weird log viewed from the wrong angle.  Whatever the reason, the people were put off, and Aston notes that this was probably considered an inauspicious omen. Then, in the 7th month, a fisherman from the land of Settsu caught something in one of the manmade canals, or horie, in the area of modern Osaka.  The creature he caught was part fish and part man—perhaps that same creature that had been seen three months earlier further upriver, like some kind of ancient Yamato mermaid.  What exactly did it mean, though?  Certainly it seems a strange occurrence, but was it considered a good or bad omen?  Or was it just weird and strange? The following year, there was a shape in the sky.  The Chroniclers say it was red, shaped like a rooster tail, and over a rod—about ten feet or so—in length.  Perhaps this was a rogue cloud, being kissed by the red light of the rising or setting sun.  Or perhaps it was something else entirely.  These were the kinds of things that were likely seen as omens, though whether a good or bad omen, who could say?  A fishman in the rivers?  A red glowing light in the sky?  Often it wouldn't be until later that such things would be pieced together. In this case, the omens were likely pretty dire, as in that same year we are told that none other than Prince Umayado—Shotoku Taishi himself—grew ill, and passed away.  The whole of the realm mourned their collective loss.  The Crown Prince of the Upper Palace, heir to the throne of Yamato, was dead.  So yeah, I would say those were some pretty bad omens. Umayado's death would leave a real void.  Where there had once been certainty of succession, the land was back in the chaos of wondering what would happen when Kashikiya Hime finally passed away.  Would they be returned to a state of civil war for the throne?  Who could say?  And there was more.  The continent was also in a state of uncertainty, as only recently, the Sui dynasty had been overthrown, and now the new Tang was in its place.  In addition, a resurgent Silla on the Korean peninsula was getting ever more bold and sure of its own power.  There were many things to be concerned about. But let's not leave it on such a note.  We can cover all of that in future episodes—we really don't have time to go over all of it here.  But there is one other story I'd like to leave you with this episode. You see, a little earlier that year—the same year that Umayado passed away—the Yamato court had finished covering the tomb of Hinokuma with pebbles.  Although the kofun, today, are often overgrown, and seem as much like wooded hills as anything else, back in the day there would have been no mistaking their manmade origins.  The ground was cleared and tamped down into place.  The sides rose in distinct terraces, and the surface was covered in stones.  Around it would be the clay and wood haniwa.  Families were employed to keep the kofun, and likely refreshed them from time to time.  In the case of Hinokuma, recall that earlier in the reign Kitashi Hime, Kashikiya Hime's mother, had been re-interred with her husband.  This was likely further ceremonies for her, perhaps the culmination of years of work on the tomb.  We are also told that earth was piled up onto a hill, and each family erected a wooden pillar.  One official, Yamato no Aya no Sakanoue no Atahe, decided to go all out.  Maybe he didn't get the memo.  Or maybe he thought he would make a name for himself.  Either way, brought in the largest pillar—larger than any other of the family heads that were present. And, well, he did make a name for himself, though perhaps not the name he wanted.  That name was Ohohashira no Atahe, or the Atahe of the Giant Pillar.  Probably not exactly what he was going for, but there you have it.  By the way, if you recognize that name, Sakanoue, then you may have noticed that yes, this is likely an ancestor of the famous Sakanoue no Tamuramaro, a famous warrior of the late Nara and early Heian period, and the second person ever to carry the title of Sei-i Taishogun—but that is still over a century and a half away. For now, in the coming episodes, we'll finish up the reign of Kashikiya Hime, perhaps touch briefly on what was happening on the continent, and continue on as we make our way through the latter part of the seventh century. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Au Japon, on s'apprête à passer à table : le réveillon va bientôt débuter. Mais le menu de cette Saint-Sylvestre risque d'avoir un goût un peu amer pour beaucoup de convives en raison de l'inflation. L'envolée du prix des produits alimentaires vient ébranler une tradition du Nouvel An à la fois gastronomique et religieuse. Une tradition très ancienne, qui remonte au 8ᵉ siècle. De notre correspondant à Tokyo,Au Nouvel An, à tout prix manger de la daurade. « Tai », en japonais, un mot qui renvoie aussi au terme signifiant « joyeux », « heureux ». Déguster du kazunoko aussi, des œufs de hareng parsemés de flocons de bonite séchés. Ce mot signifiant également « de nombreux enfants », ce plat symbolise la fertilité.Quant aux châtaignes confites recouvertes d'une pâte de patate douce, leur teinte dorée serait un gage de réussite financière. Les Japonais appellent les plats de ce type des osechi, c'est-à-dire des « mets auspicieux » que l'on mange à la fois pour accueillir comme il se doit les divinités de l'An neuf, car ils seraient de bon augure et assureraient une année à venir heureuse et prospère. Cette tradition remonte au début de l'ère Heian, il y a plus de 1300 ans.Les osechi, cette retraitée en raffole : « C'est bien de perpétuer une tradition aussi ancienne. En plus, tous ces petits plats sont délicieux, donc pourquoi s'en priver ? J'ignore si manger des osechi m'assure d'office une année de bonheur, de prospérité et de bonne santé, mais bon, sait-on jamais... Donc, oui, pour sûr, tout à l'heure, je vais manger des crevettes, par exemple, puisqu'elles seraient un gage de longévité ». Car la forme recourbée de ces crustacés rappelle le dos voûté des personnes âgées. Les déguster en début d'année assurerait donc une vieillesse heureuse et en bonne santé.Une tradition ébranlée par l'inflationMais l'envolée des prix des produits alimentaires rend ces osechi peu abordables. Par exemple, un couple avec un enfant qui, ce soir, souhaite manger de tels plats devra débourser en moyenne 26 000 yens, soit 160 euros. Les osechi devenus un luxe, une si vieille tradition menacée par l'inflation, cela ne laisse pas les Tokyoïtes indifférents.« Ces derniers mois, j'ai mis de l'argent de côté en prévision du réveillon afin de pouvoir m'offrir quelques-uns de ces petits plats même si l'inflation a rendu leur prix complètement déraisonnable. »« Moi, cette année, pour la première fois de ma vie, je vais devoir me passer d'osechi. Avec ma petite retraite, je n'arrive plus à suivre, là, financièrement... »« Ce soir, comme tous les ans, on mangera des osechi en famille. C'est le gage d'une belle année à venir, donc même si ça coûte un peu cher, autant entamer 2024 sous de bons auspices... »Dans les magasins cette année, on voit beaucoup d'osechi bas de gamme, importés de Chine. Ainsi que des invendus de l'an dernier, qui, depuis, ont été surgelés et sont commercialisés à prix cassés. Mais la plupart des Japonais font la grimace. Dès lors, beaucoup vont préférer puiser dans leurs économies ou se rabattre sur les rares osechi moins coûteux. Le surimi bicolore rouge et blanc, par exemple, qui rappelle le premier lever de soleil de l'année. Le rouge signifiant chasser les mauvais esprits et le blanc avoir un cœur pur.À lire aussiJapon: des cantines solidaires pour les enfants les plus démunis

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 https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-100 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 colors, which was based on their rank, so that would seem to indicate that they were dressed in their court outfits.  In this case, though, they also had hair ornaments mad of gold, leopard's tails, or birds.  That leopard's tail, assuming the description is accurate, is particularly interesting, as it would have had to have come from the continent. This ritual gathering of herbs would be repeated on the 5th day of the 5th month of both 612 and 614.  If that date seems familiar, you might be thinking of the modern holiday of Tango no Sekku, aka Kodomo no Hi.  That is to say:  Boy's Day or the more gender neutral “Children's Day”.  It is part of a series of celebrations in Japan known today as “Golden Week”, when there are so many holidays crammed together that people get roughly a week off of work, meaning that a lot of travel tends to happen in that period.  While the idea of “Boy's Day” probably doesn't come about until the Kamakura period, Tango no Sekku has long been one of the five seasonal festivals of the court, the Gosekku.  These included New Year's day; the third day of the third month, later to become the Doll Festival, or Girl's Day; the seventh day of the seventh month, during Tanabata; and the 9th day of the 9th month.  As you can see, that is 1/1, 3/3, 5/5, 7/7, and 9/9.  Interestingly, they skipped over 11/11, possibly because that was in the winter time, based on the old calendar, and people were just trying to stay warm. Early traditions of Tango no Sekku include women gathering irises to protect the home.  That could connect to the practice, here, of “picking herbs” by the court, and indeed, many people connect the origins of Tango no Sekku back to this reign specifically because of these references, though there is very little said about what they were doing, other than picking herbs in their fancy outfits. We are given a few more glimpses into the lives of the court in a few other entries.  In 612, for instance, we have a banquet thrown for the high functionaries.  This may have been a semi-regular occasion, but this particular incident was memorable for a couple of poems that were bandied back and forth between Soga no Umako and Kashikiya Hime.  He toasted her, and she responded with a toast to the sons of Soga. Later that year, they held a more somber event, as Kitashi Hime was re-interred.  She was the sister to Soga no Umako, consort of Nunakura Futodamashiki no Ohokimi, aka Kimmei Tenno, and mother to both Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennou, and Kashikiya Hime, Suiko Tennou.  She was re-buried with her husband at his tomb in Hinokuma.  During this period, various nobles made speeches.  Kicking the event off was Abe no Uchi no Omi no Tori, who made offerings to her spirit, including around 15,000 utensils and garments.  Then the royal princes spoke, each according to rank, but we aren't given just what they said.  After that, Nakatomi no Miyatokoro no Muraji no Womaro gave the eulogy of the Oho-omi, presumably speaking on Umako's behalf, though it isn't exactly clear why, though Umako was certainly getting on in years.  Then, Sakahibe no Omi no Marise delivered the written eulogies of the other families. And here we get an interesting glimpse into court life as we see a report that both Nakatomi no Womaro and Sakahibe no Marise apparently delivered their speeches with great aplomb, and the people listening were quite appreciative.  However, they did not look quite so fondly on the speechifying of Abe no Tori, and they said that he was less than skillful.  And consider that—if you find public speaking to be something you dread, imagine if your entire reputation hung on ensuring that every word was executed properly.  A single misstep or a bad day and suddenly you are recorded in the national history as having been just the worst.  In fact, his political career seems to have tanked, as we don't hear much more about him after that. 612 also saw more immigrants bringing more art and culture.  The first was a man from Baekje.  He did not look well—he had white circles under his eyes, we are told, possibly indicating ringworm or some other infection.  It was so bad that the people on the ship with him were thinking about putting him off on an island to fend for himself.  He protested that his looks were not contagious, and no different that the white patches of color you might see on horses or cattle.  Moreover, he had a talent for painting figures and mountains.  He drew figures of the legendary Mt. Sumeru, and of the Bridge of Wu, during the period of the Southern Courts, and the people were so taken by it that they forestalled tossing him overboard.  He was eventually known as Michiko no Takumi, though more colloquially he was known as Shikomaro, which basically was a nickname calling him ugly, because judging people based on appearance was still totally a thing. The other notable immigrant that year was also a man of Baekje, known to us as Mimachi, or perhaps Mimashi or Mimaji.  He claimed to know the music and dancing of the Wu court—or at least some continental dynasty.  He settled in Sakurawi and took on students who were basically forced to learn from him.  As if a piano teacher appeared and all the children went to learn, but now it isn't just your parents and their high expectations, but the very state telling you to do it.  So… no pressure, I'm sure.  Eventually, Manu no Obito no Deshi—whose name literally means “student” or “disciple”—and Imaki no Ayabito no Seibun learned the teachings and passed them down to others.  This would appear to be the masked dances known as Gigaku. If you know about early Japanese music and dance you may have heard of Gagaku, Bugaku, and Noh theater.  Gagaku is the courtly music, with roots in apparently indigenous Japanese music as well as various continental sources, from the Korean peninsula all the way down to Southeast Asia.  Indeed, the musical records we have in Japan are often the only remaining records of what some of the continental music of this time might have sounded like, even though the playing style and flourishes have changed over the centuries, and many scholars have used the repertoire of the Japanese court to help work backwards to try and recreate some of the continental music. The dances that you often see with Gagaku musical accompaniment are known as Bugaku, and most of that was codified in the latter years of the Heian era—about the 12th century.  Then there is the famous masked theater known as Noh, which has its origins in a variety of traditions, going back to at least the 8th century and really brought together around the 14th century.  All of these traditions, however, are preceded by Gigaku, this form of masked dance that came over in the 7th century, and claims its roots in the area of “Wu” rather than “Tang”, implying that it goes back to traditions of the southern courts of the Yangzi river region. Gigaku spread along with the rest of continental culture, along with the spread of Buddhism and other such ideas.  From what we can tell, it was a dominant form of music and dance for the court, and many of the masks that were used are preserved in temple storehouses such as the famous Shosoin at the Todaiji in Nara.  However, as the centuries rolled by, Gigaku was eventually replaced at court by Bugaku style dances, though it continued to be practiced up through at least the 14th century.  Unfortunately, I know of no Gigaku dances that survived into the modern day, and we are left with the elaborate masks, some illustrations of dancers, and a few descriptions of what it was like, but that seems to be it. From what we can tell, Gigaku—also known as Kure-gaku, or Kure-no-utamai, meaning Music or Music and Dances of Wu—is first noted back in the reign of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Kimmei Tennou, but it wasn't until the reign of Kashikiya Hime that we actually see someone coming over and clearly imparting knowledge of the dances and music—Mimashi, mentioned above.  We then see the dances mentioned at various temples, including Houryuuji, Toudaiji, and others.  Of course, as with many such things, Shotoku Taishi is given credit for spreading Gigaku through the Buddhist temples, and the two do seem to have gone hand in hand. We know a little bit about the dances from the masks and various writings.  The masks are not random, and a collection of Gigaku masks will have generally the same set of characters.  These characters appear to have been organized in a traditional order.  A performance would start with a parade and a sutra reading—which I wonder if that was original or if it was added as they grew more connected to the Buddhist temple establishment.  And then there was a lion dance, where a young cub would pacify an adult lion.  Lion dances, in various forms, continue to be found throughout East Asia. Then the characters come into play and there are various stories about, for example, the Duke of Wu, and people from the “Hu” Western Regions—that is to say the non-Han people in the Western part of what is now China and central Eurasia.  Some of these performances appear to be serious, while others may have been humorous interludes, like when a demon assaults the character Rikishi using a man's genitals while calling for the “Woman of Wu”.  That brings to mind the later tradition of ai-kyougen; similarly humorous or lighthearted episodes acted out during Noh plays to help break up the dramatic tension. Many of aspects of Gigaku would go on to influence the later styles of court music and dance.  Bugaku is thought to have some of its origins in masked Gigaku dancers performing to the various styles of what became known as Gagaku music.  There are also examples of some of the characters making their way into other theatrical traditions, such as Sarugaku and, eventually, Noh and even folk theater.  These hints have been used to help artists reconstruct what Gigagku might have been like. One of the key aspects of Gigaku is that for all they were telling stories, other than things like the recitation of the sutras, the action of the story appears to have been told strictly through pantomime in the dances.  This was accompanied by the musicians, who played a variety of instruments during the performance that would provide the musical queues for the dancers-slash-actors.  There was no dialogue, however, but the names of the various characters appear to have been well known, and based on the specifics of the masks one could tell who was who and what was going on. This is similar to how, in the west, there were often stock characters in things like the English Mummers plays or the Comedia dell'arte of the Italian city-states, though in Gigaku those characters would not speak at all, and their story would be conveyed simply through pantomime, music, and masks. There have been attempts to reconstruct Gigaku.  Notably there was an attempt in the 1980s, in coordination with a celebration of the anniversary of Todaiji, in Nara, and it appears that Tenri University may continue that tradition.  There was also another revival by famed Kyougen actor Nomura Mannojo, uncle to another famous Kyougen actor turned movie star, Nomura Mansai.  Mannojo called his style “Shingigaku”, which seems to be translated as either “True Gigaku” or “New Gigagku”, and he took that on tour to various countries.  You can find an example of his performance from the Silk Road Theater at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival in Washington, DC back in 2002, as well as elsewhere.  It does appear that he's changed things up just a little bit, however, based on his layout of the dances, but it is an interesting interpretation, nonetheless. We may never truly know what Gigaku looked and sounded like, but it certainly had an impact on theatrical and musical traditions of Japan, and for that alone it perhaps deserves to be mentioned. And I think we'll stop right there, for now.  There is more to get through, so we'll certainly have a part two as we continue to look at events of this rein.  There are stories of gods and omens.  There is contact with an island off the southern coast of Kyuushuu.  There are more trips to the Sui court.  Much of that is coming.  Until then, I'd like to thank you once again.  I can hardly believe we reached one hundred episodes!  And it comes just as we are about to close out the year. As usual, I'll plan for a recap episode over New Year's, and then I'll plan to get back into everything the episode after that, but this closes out the year. I hope everyone has a wonderful new year, however you celebrate and, as always, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  

Découvrez l'abonnement "Au Coeur de l'Histoire +" et accédez à des heures de programmes, des archives inédites, des épisodes en avant-première et une sélection d'épisodes sur des grandes thématiques. Profitez de cette offre sur Apple Podcasts dès aujourd'hui ! [INTERVIEW] Le Dit du Genji est un chef d'œuvre de la littérature japonaise, ses illustrations aussi ! Au XXe siècle, le grand maître tisserand japonais Itarô Yamaguchi se lance dans la confection de quatre rouleaux pour mettre en image le roman de Murasaki Shikibu. Ils lui demanderont plus de trente ans de travail, et vous pouvez admirer le résultat à l'occasion de l'exposition 'À la cour du Prince Genji, 1000 ans d'imaginaire japonais' qui se tient du 22 novembre 2023 au 25 mars 2024 au musée Guimet, le musée national des arts asiatiques ! Au cœur de l'Histoire vous fait la visite ! Partez à la découverte de l'art japonais du tissage de la soie et des liens qu'il a permis de tisser avec la France en écoutant l'entretien entre Virginie Girod et Aurélie Samuel, la commissaire de l'exposition.> À l'occasion de l'exposition 'À la cour du Prince Genji, 1000 ans d'imaginaire japonais' qui se tient du 22 novembre 2023 jusqu'au 25 mars 2024 au musée Guimet à Paris , Virginie Girod vous propose une excursion japonaise au cœur de l'histoire. Itarô Yamaguchi est un maître tisserand qui a fait ses armes dans le quartier de Nishijin à Kyoto, très réputé pour ses productions textiles. Elles ont la particularité de tisser la soie en insérant des feuilles de papier doré ou argenté pour donner du relief et rigidifier le tissu. Alors que le secteur est en difficulté, le Japon s'ouvre au monde à partir de 1868 : c'est l'ère Meiji. 'Les Européens vont arriver au Japon, les Japonais vont venir en France. Trois japonais de Kyoto arrivent à Lyon et apprennent à tisser à la mécanique Jacquard', raconte Aurélie Samuel. Fonctionnant grâce à un système de cartes perforées, ils sont bien moins coûteux que les anciens métiers à la tire et leur déploiement au Japon va redynamiser l'industrie textile à Nishijin.Pour réaliser son chef d'œuvre, Itarô Yamaguchi va jusqu'à perfectionner le métier Jacquard pour réaliser ses tissus sophistiqués, 'des étoffes façonnés'. Il a déjà 70 ans lorsqu'il se lance dans l'illustration du Dit du Genji. Ce monument de la littérature japonaise, considéré comme le premier roman psychologique de l'histoire, a été écrit au XIe siècle. C'est la période Heian qui correspond à 'l'avènement d'une culture spécifiquement japonaise, il faut savoir que jusqu'à lors c'est essentiellement l'influence chinoise en fait qui dominait la culture japonaise', précise Aurélie Samuel.'Dès le XIIe siècle, le Dit a été illustré par des artistes : peintres, sculpteurs, laqueurs, considéré comme un trésor national. Lorsqu'au XXe siècle, Itarô Yamaguchi décide de livrer un chef-d'œuvre digne de ce nom sur l'art du tissage, pour montrer qu'il s'agit d'un art majeur, il décide de reproduire ces peintures. Ce n'est pas une copie, c'est un vrai travail historique'. C'est aussi un travail monumental qui demandera plus de trente ans. Aurélie Samuel détaille : 'il va teindre jusqu'à 14 fois le même fil pour avoir toutes les subtilités de la teinture qui vont accrocher la lumière d'une manière différente à chaque fois'. Ces rouleaux, Itarô Yamaguchi va les offrir à la France. 'Justement parce que c'est la patrie de Joseph-Marie Jacquard. Le métier Jacquard a totalement sauvé l'industrie Nishijin, dont lui-même fait partie, il a voulu remercier la France !'.Thèmes abordés : tissage peinture japon soie 'Au cœur de l'histoire' est un podcast Europe 1 Studio- Présentation : Virginie Girod - Production : Camille Bichler et Nathan Laporte- Réalisation : Pierre Cazalot- Composition de la musique originale : Julien Tharaud - Rédaction et Diffusion : Nathan Laporte- Communication : Kelly Decroix- Visuel : Sidonie Mangin

Découvrez l'abonnement "Au Coeur de l'Histoire +" et accédez à des heures de programmes, des archives inédites, des épisodes en avant-première et une sélection d'épisodes sur des grandes thématiques. Profitez de cette offre sur Apple Podcasts dès aujourd'hui ! Connaissez-vous Murasaki Shikibu ? Elle est l'auteure de la saga littéraire du Le Dit du Genji. Monument de la littérature japonaise, ce roman de plus d'un millier de pages raconte l'ascension et les passions amoureuses d'un prince impérial. Murasaki Shikibu a elle-même vécu à la cour impériale japonaise à son apogée, durant la période Heian, qui s'étend du VIIIe au XIIe siècle.> À l'occasion de l'exposition 'À la cour du Prince Genji, 1000 ans d'imaginaire japonais' qui se tient du 22 novembre 2023 jusqu'au 25 mars 2024 au musée Guimet à Paris , Virginie Girod vous propose une excursion japonaise au cœur de l'histoire. L'histoire de la femme de lettres Murasaki Shikibu commence dans 'un monde au-dessus des nuages', le monde de la cour impériale dans le Japon de l'époque Heian. Sous l'influence de la Chine, le Japon se réforme et connaît une période de prospérité, ce qui favorise les arts et les lettres. La capitale est déplacée à Heian-Kyô, l'actuel Kyôto, et une famille en particulier s'impose dans les plus hautes sphères du pouvoir : le clan Fujiwara. Murasaki Shikibu naît pendant cet âge d'or. Elle appartient à la noblesse moyenne, sans doute une branche cadette du clan Fujiwara. Brillante, elle maîtrise le chinois dont l'apprentissage est alors réservé aux garçons. Sa réputation de jeune fille savante a déjà fait le tour de Kyôto : autour des années 1000, l'homme le plus puissant de son clan, le ministre Fujiwara no Michinaga, lui propose de devenir dame de compagnie de sa fille, la toute jeune impératrice Shōshi. C'est là qu'elle se consacre à la rédaction de son chef-d'œuvre, Genji monogatari, Le Dit du Genji. Riche de 54 livres, de plus de 1000 pages et de 500 personnages, cette grande fresque qui se veut réaliste raconte la vie du Genji, qui désigne un fils d'empereur ne pouvant pas prétendre au trône. Le Dit du Genji est considéré comme le premier roman psychologique de l'histoire. Pour l'écrire, Murasaki Shikibu s'inspire des aristocrates qu'elle côtoie à la cour, où ses livres rencontrent un vif succès. Murasaki Shikibu meurt vers l'âge de 38 ans, on ignore la cause de son décès. Son Genji Monogatari devient immédiatement un classique. Les manuscrits sont sans cesse recopiés, puis imprimés. Ils sont encore aujourd'hui à la base de la culture littéraire nippone et inspirent de nombreux artistes dans tous les domaines, jusqu'aux mangas pour les adaptations les plus récentes. Thèmes abordés : Japon, littérature, Dit du Genji, cour impériale 'Au cœur de l'histoire' est un podcast Europe 1 Studio- Présentation : Virginie Girod - Production : Camille Bichler - Réalisation : Pierre Cazalot- Composition de la musique originale : Julien Tharaud - Rédaction et Diffusion : Nathan Laporte- Communication : Kelly Decroix- Visuel : Sidonie Mangin Sources : Ressources en ligne : https://histoiredujapon.com/2021/01/26/reperes-epoque-heian/ https://www.persee.fr/doc/dhjap_0000-0000_1989_dic_15_1_926_t1_0008_0000_4 Bibliographie : Daniel Struve, Sumie Terada et Christopher Lucken (dir.), « Roman du Genji et société aristocratique du Japon ancien », Médiévales, 72, Printemps 2017, 190 p.

From Renaissance Florence and ancient Babylon to the kingdom of Benin and Heian-era Kyoto, cities across history have served as launchpads for extraordinary outbursts of artistic flowering. Caroline Campbell, director of the National Gallery of Ireland and the author of The Power of Art, guides Ellie Cawthorne through some of these cultural metropolises, exploring what made them artistic hubs, and how they turbocharged the story of art. (Ad) Caroline Campbell is the author of The Power of Art: A World History in Fifteen Cities (The Bridge Street Press, 2023). Buy it now from Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Power-People-Painting-Fifteen-Cities/dp/0349128480/?tag=bbchistory045-21&ascsubtag=historyextra-social-histboty The HistoryExtra podcast is produced by the team behind BBC History Magazine. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

This week, we turn our attention to two of the defining institutions of the Heian period, both of which will be very important for us going forward. First are the shoen, or private estates, the growth of which led to the fragmentation and decentralization of the government. The second is the rising power of the warrior class--known to history as the samurai. Show notes here.

This week on the podcast, we're all about literature. We'll be exploring the varieties of poetry and prose that have made the Heian period one of the golden ages of literary flourishing in Japanese history. Show notes here.

This week, we take a step away from politics to talk about two crucial subjects. First, we have the evolution of the Japanese language and its incorporation of Chinese influence. Second, we have the evolution of Buddhism and the arrival of two important sects in the evolution of a distinctly Japanese form of the religion: Tendai and Shingon.  Show notes here. 

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 https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-97  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 back.  It was probably not that large, and it seems that it was eventually enshrined at Asukadera in some form.  There are mentions of various icons made in the early 7th century as well, which could refer to this.  It is said that it was made in 609 by Kuratsukuri no Tori, though that is not without controversy.  It was damaged in a fire in 1196, which was originally thought to have destroyed everything.  Indeed, an examination of the image has shown that it appears to have been reconstructed, though there is some evidence that the face and right hand are likely original, while the rest of the body was refashioned, probably from the burnt and melted pieces that were damaged in the fire.  It still sits in the Angoin at the modern site of Asukadera, for anyone who wants to come and see it. Taken together, this can give us some idea of what it took to build the temple.  Previous so-called temples appear to be conversions of local buildings, with perhaps some work on building a proper pagoda, but at Asukadera they went full-out to build according to the continental standards.  That said, there has been a significant amount of ink spilled over just how this process went. Based on the Nihon Shoki, it would almost appear that everything arrived, fully formed, at the end of 588.  As I've noted previously, the way that the Nihon Shoki records read it can sometimes be difficult to figure out exactly what happened when, as a single entry will often contain details that must have happened before or after the date of the entry itself, and it isn't entirely clear exactly what happened on the referenced date, in many cases.  Furthermore, since the Chroniclers were pulling from other sources, there is always the possibility that they, themselves, misinterpreted something.  Finally, I would note that their primary goal was to give readers and idea of what happened that conformed with what was known as true and what supported the state institutions.  Would it have mattered to them exactly when Asukadera was built, as long as it was generally right and in the regards to the appropriate sovereign and nobles?  Probably not. It likely would have taken some time to pull everything together.  There would have been planning sessions, and drawings.  They would have to harvest the right kind of wood and shape it based on the designs, and an entire industry of tile-making would have to be set up, likely with local hands learning the process.  Similarly, woodcarvers would have already existed, but they would likely need to learn new techniques to account for the continental design.  And then there were the various rituals that would need to be carried out.  This is all in addition to any stonework, special metalwork, or other such things that had not been previously done in the archipelago.  On top of that, there would have been issues of translation, with immigrant artisans directing their various groups of craftsmen. It is possible that work for planning the temple began as early as 588—which may have just been the request for more craftsmen—and then in 596, when we have textual evidence that some part of the temple was “finished”, that may have been nothing more than the pagoda by that time.   It is then unclear whether the other buildings were finished together or in separate phases—perhaps the central image hall was finished, and then the two on the sides of the pagoda were added at a later date.  Images may have also been shifted around as new images, like the Asuka Daibutsu, were completed.  Many scholars have argued for different interpretations based on their readings of the texts, but none of the evidence is so clear as to be incontrovertible. What is clear is that this was a grand temple, and that would have been equally clear to everyone who viewed it.  Furthermore, this temple was connected directly to Soga no Umako and the Soga family.  Something to consider:  Just as the giant tomb mounds helped demonstrate the power of various clans based on the work and resources that went into them, a temple like Asukadera would have provided similar cache for the Soga family.  This is more than just religious devotion, it was a political statement, made in the heart of the region that Kashikiya Hime was ruling from.  Visitors to her palace—not to mention later palaces in the area—would have hardly been able to miss the pagoda and the tiled rooves, and locals would have likely heard the toll of the bell, assuming that both they and Toyouradera had them as the sources mention. Speaking of Toyouradera, I have less information on that compound, but it seems to have been built sometime later.  Kashikiya Hime moved to the new Woharida palace around 603, which would have freed the Toyoura palace buildings to be used for the nunnery.  While there is evidence of a pagoda being built, I suspect that it originally reused the old palace buildings, repurposing them, and then would have been built out as time allowed.  There is still a temple in Toyoura, and some remains that have been examined, but I am not aware of anything as extensive as the work on Asukadera. In comparison—and perhaps contrast—to Asukadera is the other temple of this episode: Shitennouji, the temple of the Four Heavenly Kings.  Now while many later texts certainly involved both Kashikiya Hime and Prince Umayado in the building of Asukadera, it is clear that Soga no Umako played a leading role—and was probably the primary patron for that temple.  In contrast, Shitennouji is directly associated with none other than Prince Shotoku Taishi.  It claims to have been founded in 593, based on the account of the Nihon Shoki, and it is said to have been commissioned by Crown Prince Shotoku, aka Prince Umayado, in response to the Four Heavenly Kings' intervention in the Soga-Mononobe war. To put some of this in perspective:  Prince Umayado is said to have been born in 574, and he would have been a teenager during the Soga-Mononobe war, and would have been about 20 years old or so in 593.  Granted, this is Shotoku Taishi we are talking about, and all of the history about him claims that he was quite precocious.  It is said that when he was born, his hands were clasped together.  Two years later, he opened his hands and it was revealed that he had been born holding a relic of the Buddha, which was later enshrined at the temple of Houryuji. Speaking of Houryuuji, I'm sure we'll spend more time on it in a future episode, but here's what you probably should know for context.  Houryuuji was built on the site of Prince Umayado's Ikaruga palace, and is also said to have been directly patronized by Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  Furthermore, it has the oldest extant wooden buildings in the world, let alone in Japan.  And yet, the Shitenouji temple appears to get more air time in the Chronicles, which may be a factor of several different things, but primarily indicating that Shitenouji and its patrons were ascendant at court at the time that everything was being written down, whereas it appears that Houryuuji may have been rebuilding after a fire, and therefore was not as prominent as it would later be.  Either way, I encourage people to visit both to get a better idea of this period. There is less textual evidence—or perhaps there has simply been less scrutiny—for the founding of Shitenouji, and its position is hardly central to the Yamato court.  Nonetheless, it is in a place of prominence, as it was near Naniwa, the port to the Seto Inland Sea and beyond.  This was also an area that had a high number of immigrants from the mainland, which I'll be returning to in a bit. As I mentioned earlier in this episode, Shitenouji follows what we might consider a more traditional design.  Entering through the central gate, one comes upon the five storied pagoda, behind which stands the kondou, or image hall.  All of this is surrounded by a cloistered wall, which encircles both until you get to the north end, where the wall terminates at the koudou, or lecture hall.  The buildings are brightly painted and decorated in red, green, and white—colors that would have likely adorned Asukadera's posts as well, and which we see in many later temples and images.  In fact, the image of a Buddhist temple as brown and plain comes later, likely originating with just the ravages of time and the lack of funding to keep up with the paint, which was originally said to help preserve the wood and prevent damage from insects.  Eventually, some sects would come to prefer the more subdued image brought about by natural wood, creating a new aesthetic that continues to be popular.  Today you can find a variety of different temple buildings from different eras, some of which maintain the bright colors that would have likely been part of any early temple. There have been some excavations around Shitenouji, which appear to confirm that the shape has remained roughly the same over the centuries, from what I can tell.  The buildings themselves have been rebuilt over the years, but maintain a certain characteristic that seems appropriate to the early temple period.  This may be due to the fact that the temple has retained the services of a family of temple builders that continue to operate as a business, even today.  Kongou Gumi claims that it was founded in 578, when craftsmen were brought from Baekje to help build temples in Japan, making it the oldest company in the world, though it is now a subsidiary company of the Takamatsu Construction Group.  They continue to specialize in traditional temple, shrine, and castle construction, preserving ancient techniques, but also employing modern materials, such as concrete and rebar, where appropriate. While they were specific to Shitennouji, they were not exclusive, and in the 16th century they helped rebuild Osaka castle.  They have repeatedly rebuilt Shitennouji and maintained it through the years, even after it has, at times, been completely destroyed by fire or even typhoon. The story of Shitennouji's founding we talked about in the episode on the Soga-Mononobe War, but to quickly recount:  The young Shotoku Taishi crafted figures of the four Heavenly kings and prayed for a Soga victory, promising to build a temple if they won.  The Soga did win, and so he followed through by building this temple, using land taken from the Mononobe during the war. So who were the Four Heavenly Kings?  Why didn't he just pray to the Buddha? The Four Heavenly Kings are gods from India that were transmitted along with Buddhism as Buddhist Deities.  They are: Vaisravana, aka Tamonten, in the north Virudhaka, aka Zouchouten, in the south Dhrtarastra, aka Jikokuten, in the east  And Virupaksa, aka Koumokuten, the west. In general, if you are at a Japanese temple, and you see the name end with “Ten” it may be referring to one of the various Heavenly Kings. The four heavenly kings are devas, and included as four of the 20 or 24 devas who manifest to protect the Dharma.  Given their role in protecting the various cardinal directions, they became popular in East Asian Buddhism, and show up in various Mahayana texts, but they also appear in Theravada traditions as well.  It is unclear exactly when and how they became associated with Buddhism, though it wasn't uncommon for Buddhism to co-opt various gods and deities and turn them into aspects of the Buddha, Boddhisatvas, or, as in this case, protectors of Buddhism.  We see similar things happen in the archipelago as various kami are, on occasion, given Buddhist aspects and accepted as defenders of Buddhism. It appears that they have a particular place in the Konkoumyou Sutra, or Sutra of Golden Light, which is where they appear to have entered East Asian Buddhism.  This sutra may have been translated as early as the 5th century, though the Nihon Shoki uses quotes that appear to come from a translation likely made around the 7th or 8th century, which was likely popular at the time that the Nihon Shoki was being compiled.  Not only that, but later in the 8th century, various Kokubunji, or provincial temples, would be set up under state sponsorship, in part to create spiritual protection for the realm, and these were specifically set up as temples of the Four Heavenly Kings.  So we can see that belief in the efficacy of the Four Heavenly Kings was important around the time that the Chronicles were being compiled. In addition, Shitennouji is heavily influenced by what some call the “Cult” of “Shotoku Taishi”.  Again, by the time that the Nihon Shoki was being compiled, Prince Umayado had already been lifted up on a pedestal and turned into something more than just a Prince—however influential he may have been.  He became known as the Father of Buddhism, and the Father of the Nation, having also played a part—we are told—in the creation of the first ever 17 article constitution.  He was a Soga relative but he was not, importantly, a member of the direct Soga line, which would land on hard times just a few generations later and be on the political outs. Michael Como, in his book on Shotoku Taishi, also points out that Shitennouji was associated with the Abe family and with various lineages with ties specifically to Silla, including groups like the Hata—although the layout of the temple still accords with Baekje temple design, as far as I can tell.  Still, by the 8th century in particular, Shitennouji and similar temples claiming sponsorship or connections to Shotoku Taishi appear to have had connections with lineages descending from or with connections to Silla.  Spoiler alert:  Silla would eventually take over the entire Korean Peninsula, and therefore, by the 8th century, there were no new “Baekje” or “Goguryeo” immigrants—anyone coming over was from Silla.  And Michael Como points out that there seems to have been a bit of a political rift and distinction between Silla descended lineage groups and Baekje descended lineage groups.  Asukadera and the Soga family—and even Shotoku Taishi's temple of Houryuuji—appear to have been firmly attached to the Baekje lineages, whom they had sponsored to come over to help them promote Buddhism, but by the 8th century, Silla-backed groups were more dominant.  He points to a “split” in the Shotoku Taishi worship, with the Silla-backed temples dominating the narrative in the 8th century and beyond. This may also play into the story of the founding of Shitennouji, as there is a similar story in the Samguk Yusa, as Como points out.  In it, the King prays to the Heavenly Kings for victory against the Tang, and that same King is said to have built the Sacheonwang Temple in the Silla capital of Gyeongju.  This temple would become a model for later temples in Silla, and introduced a layout with two pagodas, rather than one.  We see this pattern arrive in the archipelago, influencing temples like Yakushiji, in modern Nara. Unfortunately, this all seems to just muddy the waters.  I think we can probably say that the founding of Shitennouji by a young Shotoku Taishi, while possible, seems a bit sus.  Sure, I guess they could have built a temple on the land taken from the Mononobe—it would have been quite the statement given that the Mononobe had been so anti-Buddhism, at least according to the textual records.  But was it originally dedicated to the Four Heavenly Kings?  Or did that part come later, as the texts on the Four Heavenly Kings grew more popular? I suspect that the temple, which seems laid out in the standard Baekje style, was no doubt one of the early temples, and it may even have been built on Mononobe property.  But the association with Shitennouji—and the legend of Shotoku Taishi—probably came later.  It was in a great position, however, to gain patronage from newly arrived immigrants, as the port of Naniwa would have been one of the more cosmopolitan locations, and after the downfall of Baekje and Goguryeo, most of those people crossing the sea would have identified with Silla. Regardless of the legends behind it, Shitennouji does appear to have a claim to be one of the oldest temples in Japan, and shortly after it was built—or at least they started work on the temple—we are told that Kashikiya Hime told Shotoku Taishi to aggressively promote Buddhism, which seems to have kicked off a temple-building fad.  No doubt the prestige that came from being connected with a temple like Asukadera or Shitennouji had some small part to play in that. Temples would become another source of spiritual, and thus political, power, for various kinship groups, much as shrines and kofun were as well.  In fact, the temple building craze is often seen as the beginning of the end of the Kofun period.  All of the money and resources that were poured into temple building—whether as private projects or as state sponsored projects—would put a huge drain on the labor pool for things like monumental tombs.  In addition, as Buddhist theology took hold, a dedicatory temple was, in many ways, more useful, as it could be a way of building merit for the dead, as opposed to simply building giant tomb mounds.  That doesn't mean it ended immediately, but as I've mentioned before we start to see the tomb sizes shrink.  Nothing would rival the middle kofun era building projects, and there would be a greater focus on building things like temples. I also suspect that this new style of construction may have had other knock on effects as well.  Grand buildings such as those built for temples, and later palaces, were not quite so easy to dismantle and reassemble elsewhere.  These were major construction projects and the materials were now heavier, especially those tiled roofs.  Not that it was “easy” to just build a palace in the older style, but it was clearly something that could be done quickly if necessary, as shown with the construction of various temporary buildings for envoys and the like—or even the decision to move to a new palace part way through a reign.  These new buildings weren't the same, and we can see how, when Asukadera was moved up to Nara—where it is known as Gankouji—they clearly left many of the buildings and materials behind and likely built new buildings in the new capital.  Giant images would also have been difficult to transport, and probably easier to just commission a new one.  Had Asukadera, aka Houkouji, not burned down and been generally neglected by the court, which by then had moved on to Heian-kyo, then perhaps it would have retained some of the buildings, as Houryuuji, did.  Unfortunately, it did burn down, and so today is only a shadow of what it once was—though still worth a visit, in my opinion. And that's where we'll wrap things up for now.  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 the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.   

This week in the Revised History of Japan: in a bid to strengthen the power of the imperial family, Emperor Kanmu moves the imperial capital one more time to some newfangled place called "Heian-kyo." Plus, the political battle between the imperial family and the Fujiwara clan takes a few more twists. Show notes here.

Cent soixante-quatrième numéro de Chemins d'histoire, cinquième numéro de la cinquième saison, émission animée par Luc Daireaux Émission diffusée le jeudi 19 octobre 2023 Thème : Le Japon ancien Invités : Laurent Nespoulous, maître de conférences à l'INALCO, et Pierre François Souyri, professeur honoraire à l'université de Genève, coauteurs de Le Japon. Des chasseurs-cueilleurs à Heian, - 36000 à l'an mille, Belin, 2023.

1185 - Tension between the clans during the Heian period of Japanese history was reaching boiling point particularly after the Taira clan had expelled the Minamoto from the capital city of Heian-kyu (Kyoto). The result was the outbreak of the Genpei War, and the Battle of Dan-no-ura was the concluding episode of this war.

794 - 1180 - We are covering the period of Japan's history from the relocation of the capital city to Heian-kyō up to the outbreak of the Genpei War.

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 https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-89 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 no Miyatsuko no Oshikatsu and Kibi no Amabe no Atahe no Hashima were sent on the dangerous mission of crossing the straits and bringing him back from Baekje.  Their mission was for naught, however.  Three months later they returned, empty-handed, with the unfortunate news that the king of Baekje had refused to let Nichira leave.  Apparently his presence in Baekje was highly prized, and the Baekje king wasn't willing to part with him so easily. Yamato wasn't deterred, however, and Nunakura sent Hashima back to Baekje.  This time, Hashima went straight to Nichira's house before any audiences at court.  When he arrived, he heard a woman calling out in the local language a phrase which Aston found salty enough to throw into Latin:  “Let your root enter my root!”  Despite the implied sexual innuendo of such a statement, Hashima quickly understood what she meant and he followed her inside.  She led him to Nichira, and there Hashima was asked to take a seat. Nichira acknowledged that the Baekje king was not likely to let him go if he had a choice.  The King was likely afraid that if Nichira went to Yamato then he'd never be allowed to return back to Baekje.  Therefore, Hashima had to summon all of the authority vested in him by the sovereign of Yamato to demand Nichira's release in no uncertain terms. Sure enough, Hashima took the bold approach and demanded Nichira's release, and the King of Baekje finally relented and allowed him to return.  He wouldn't go alone, however.  Nichira was accompanied by other high officials from Baekje, including several men of the 3rd and 4th ranks, and a number of sailors to transport them. They first arrived in the land of Kibi, Hashima's own home base, and then headed on to Naniwa, where Nichira was greated by Ohotomo no Nukadeko no Muraji, likely a descendent of Ohotomo no Kanamura, the former top dog in the Yamato court.  He offered Nichira condolences for the long trip he'd had to endure, and set him up in an official residence there in the port city. Later there were daibu—high officials—who were sent to the residence to attend on Nichira. After he'd had time to freshen up, Nichira headed off to the court.  When he drew near, he donned a suit of armor and mounted a horse, and in such a fashion he rode right up to the Audience Hall of the sovereign.  There he bowed before kneeling down.  He then recounted how his forefathers had been sent to the Korean Peninsula up in the first place back in the reign of Senka Tennou, aka Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, in the early part of the 6th century.  After explaining who he was and where he came from, he took off the armor and offered it as a gift to the sovereign himself. Off to such a great start, the sovereign had a residence constructed for Nichira in the area of Kuwanoichi, in Ato—likely meaning an area of modern Ohosaka, near Naniwa.  Later, with all of the ritual pleasantries out of the way, a war council was sent to ask Nichira just how they could move forward on the question of Nimna.  This war council included Abe no Me no Omi, Mononobe no Niheko no Muraji, and Ohotomo no Nukadeko no Muraji. Nichira provided them a plan to go to war, but it wasn't simple nor was it quick.  First he suggested that they spend the first three years building up the prosperity of Yamato, and getting all of the people behind the government.  Next, he suggested building up a massive number of ships, such at that any visitors would be impressed to see them all in the harbor, and thus word would get out and it would project Yamato's military power. Finally, once that was done, Nichira suggested inviting the King of Baekje—or at least a royal representative in the form of a high prince or similar—be invited to Yamato, where they would see all of the power and good governance.  They could then be taken to task for why Nimna had not yet been reestablished. After the war council, Nichira sent a letter to the sovereign, Nunakura.  In it he let Nunakura know that Baekje was going to send a request to relocate 300 ships worth of people to Tsukushi to settle there.  Here things turned rather dark as Nichira suggested that they would see the ships filled with men, women, and children hoping to establish a Baekje colony in the archipelago.  Nichira suggested setting up an ambush around Iki and Tsushima and that they should slaughter everyone.  Then Yamato should build up fortifications of their own—probably as coastal defenses in case Baekje decided to retaliate. And here I'm going to interject that this seems just really odd and strange.  First, Nichira and Nunakura were talking about trying to reestablish Nimna with their ally, Baekje, and suddenly Nichira is suggesting that Baekje might try to establish a colony in their territory, and therefore it should be wiped out.  That all feels very extreme, and this whole passage has puzzled commenters, especially when you consider the reputation Nichira later has as some kind of holy priest or monk. Apparently this was the kind of advice, though, that may have been why Baekje did not want Nichira to come back in the first place.  In fact, as the Baekje envoys themselves began to head out to return to Baekje, they left a couple of people in Yamato with a sinister plot of their own: as soon as the ships had sailed off and made considerable distance on the way back home, those left behind were to assassinate Nichira.  In return, they were told that they would be given a higher rank and that their families would be looked after, in the very real possibility that they found out and killed themselves.  A not insubstantial promise at the time. With the official residence in Naniwa vacated after the departure of the rest of the Baekje delegation, Nichira decided to move back in, rather than staying in the home made for him in Kuwanoichi.  The would-be assassins tried to approach him, and hatched plot after plot.  However, they were stopped because apparently Nichira had some ancient superpowers.  Indeed, his body apparently glowed brightly, like a flame of fire, and so the assassins could not get anywhere near him.  They had to wait until the end of the 12th month, when Nichira's own radiance faded, and they were then able to slay him. This whole thing about radiance is intriguing, and may have several origins such that even if it isn't factually accurate, it may have something more to say about just who Nichira was or might have been. First off, there is the obvious.  “Nichi”, in “Nichira”, means the “sun”, and so it could have been a direct allusion to Nichira's name.  This strikes me as also intriguing because the 12th month indicates the end of the year, usually  meaning that it is darker.  While the Winter Solstice would not have necessarily been in the old twelfth lunar month, those would have been the days when the suns light was least seen.  Add to this that it was at the end of the month, and based on a lunar calendar, the end and beginning of the month would have been the times of the new moon, when it was not visible in the sky.  And so we come to what most likely was the darkest night of the entire year. There is also the fact that he is from Hi no Kuni—he is even considered a member of the ruling family of the land of Hi.  The character of “Hi” in this instance is fire.  Michaeol Como notes that the Hi no Kimi appear to have been associated with fire cults, as well as with rites of resurrection.  “Hi no Kimi” could also be translated as “fire lord”.  There may be some connection there with the story. Finally, we can't ignore the Buddhist context.  Holy individuals are often said to radiate light from their bodies.  For example, we have the story about Nichira meeting the young child that would be known as Shotoku Taishi, found in the Konjaku Monogatari, or “Tales of Now and Then”, a 12th century collection of various stories, many focused on Buddhist stories.  In that story, Nichira radiates a light and the Shotoku radiates a light of his own in response.  In fact, Buddhist images often depict holy figures with halos, or even wreathes of flames around them, likely a depiction or literal interpretation of what we find in the Buddhist texts, which may have originally been meant more metaphorically. Oh, and notice how I talked about resurrection?  Maybe you thought we'd just let that one slide.  Well, apparently there was a brief zombie moment, as Nichira suddenly came back to life after he had been killed just to implicate the men from Baekje who had stayed back, and then he died again.  Supposedly this is because there was a Silla envoy in port, and he didn't want them to take the blame. That resurrection piece, well, it isn't the first time we've seen that, and it isn't entirely uncommon to hear about something along those lines.  In the Harima Fudoki there is another story of resurrection, and it involves a member of the “Hi no Kimi”, or lords of Hi.  In that story, a member of the Hi no Kimi came to a center of Silla immigrants and married a young woman whom he had brought back from the dead.  Another connection between the country of Hi and some of what we see attributed to Nichira. At the same time, Saints in ancient England would occasionally rise from their deathbeds for one last piece of wisdom or to admonish someone before laying back down into that sleep of death.  At the same time, it is possible that diagnosing death, versus, say, a coma or other unconscious state with very shallow breathing, wasn't always a clear thing. In the west, as recently as at least Victorian times people were so afraid of being buried alive that there were tombstones created with bells that went to a pull down in the coffin, just in case.  There have also been practices of pricking a corpse with a needle or similar to try to get a response.  So I could believe that every once in a while a person who was declared deceased wasn't quite ready to start pushing up daisies, and it is possible that this is more of a deathbed accusation than any kind of resurrection. Still, the story clearly depicts it as a brief, but true resurrection.  From his words, the court arrested the envoys who had remained behind and threw them into some kind of confinement while they figured out what to do with them.  Nichira's wife and children were moved to Kudaramura, or “Baekje Village”, in the area of Ishikawa, while the sailors who had been part of Nichira's household were settled in nearby Ohotomo no mura.  It is unclear if they were given leave to return to Baekje if they wanted, or if that was even on the table. As for the murderers themselves, they weren't punished by the Court.  Rather the court handed them over to Nichira's family, the Ashikita, for them to deliver justice.  I believe this is the first time we've really seen this kind of justice in the Chronicles, with the familial groups taking such a direct role. Now why is this story important, and what does it tell us? Well, nominally, this says something about the continuing struggle by Yamato to reestablish Nimna, but I'm not sure how much of that is accurate.  Though the story starts out about consulting Nichira about Nimna, there is nothing more to say on that topic, and it quickly becomes something that is almost more about the seemingly fragile Baekje-Yamato alliance. There is also an interesting side note that through all of this there were apparently Silla emissaries there in Yamato, even though the Chronicle claims that the last two were sent away, so what's up with that?  It could be that the story is anachronistic—that is, it isn't recorded in the right year.  Or there was a mission that just didn't rise to the level of being noticed by the Chroniclers.  One other thought is that the formal diplomatic ties were only some of the traffic flowing back and forth.  This seems the most likely, to me.  By this point there was no doubt a desire for trade goods on both sides of the strait, and no matter where people came from, the merchant ships were likely plying the waters back and forth.  So it is quite possible that the men of Silla who were in port were part of a trade mission, not necessarily diplomats. Michael Como suggests some other reasons why this whole thing was considered important.  He notes that there are several things here that connect this to the Abe family.  It is unclear where this family comes from, but they have been mentioned here or there throughout the Chronicles, and by this point are at least are fairly high up in the court.  Their name is a bit of an enigma for me, and I'll have to do more research.  I just want to note that they use a different “Be” than the Mononobe or similarly created corporate families.  It is unclear to me why this would be the case, unless this is just where the two seem similar. It should be noted that we should be careful not to assume too much about this early Abe family from one of its most famous Heian era descendants, Abe no Seimei, known as a famous Onmyoji, or master of Yin-Yang divination.  I'm not entirely sure that the Abe were any more or less court ritualists than any other family, especially this early.  Rather, it is their influence over certain geographic regions that is more immediately of interest. We noted that as the son of a “Hi no Ashikita no Kuni no Miyatsuko”, Nichira was likely a member of the Hi no Kimi clan.  They were originally based in southern Kyushu, and Como notes that they may have been under the sway of the Abe clan, at least by the 7th century, along with other notable families of Tsukushi, which is to say, modern Kyushu.  There are a lot of connections between Ashikita, Hi, and Silla that are telling.  In the Harima story, it is a Silla wife that the Hi no Kimi marries.  When Nichira resurrects, it is specifically to ensure that the Silla envoys who were present would not take the blame.  Then there is his father's name—or more likely title—of Arishito.  A term seen used for the King of Nimna at one point, but also for the ancient Tsunoga, who is said to have been an ancient prince from the continent.  Como suggests that Hi no Kuni—and thus their lords, the Hi no Kimi, may have played a part in the rebellion of Iwai, when Iwai attempted to ally Kyushu with Silla to break off contact between Yamato and Baekje.  It is even possible that this was one of the reasons that Nichira was basically being held hostage in Baekje—perhaps he and his family had been exiled after the rebellion, or else left before any harm could come to them. It would make some sense as to why the court sought him out in the first place.  If he and his family were familiar with Silla, perhaps the court thought he would have particular insights.  It might also suggest some of his motives regarding Baekje as well.  Still, the picture is far from clear. Although the Chronicle says that Nichira was taken back to Ashikita and buried, other sources suggest that he was entombed  in Naniwa at Himejima, near Himegoso shrine.  This, in turn, was the home of a sub-lineage of the Abe family, known as the Himegoso Abe.  Como suggests that by the 7th century, the Abe were appropriating various Hi no Kimi cultic centers, to the point that by the time the Chronicles were written, the Abe no Omi and the Hi no Kimi were claiming common ancestry and jointly participating in various rites. Como then links the timing of the death of Nichira to certain court rituals of fire pacification and purification.  And so there may have been much more at play here than simply the story of Nimna and the attempts to reestablish that country. As for the envoys who sailed off and left their lackeys to do their bidding?  Apparently they were struck with a bout of karma on the way back, and their boat foundered and sank.  This was likely seen as proof that their deeds had been committed with evil intent, at least by later readers, interpreting everything through a Buddhist lens that likely saw Nichira as more saintly than it seems he truly was. After all of that, though, there is no evidence that the court really pulled it off.  Instead, in 584, the year after everything had gone down with Nichira, the court sent Naniwa no Kishi no Kitahiko off to Nimna, now controlled by Silla, presumably to negotiate for some kind of reinstatement. That doesn't appear to have happened, however, and the year after that, in 585, there was one more attempt, this time by Sakata no Mimiko no Miko.  Sakata had previously been sent on a mission to request Silla reestablish Nimna in 571, only months before the sovereign, Ame Kunioshi, died.  Now, as he was about to set out, the sovereign and the powerful Mononobe no Moriya came down with a pestilence, and were ridden with sores, such that they called off preparations for the mission.  And sure enough, later that year, Ame Kunioshi's successor, Nunakura Futadamashiki, likewise passed away. I guess the rule here is don't send Sakada no Mimiko to try to demand anything about Silla. Of course, I have to also wonder if there wasn't something else going on.  It's suspicious that the Chroniclers recorded two missions to Silla, both led by the same guy, both about reestablishing Nimna, and both happening just before the Sovereign passed away.  Maybe history really repeated itself like this, or maybe the Chroniclers just knew that such a mission was sent in the last year of one of these reigns, and then put it in bothAnd we don't hear anything more about Mimiko after that, either. We also don't hear anything else about the unfortunate envoy, Sakada no Mimiko, either.  The other interesting thing to note is that, like Ohowake no Miko, Mimiko is a certified royal prince, though I don't see any immediate name to connect him with, at least in the immediate lineage.  It has been suggested that this is one of the sons of Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, though even that feels tenuous to me. Either way, both he and Nunakura, as we noted last episode, passed away from the disease sweeping the land. And that concludes the reign of Nunakura.  Next, we'll get into what happened after his death as we start to see the Soga influence become pre-eminent.  There is more to say about the growth of Buddhism and about the clash between the Soga and the Mononobe, one of the formative conflicts from this early period.  And of course, we've already caught glimpses of Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, who had quite the impact on the court—assuming he even existed.  But that's a discussion for another episode. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

When we stop walling ourselves off from the suffering of the world - our own, other people's - we give ourselves a chance to meet one another's moonlight beauty in the midst of the inevitable undoing that is part of every human life. In this week's conversation we wonder together about what it is that makes this possible, and the relationships with one another that can grow as a consequence. This week's Turning Towards Life is hosted, as always, by Lizzie Winn and Justin Wise of Thirdspace. Turning Towards Life, a week-by-week conversation inviting us deeply into our lives, is a live 30 minute conversation hosted by Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn of Thirdspace.  Find us on FaceBook to watch live and join in the lively conversation on this episode. You can find videos of every episode, and more about the project on the Turning Towards Life website, and you can also watch and listen on Instagram, YouTube, and as a podcast on Apple, Google, Amazon Music and Spotify. Here's our source for this week: This Ruined House  Last year, the poet Jane Hirschfield shared with me that her life broke open when she first read a haiku by Izumi Shikibu. Izumi was a tenth century Japanese poet of the Heian period. This beautiful haiku is about risk, suffering, permeability, tenderness, and courage, the inner integuments of altruism. Izumi's haiku: Although the wind blows terribly here the moonlight also leaks between the roof planks of this ruined house. Jane later wrote, “Wall up your well, and you will stay dry, but also stay moonless.” I believe that we have to let life into our lives, let others into our lives, let the world into our lives, let love into our lives, and also let the night into our lives, and not let the roof over our head, our knowing, our fear, keep out the moonlight. Altruism is exactly this permeability, this wall-less wilderness of the world, this broken roof that lets the moonlight flood our ruined house, our suffering world. Roshi Joan Halifax Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash

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 https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-82   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 Hansyeong, aka Seoul and later the area known today as Pyongyang.  In 552, Baekje abandoned Hansyeong and Silla occupied it, and possibly the Pyongyang area as well, setting up two towns known as Utopang and Nimipang. In 553, Baekje was requesting more troops from Yamato, and five months later an emissary was on his way back to Baekje with equipment and promises of troops.  In the meantime it seems that Silla had been busy allying themselves with Goguryeo, and it looked like they were planning to attack Baekje.  And so Prince Yeochyang, son of King Seong of Baekje led troops against Goguryeo. This is one of the first in depths accounts we actually get of the fighting, although it still remains focused on the personal.  In this case the focus is on the prince, who led his troops out to a large plain and set up entrenchments, presumably to await the arrival of their Goguryeo opponents. They were not disappointed.  Local boys, possibly overseeing their herds or tending the fields, had seen the arrival of the Baekje troops and sent word, and overnight an army had appeared.  Prince Yeochyang had heard the sound of instruments in the night, but could see nothing.  He had his own men beat their drums in response and they kept a strict watch. The next morning they saw the Goguryeo troops arrayed around them, with banners covering the fields as a hill is covered with green foliage—or so the Chronicles tell us.  A man approached on horseback, and we are told that he wore a gorget, or neckguard, and was accompanied by two others who carried instruments, like cymbals, and two more that were adorned with leopards tails in some fashion.  This Goguryeo honor guard indicated someone of rank and status who had come for initial parlay. The Goguryeo prince asked whom they were fighting.  Yeochyang answered that he was of the “same name” as they were—that is, he called on his claim to a common Buyeo ancestry with Goguryeo—and mentioned that his rank was that of Hansol, and he was 29 years old.  Likewise the Goguryeo prince responded with his own details, which are not recorded, and then they got things started. First, before the battle, they set up a marked area of the field.  Here the two princes would do single combat before the rest of the battle would commence.  And so the Baekje and Goguryeo princes fought.  Eventually, the Baekje prince knocked his opponent from his horse with his spear, killed him, and cut off his head, raising it on his spearpoint and showing it off to his troops.  This gruesome display was met with joy by his own troops, but I daresay not so well on the other side.  After that, the rest of the forces engaged, and Baekje eventually pushed back the Goguryeo forces. So why tell you all of that?  There isn't a single mention of Yamato, and this is all happening in the north.  Okay, it is in the Chronicles, but why does that matter to us?  Heck, why did it matter to the Chroniclers? Well, we could point to how Yamato used the Baekje records as if they were an extension of their own power and hegemony, and therefore a Baekje victory was a Yamato victory in their eyes. This may also be taken out of context as an effort to support the view that Silla and Goguryeo were allying.  In his translation of the Baekje annals in the Samguk Sagi, Jonathan Best points out that Silla had been attacking Goguryeo only a year or two earlier—would they really be allying against Baekje at this point?  They don't appear to have given up the territory they gained from Goguryeo, and so I have to wonder if this doesn't come from earlier, when a Baekje-Silla alliance took Hansyeong and then the area of modern Pyongyang from Goguryeo control. Regardless, what interests me, besides the fact that it is one of the few accounts of an actual battle, sparse and biased as it may be, is that the form of battle shown here is remarkably similar to something we see later, in the Heian and Kamakura periods, with the rise of the samurai warriors.  It is the concept of single combat, and even the announcing of names.  This was key, particularly in times when you didn't always know who was who on the battlefield.  First things first—is this an enemy in front of you, or an ally?  And where did they come from and what was this all about?  These are not questions easily answered by the dead, and where is the prestige in defeating an unknown enemy? All that said, did it really happen like this?  Did they honestly have these kinds of norms around fighting, at least on the peninsula?  Quite possibly they did, at times, though it is also just as possible that this was more of a literary device than anything else—something to let the reader know what was going on and who was involved. This also seems to kick off the wars in earnest.  Up to this point, a lot of the fighting, assuming it happened, was largely off-screen, so to speak, with a focus on more diplomatic efforts, or simply the building of fortresses.  It is not dissimilar to the early setup in a game, though this was no laughing matter.  Outside of the glory or derision given to individuals in the pages of these historical records, we can't forget that there was a very real and human cost in what was happening.  Fighting meant death and destruction, and displaced people across the peninsula.  We see them coming to the archipelago and being settled in various areas, but we also see people enslaved and offered as diplomatic gifts.  These are people who were forced from their homes and their lives all because of aspirations of the powerful elites who directed soldiers to fight and die at their behest.  We may not always see it, but as we listen to what was happening, let's not forget the human toll around all of this. Coming back off of his victory in late 553, Prince Yeochyang continued his offensive against the Silla, this time taking the fight to them, directly.  They sent for the Wa troops that had been gathered in Tsukushi and Baekje sent a general with Mononobe no O to ask for even more.  In early winter, they were ready to begin their assault.  Baekje and Yamato troops assaulted Silla, but it wasn't enough.  This may account for a record in the Samguk Sagi which claims that Silla seized the northeastern border region of Baekje in that year, incorporating it into its own domain. The records say Baekje sent 10,000 men in their fight to quote-unquote “assist” Nimna, but they needed more, and Baekje sent a request along with gifts to Yamato to presumably help offset the costs. Yeochyang then headed back to the front with Silla and there he built a fortification at a place the records called Kutamura.  King Seong, worried for his eldest son, decided to go to the front to see him there.  The Samguk Sagi says that he assumed personal command of a force of about fifty thousand foot and mounted soldiers, and attacked the fortress of Mt. Kwanson along with “Karyang”, which some have identified as Kara troops, though it could be a reference to any number of troops from the areas in between Bakeje and Silla, I would think.  The Silla military governor of the recently annexed Baekje territories came down to assist.  During the combat, which seemed to be leaning in Baekje's favor, a Silla leader named Todo made a sudden attack which ended up killing King Seong.  This caused the army to break and the Silla troops pursued them.  The records say they beheaded around 30,000 Baekje soldiers and four of the highest ranking nobles. In the Nihon Shoki, they note this battle as well, though not quite in the same detail, simply stating that Silla brought all of their forces to bear on the king.  They also mention that he was captured and beheaded, with Silla keeping his head, but eventually sending his bones back to be buried. Prince Yeochyang, meanwhile, found himself surrounded, and according to the Nihon Shoki it was a man—or perhaps several men—from Tsukushi, aka Kyuushuu, who began to fire arrows so fast that they were able to open a hole in the opposing lines, allowing Yeochyang to escape.  Here, instead of pursuing the fleeing troops, the Nihon Shoki claims they held off because of fear of Yamato, which sounds more like embellishment by the Chroniclers. Following that defeat, Prince Yeochyang sent his younger brother, Prince Kye, to the Yamato court to inform them that their father had been killed and request more troops to avenge him.  Soga no Iname, the Ohomi, consoled Prince Kye.  He then hearkened back to the time of Wakatakeru no Ohokimi, aka Yuuryaku Tennou, and suggested that they should build a shrine to Ohonamuchi no Kami and worship him once more. This last part probably seems a bit odd.  As we'll discuss later, Soga no Iname by this point had been selected to help experiment with Buddhism and Buddhist practices, but a lot of Yamato decisions still balanced elements of practical and strategic thinking with elements of kami worship.  Without the kami on your side, there was very little that you could accomplish. This also would seem to be further evidence of links between the kami worshipped in Japan and peninsular practices.  Aston suggests there is a link here with the peninsular worship of Tankun, the legendary heavenly progenitor of Gojoseon.  Ohonamuchi, as you may recall, had ties with Izumo, but worship of Ohonamuchi may have either come from or spread to the peninsula as well.  The idea of a “Great Land Holder” seems to be a fairly nebulous and not particularly location-specific concept.  Whether or not there is a link with Tankun is, perhaps though, a tenuous assumption to make.   It seems that there was some urging by Soga no Iname to join common worship to help bring about victory, though it is unclear if Prince Kye actually took him up on this suggestion.  By this point, Baekje was fairly well immersed in Buddhism and the ruling elite were practicing Buddhists, though as we will talk about in later episodes, Buddhism doesn't necessarily require that people abandon the worship of local gods, though there often is some amount of conflict between the two. Later that year, back in Baekje, with the mourning ceremonies for the late King Seong concluded, Prince Yeochyang announced a desire to retire from the world and practice religion for the sake of his father.  This practice of taking the robes of a monk and making merit for one's father is not uncommon in some Buddhist traditions.  Certainly in Japan it became the norm for sovereigns to retire and to take Buddhist vows, but that was typically after they had reigned for some period of time—and it was rarely a full withdrawal from the world.  As it was, Yeochyang's own court protested that while it might be the filial and Buddhist thing to do, he had to also think about the state of the nation as a whole.  Instead, they suggested that he have 100 people quote unquote “enter religion”—which would seem to mean that they were forcibly tonsured—on his behalf, presumably to make merit for him and his father while he ran the country. Both the Nihon Shoki and the Samguk Sagi have something of a pause here, at least for a few years.  Baekje had received a pretty terrible defeat at the hands of Silla, and along with internal issues of getting everything back under control, it may have been a period of rebuilding.  In Yamato, they note the arrival of several succeeding envoys from Silla who were basically given the cold shoulder.  Silla seems to have then given up diplomatic relations for a while and worked, itself, to fortify its borders.  The Chroniclers of course note that this was because they feared a Yamato invasion, and there may be something to that—not so much that they feared being overrun, but historically raids by Wa sailors against the Silla coast were not uncommon occurrences. In 561 the Samguk Sagi once again notes Baekje dispatching troops to raid and plunder Silla's territory.  The Silla annals note this in 562, which may simply be the difference between when Baekje began to gather troops and when they actually attacked.  Baekje lost 1,000 soldiers in that debacle. That same year, the Samguk Sagi notes that Kara rebelled and that a Silla force was sent to put down the rebellion.  In the Nihon Shoki, it is said that Nimna was destroyed by Silla this year, and a comment included in the Nihon Shoki states that this included Kara, Ara, Saiki, Tara, Cholma, Kocchi, Chatha, Sanpanha, Kwison, and Imnye—10 states, in total.  Quoting the Tongkam, Aston says that the sources only mention Great Kara, or Daegaya. Here, again, we see confusion in the sources, but it does seem that there was some rebellion, perhaps, in the area that Silla had conquered.  According to the Nihon Shoki, Yamato sent troops to the front lines to help support Nimna against Silla, working with their ally, Baekje, who was just off their own defeat.  To compound matters, an envoy from Yamato to Baekje ended up losing a letter as well as some of the bows and arrows he was transporting along the way, and these fell into the hands of Silla, which gave them crucial intelligence on what was being planned. The Yamato generals for this endeavor were Ki no Womaro no Sukune and Kawabe no Omi no Nihe.  Ki no Womaro appears to have had some early successes, and he encouraged the troops.  Kawabe no Nihe, however, was inexperienced—apparently he was appointed because of his position in the court, rather than his military expertise. During one of the encounters with the Silla troops, he had them pinned down, and they raised a white flag, a symbol—even back then—of a desire for a ceasefire to talk terms and possibly surrender.  Nihe, however, was unaccustomed to warfare, and when he saw them wave the white flag he raised his own white flag in response, apparently thinking that it would stop the fighting.  To the Silla troops, however, it looked like he was giving up as well, and so they lowered their flag and redoubled their efforts.  Silla eventually routed the Yamato vanguard and many were injured.  Some commanders even abandoned their troops, rushing back to the safety of their own fortifications. Nihe survived, withdrawing to a nearby plain, but his troops' confidence in him as a leader was shot, and they stopped listening to him.  With little to no unit cohesion, they became easy prey for Silla forces, who rounded them all up, including the camp followers and Nihe's own wife, who was there with him.  Her name was Mumashi Hime, daughter of Sakamoto no Omi. Here I'm going to take a pause on what happened next.  Let's just say that Nihe continued his less than heroic streak and that his wife paid the price.  I'll have more in the show notes at SengokuDaimyo.com/podcast, but we really don't need to go into the gory details of it all here to get the bigger picture, as I really just want to set up what comes next. You see, in contrast to Nihe's behavior is the story of another man named Mitsugi no Kishi no Ikina.  Ikina refused to submit to Silla.  Threatening him with death the Silla commander made him remove his trousers.  He then tried to force him to humiliate himself by pointing his posterior towards Yamato and crying out, and I quote: “Yamato Generals, Bite my A**!”.  And yes, that is what the Chronicles say happened.  Apparently that phrase is more universal than one might have suspected.  Aston even makes the comment that there wasn't really a good word for “Kiss” in Old Japanese and that “Bite” was probably the equivalent for the times.  Either way, I think you get the meaning.  Anyway, even threatened with death Ikina refused to submit, and instead he cried out “Let the King of Silla Bite my A**!” Well things went downhill from there, and the Silla forces put him to death, along with his son, who had run out to comfort him.  There is a song given for his wife, Ohobako, who had also been captured with him, which comes down to us as:  “Karakuni no / Kinoe ni tatashi / Ohobako wa / Hire Furasu miyu / Naniwa ni mukite” “Standing on the walls of the country of Kara, Ohobako is seen to wave her scarf, turning towards Naniwa” In the end, the sources agree that Silla was victorious.  The rebellious regions submitted and Yamato troops withdrew. There were no more major conflicts noted with Silla after that, at least not during Ame Kunioshi's reign. There is one more martial account, however, and it immediately follows on the footsteps of the disastrous raid of 562.  Thousands of Yamato troops, working with help from Baekje and under the command of Ohotomo no Sadehiko, son of Ohotomo no Kanamura, attacked a city in Goguryeo territory where the King himself was staying.  The king fled, and Sadehiko returned with numerous items of loot.  These included a rich brocaded curtain that had been found in the king's chambers, which was gifted to the sovereign.  In addition, he gifted to Soga no Iname, the Oho-omi, and apparently the most powerful person at court at this point, two suits of armor, two swords mounted in gold, three copper bells with chasings, two flags of various colors, and a beautiful woman and her attendant, who had been captured and enslaved in the fighting.  There was also an iron building—possibly like a shrine—that had been taken from a tower in the city and which was for a while kept in Chouanji temple, but by the time that the Chroniclers were recording the Nihon Shoki nobody was quite sure where that was or what had happened to it. This seems odd to follow on to the disaster of the raid on Silla and the utter subjugation of the various states between Silla and Baekje, and it isn't referenced in the Samguk Sagi at all.  Then again, there is a general lack of any references at this point, so that may not mean as much as it seems.  It could be that this was placed here just to provide some kind of victory in the face of such a crushing defeat by Silla.  Then again, it is quite possible that Yamato and Baekje troops did use the opportunity to attack a Goguryeo that was still weakened and reeling from its losses to the Baekje Silla alliance years earlier. Speaking of which, whatever alliance Baekje and Silla may have had, the annexation of all of the Kara states by Silla had put an end to it.  Now Baekje and Silla shared a common border, with no buffer states between them.  It was clear that Silla was now Baekje's number one rival, as opposed to the weakened Goguryeo.  From the beginning of Ame Kunioshi's reign to now, whether or not Yamato had actually played a significant part in it, it was clear that the balance of power had shifted, and Silla was a rising threat. Still, Yamato had big dreams—perhaps bigger than they could accomplish on their own.  In 571, Ame Kunioshi passed away.  As he lay dying, he urged his successor, Crown Prince Nunakura Futotamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, to continue to fight to re-establish Nimna, which would become something of a causus belli through at least the reign of Toyomike Kashikiyahime, aka Suiko Tennou, with the last reference being made in the second year of Taika, or about 646, a good 75 years later.  Notably, this deathbed request is the only real mention of Nimna in the Sendai Kuji Hongi, and some of have suggested that many of the more florid embellishments may have come from about the time of Kashikiyahime, to help justify her court's own military campaigns. Based purely on the conflict over Nimna and the other states collectively known as the Kara or Gaya Confederation, it would seem like this period was a huge loss for Yamato.  And yet the close cooperation and dialogue with Baekje brought numerous gifts to the islands.  This included further teachings from the continent that would help continue to shape the Yamato court with greater and more effective technologies that would strengthen the central government.  And then there was the introduction of Buddhism, which also had come around this time, and which will be the subject of our next episode. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.

What is it to write? What roles do ceremony, beauty, and material play in the act of writing? Not only is The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon  an early classic of Japanese literature, written in the 10th century by a lady of the Heian-era court, it is also—five hundred years before Montaigne— the world's first sustained portrayal of an individual self as she lives, thinks, and feels from day to day. A genre-bending mix of poems, lists, essays, and anecdotes, Shōnagon's original work was composed on Empress-provided fine paper and expresses as much delight in the materials and physical activity of writing as in the human dramas and exquisite moments of courtly life. In this episode, Santa Fe host Krishnan Venkatesh and tutor Ron Wilson explore the power of the material conditions of writing—the handmade ink, the rare pens, the costly paper, the social culture of the highly insular court—in energizing and focusing the creator's mind. They explore the writer's love of writing as ceremonial beyond Shōnagon to Emily Dickinson, Virginia Woolf, and poet Susan Howe, writers for whom the material conditions of writing are essential for their work. From this arises a pressing contemporary question: what has been lost in today's digital world, where few material limitations exist? 

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 https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-80 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 entering Japan—it wasn't until later, as the court was adopting more and more continental ways, that Buddhism really gained acceptance and spread.  Eventually it seems that state sponsorship of temples would override the construction of large kofun, as economic resources and labor were shifted to these new institutions of the state, bringing the Kofun era to its eventual end.  But that is still down the road for us.  Right now we are just at the beginning of the introduction of Buddhism, and while things are changing and the state is definitely growing, life didn't suddenly take a turn one way or the other. As for the date of 538—why was this, in hindsight, incredibly important religious and cultural event not mentioned in the reign of Takewo?  Why was it instead mentioned in the reign of his successor? I've seen a few theories, but nothing that can concretely answer this question.  Of course, there is the possibility that Takewo just wasn't as impressive.  The Chronicles seem to take issue with both his lineage and his elder brother's, suggesting they weren't true heirs because they did not have the full pedigree that someone like their brother, Ame Kunioshi, had.  Of course, that could also have something to do with the path history took—to the Chroniclers it only made sense, but I think we can all see how that could have turned out differently. There is also a theory that Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tenno, was actually co-ruling.  Some have even suggested that Takewo and his brother, Magari no Ohine, were fictional,  though why they would need to pad things out is anybody's guess.  It certainly does not seem unreasonable to think that some tradition of co-rulership had briefly continued in some form.  As such, it may be that it did happen during Ame Kunioshi's reign, but that said reign overlapped with his brother.  If that were the case, the Chroniclers may have been teasing the two apart to provide a more direct narrative. In the end, it is hard to know exactly why the dates don't correspond between the different documents, but for our part I think we can say that we have now at least dipped our toes into the Asuka Period, especially as we get into the reign of Takewo's younger step-brother, the youngest son of Wohodo no Ohokimi, or so we are told:  Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa, aka Kimmei Tennou But that will be for another episode, and there is so much to talk about:  More contact with the continent, further discussion of the coming of Buddhism, and perhaps a look at some of the archaeology, including some volcanic events that don't seem to have made it into the Chronicles themselves.  All of that, coming up. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.    

Join us as we look at one of the world's first novels - written by a woman! - bringing to life the poetic, alluring, and amorous world of Japan's Heian Court. 1000 years later, we are still learning about the forbidden world behind the silk curtain!Show Notes: https://www.thepithychronicle.com/resourceshttps://www.tiktok.com/@thepithychroniclershttps://www.instagram.com/the.pithy.chronicle/

Within a decade, Heian-kyo would undergo multiple possessions by both the Northern and Southern Court. As Ashikaga Yoshimitsu is installed as the third Shogun, his regent Hosokawa Yoriyuki solidifies the Bakufu's status as a legitimate funcitoning government.Support the show

Kodaishu - Days of Yore Show Notes Andy and Jim explore the very oldest kinds of sake in search of the real roots. From drunken serpents to monkly brews, we look at the earliest records of sake to see how it developed in the olden days. Vocabulary from this episode Sumizake - An ancient kind of filtered sake. No one knows for sure how they filtered it. Dakushu / Doburoku / Nigorizake - all the same kanji, all meaning “cloudy/muddied sake.” Heian Period - 794-1185 Goshu - An ancient sake brewed in the Heian. Kojibuai 28.6%, water absorption 77% (Modern koji 22%, mizubuai 135% ) Goishu - Another ancient Heian sake. 1 dan jikomi brewed from late August into september. 28.6% kojibuai and mizubuai of 51.4% (very very low). SMV -80-100. The low water content prevented spoilage. Kamakura - 1185-1333 Rise of private breweries, people drank too much, banned. Muromachi 1336-1573 Azuchi-Momoyama 1568-1603 Edo Period 1603-1867 Tamonin Nikki (Tamon temple chronicles) from 1478 to 1618 Recommended Sake Andy - Sawa no Tsuru Kimoto Honjozo Jim - Daruma Masamune 10 year koshu

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This week, we're unpacking a rather odd classic of Japanese literature: the Ise Monogatari, a collection of short tales that are probably about a famously seductive aristocrat, but which were in large part not written by him--and which have oddly political meanings given their often lascivious nature. What are the tales about? And what can we glean from reading them today? Show notes here.

This week: what does the historical record have to say about the veracity of the image of the warrior-monk, or sohei, that is so pervasive in pop cultural understandings of medieval Japan? Show notes here.