Yakumotatsu Izumo Part 2

This episode finishes our brief look at Izumo.  There is a lot more that people could dig into, but this will give us the broad strokes through the Kofun period, up to roughly the period of the Chronicles.

For more go to: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-20

Rough Transcript

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 20:  Yakumotatsu Izumo, Part 2.

Before we get started, a big thank you to Fabian for your generous support on Ko-Fi.  If you would like to join them, you can find a link to our KoFi site on our web page, sengokudaimyo.com or go straight to our Kofi site:  KoFi.com/sengokudaimyo.

So last episode we covered a lot of the background of Izumo—and if you haven’t listened to that one, you may want to for an appreciation of the geography of the area that we are talking about.  Still, in this episode, I have to warn you up front, it is a bit of a jumbled mess.  I mean I’ve tried to put the information together as best I can, but there are a lot of gaps and assumptions that we have to make because the record just isn’t that clear.  Furthermore, many times we just can’t be sure when a particular earthwork or feature was created, except in broad terms.  My hope isn’t to give you a full history of Izumo, here, but rather just a glimpse at what was happening, so that later, when we see what is going on in the chronicles you have some point of reference.

By the way, if you are really intrigued by Izumo, I highly recommend reading some of the references we have on the Podcast blog and doing some research of your own.  This area of study is still being developed as more and more information comes to light.  Izumo clearly was an important in the early days, and in fact there was recently an exhibit at the Tokyo National Museum focused on the relationship between Izumo and Yamato

All that said, here’s a bit of what we know, with a little bit of recap from last episode:

Today, Izumo seems like a relatively distant and isolated territory, but it plays a rather large part in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, particularly in the Age of the Gods.  Over time we’ve come to see that there is a lot more to Izumo than meets the eye, with sizeable Yayoi settlements and caches of bronze weapons that dwarf other finds on the archipelago.  They were definitely a player, connected via land and sea trade routes to groups throughout the islands and the mainland.  But were they, as depicted in the story of Ohokuninushi, the masters of all the land?

Well, not quite, at least based on the evidence we have—certainly not in the Yayoi period.  There is even some question of whether or not there was any one central authority in Izumo itself.  While there was a strong, flourishing culture, the distribution of burial mounds across the Izumo cultural Zone doesn’t point to a single, central power overseeing anything. 

Still, they were clearly an important point on the Japan Sea trade routes, and would remain such for years to come, as they were particularly suited to maritime trade.  In fact, by the third century, most of the archipelago, from at least Kyushu to Kanto, was part of a complex network of trade relationships that extended all the way to the Korean peninsula. This included those areas in the Izumo cultural zone.  These trade links would allow for the transmission of news, culture, and religion, just as they helped spread Izumo Culture, which may account for stories of Ohonamuchi—or some aspect of him—being found in so many places across the archipelago.

That said, while Ohonamuchi’s shrine, Izumo Taisha may have been an important religious site, possibly drawing in people from around the Izumo Cultural Zone and possibly even beyond, that doesn’t appear to have translated into clear secular authority outside of the Izumo Plain.  This is probably an accident of geography as much as anything else.  The lands of Izumo were largely disconnected, either by the mountains that separated the various alluvial plains or by ocean waters, in the case of the Oki Islands or even the distant lands of Koshi no Kuni, whose name comes from the word “Kosu”, “to go beyond”—as in going beyond the borders of most of the Wa states, indicating Hokuriku region and even farther than that—up to Tohoku and the border lands with the Emishi in the north.

So what does it mean if there is no clear central authority, yet the Wei Chronicles claim that the land of Touma—which we are assuming is Izumo—has a governor and deputy—the Mimi and Miminari?  How could there have been a single governor over all of this?

Well, just because we have separate elites in these various areas doesn’t mean that there wasn’t someone designated to oversee larger, regional affairs.  There may have been someone with status and position—particularly in the middle of the third century—who could speak for the various settlements in matters pertaining to outsiders.  This may have been someone put forth by and chosen by the other elites, much as Himiko appears to have been chosen by others in the islands.  Possibly, the translation should read more along the lines of “the governors are called “Mimi” and their second-in-commands are called ‘Miminari’”, indicating that these are general titles.  Still, one would have expected the chroniclers to remark on such a setup if they knew about it.

Expanding on this line of thinking, it occurs to me that you don’t necessarily need to have despotic sovereignty to represent Yamato.  While the Chinese chronicles harp on the harsh rules and punishments in the islands, they present Himiko as less of a tyrant and more of a shaman, and we certainly know that there was a close tie between religion and the Yamato sovereigns.  Not only did they claim descent from the kami, but many of the shrines were effectively extensions of the sovereign’s rule.  So when we talk about “Kings” and “Chieftains” we need to be careful not to assume too much of a Western European or even Chinese bent. 

In this system, there may not have been firm centralized control, and this fits with later Japanese forms of government.  Even the Tokugawa shogunate remained in place largely because no single daimyo could challenge its power, and no daimyo trusted the others sufficiently to band together.  When that finally happened, and Choshu and Satsuma banded together, the Tokugawa fell.

That would seem to match with what we know of Himiko’s reign.  Though little direct evidence appears in Izumo, the Chinese chronicles talk of a period of turmoil, from which the Yamato state emerged as the most powerful on the archipelago.  Even if Izumo resisted, Himiko likely had control of most of the shipping lanes. If you wanted to trade with the mainland, you had to at least play nice with the Yamato court.  On the other hand, Izumo, being on the other side of the mountains, did not directly threaten Yamato’s trade and commerce.

Personally I suspect that, at least in the 3rd century, Yamato and Izumo were in something of an alliance.  Izumo was not as organized as Yamato, and it had different cultural norms—though perhaps not so different as to prevent an alliance.  And Yamato had ambitions.  It was at the westernmost edge of a cultural zone that included the modern cities of Kyoto and Nagoya, and likely had allies along the Pacific coast of the Kanto all the way to Tohoku.  By the 3rd century they had close ties with the cultures of the Seto Inland Sea and Northern Kyushu, not to mention the lands near Busan on the southeastern tip of the Korean peninsula.  These trade routes, combined with the natural agricultural wealth of the Nara basin and adjacent regions gave them a tremendous amount of clout in the islands.

Meanwhile, the Izumo cultural zone had made it through the 2nd century, during and after the turmoil that the Chinese chroniclers say wracked the country, with a confederation of chiefdoms along the Japan sea coast with similar traditions and language but their own independent authorities —though likely some regional organization.  New land had been claimed through successful agriculture, and generally the settlements were not in direct competition with one another, but were sharing resources. Each chiefdom covered a large alluvial plain region, and these were united under a ruler—male or female—or perhaps a ruling pair.   These chiefs might even have been considered sovereigns—kings and queens—at least within their territory—though again, we want to be careful about assuming they acted in any way as European royalty might.  They were probably the landholders—the Na-mochi—and the masters of their small countries—the Kuni Nushi. They might have taken on the title of Kimi—or perhaps Mimi.  They lived in communities made up of a combination of pit houses dug into the earth and other buildings, including storehouses, watch towers, and even other houses, perhaps the residences of the elite.  These latter buildings may have been built above the ground on raised posts.  Two large features dominated these early communities.  In amongst their dwellings sat larger, taller above-ground buildings, raised up on a grid of 9 pillars.  As with the Taisha style architecture, people most likely entered through the gabled side of the building, and held events of both religious and political significance.

These religious bonds may be another intangible relationship, through which the elites may have garnered and granted prestige with one another.  Links between various chieftains may have had implications for trade but also for prestige.  Though we talk about the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki incorporating the various religious traditions across the archipelago, who’s to say that this wasn’t simply continuing a trend of syncretism tied to the theocratic positions of those in power?

Another major feature of these early communities are the burial mounds, which might have been in their own area of the settlement—perhaps even another area on the plain, entirely.  These mounds, with their four protruding corners, are the resting places of the elites of the community, and as the years went on they acquired fresh, new burials, until it became physically or politically necessary to build a new mound.

Now these communities were well aware of their neighbors.  They were part of these trading networks throughout the archipelago and the mainland; Independent, but not insular.  They no doubt operated under a series of norms that we may never really know or understand, at  least, not beyond the glimpses we get in the Chinese records; and they may have been driven, perhaps, by the same cooperation that wet rice paddy agriculture had fostered in people since its arrival.

Chaos in parts of the archipelago—even if it didn’t directly affect the Izumo chiefdoms—would have been a disruption to trade and therefore a destabilizing factor, at the very least.  That may have led the region—or at least some in the region—to support Yamato’s dealings with the Wei, or at least not obstruct them.  It may also have been a reason for members of the cultural zone to join together to take military action, at times, and may have even been a driving force to join the Yamato coalition—even if as a more peripheral member.

As for what Yamato got out of the deal:  Izumo had access to the trade routes along the Japan Sea.  This could bypass the Seto Inland Sea trade routes.  Whether they wanted to use them or simply have a say over the competition, I couldn’t really say.  The communities of Izumo show no clear indication that they had the grand ambitions towards the mainland, that Yamato had, but it would better support Himiko’s cause if there was at least an appearance of unity.  How such cooperation was obtained, however, is still unknown. 

Of course, it also could be the case that Izumo *had* no connection with Yamato.  The Wei may have known about Izumo because of trade routes, and simply listed it as another well-known location, not intending it as an actual stop on their ancient itinerary.

And as for Izumo’s connection to the cult of Mt. Miwa—originally Mt. Mimoro—Yamato could have built that connection any time between the 1st to 4th centuries, really.  To me, the information in the Chronicles, location of the Makimuku palace, as well as other local features suggest that the connection between the Miwa cult and the Kizuki, or Izumo Taisha, cult came about fairly early on.  Whether the result of some sort of early marriage politics, or a deliberate conflation of the deities to provide a more explicit religious connection, I’m not sure, but I highly suspect that the connection came about well before the deity of Miwa was replaced by the goddess Amaterasu and her shrine at Ise as the chief deity of the Yamato court.

And we should consider one more thing:  That the relationship between Izumo and Yamato may have been more properly of a type of “tributary” nature, with Yamato creating bonds through gifts. Specifically, gifts from Yamato were sent out to various local leaders, which may have, in turn, boosted their status, locally.  This could explain how Yamato never really had control – they maintained an ability to claim some status, but politically they were still left in a shaky position.  This fits, in my opinion at least, with the mirrors that were distributed from the various Chinese embassies, later.  After all, despite their interventions on the mainland, the archaeological evidence does not clearly demonstrate that Yamato itself expanded much beyond its own borders until the 5th century or so.  That means that Yamato remained essentially in its original location for about as long as the United States has been a country.  That’s a lot of time for alliances to shift, change, break down, and be built up once again.  Unfortunately, we only get the broad strokes of this story in the archaeological record so far.

But let’s talk a little bit more about Yamato.

Now even if you are a die-hard proponent of the Kyushu theory – that is, that Queen Himiko’s Yamatai was actually in Kyushu, and that Yamato was an entirely different state in the Kinki region.  Even they cannot deny that by the 3rd century there is a thriving community in Yamato, and the finds at Makimuku, in modern Nara prefecture, certainly seem to suggest that it was the center of a lot of activity.  One of the most lasting physical marks upon the landscape that attests to Yamato’s power and existence are the keyhole shaped kofun—the Zenpou-Kouen-fun.

Now the kofun, or ancient tumuli, are burial mounds, similar, in some ways, to the funkyuubo, or Yayoi period burial mounds.  However, while the funkyubo were elite burial mounds for multiple people—either separate generations or perhaps those who were somehow connected—the kofun tomb mounds were built for only one or two people, generally. 

Just stop and think about that.  While the previous elites organized labor so they could be buried in a separate, monumental location, this was now being done for only one person.  And the size quickly dwarfed previous burial mounds.

Now the oldest kofun that we know of is probably Hokenoyama Kofun in, where else?  Sakurai City, near Makimuku.  The massive Hashihaka Kofun, considered the first true round keyhole shaped kofun, follows shortly after. Round keyhole shaped kofun have a shape like a keyhole: one end is round, but then the other side flares out into a trapezoidal structure such that the whole think looks like a giant keyhole from above.  In Japanese this is described as Zenpou-Kouen, or “Angular Front and Round Back”.  Technically accurate, but not nearly as distinctive.  Anyway, the shape is often emphasized by a moat around the structure, and possibly earthworks. 

The Hokenoyama Kofun is similar, but the trapezoid is much smaller than the keyhole shape, and so it is actually classified as a scallop shaped kofun, more like a scallop shell.  This shape would appear from time to time and is considered the forerunner to the round keyhole shape.  Hokenoyama is about 80 meters or so in length, and originally had two burial chambers, with a third added much later, for some reason.  It was probably built in the 3rd century—I’ve seen dates as early as 230, which would put it only a few years prior to Himiko’s missions to China.  Could this, then, be the resting place of her predecessor?  Or perhaps it was built at the beginning of her reign and she was interred there later?  Either way, some intriguing speculation. 

In comparison, Hashihaka kofun was built later in that same 3rd century, about the year 250, also in the same area.  It is a true keyhole shaped tomb, and likely the model for those that came afterwards.  In fact, I recommend just going to Google Maps, turn on Satellite View, and search for Hashihaka.  You should see it clearly along with several other kofun in the area.  That distinctive keyhole shape became the shape for members of the Yamato polity, and they are our key indicator as to whether or not we consider that a particular area was part of the early Yamato state.

Regardless of who is buried where—and I really do hope that one of these days we’ll be able to get more information on that question—the two tombs of Hokenoyama and Hashihaka signify the beginning of something new.  Because you see, this isn’t a tradition the Yamato sovereigns keep to themselves.  Rather, this idea of building individual tomb mounds for various rulers and people of import becomes a fad that travels well beyond Yamato’s borders.

In fact, in Izumo, our oldest kofun appears to be in Shiotsuyama, in modern day Yasugi, overlooking the Nogi plain in Eastern Izumo.  This kofun was probably built somewhere in the mid-3rd and early 4th centuries—so after the time of Himiko—but using a mix of Yamato and Izumo burial practices.  Unlike the Yamato-style round keyhole tombs, it had a shape similar to the protruding corners of the four-cornered burial mounds, with some evidence of pronounced corners still remaining, but it was otherwise just a large rectangular tomb, with only one burial.  As with other early tumuli and other burial mounds, they dug a pit straight into the top of the tomb mound and covered with a stone roof.  This would be the norm for burial chambers in the early part of the Kofun period in Izumo and beyond.

The fact that this is a square shaped tumulus and not a keyhole shaped tomb, like those that Yamato is known for, suggests that, though the local Izumo elites may have been borrowing the idea of a monumental tomb from their neighbors to the south, they were still independent.  They used a mix of techniques—keeping up with the Tarous, as it were, but in Izumo’s own style.  After all, if Yamato was going to start building monumental tombs, then so would Izumo.  It’s just a good thing nobody had any bridges to jump off of or the whole thing could have escalated. 

This also indicate something that we already knew from the Yayoi period:  the Nogi plain was clearly a happening place, but we have no clear evidence that it was part of the greater Yamato polity, beyond the mention in the Wei Chronicles.  So they were likely still doing their own thing in Izumo, even if they were part of a larger political coalition.  Some have even suggested that they were only briefly vassals of the Yamato, but then regained a sense of independence.

Now these square kofun, or houfun, in the Izumo region were not quite as large as the keyhole shaped tombs of Yamato, but they were still impressive.  In the coming years, they built more and more along the Nogi plain, with the largest being part of the Tsukuriyama cluster. 

The largest kofun of the Tsukuriyama cluster, in Nogi, has sides about 60 meters long, and was likely built in the early 4th century.  Because of its square size and height—about 4 and a half meters tall—it is also incredibly massive.  It must have taken incredible efforts to mobilize the labor that went in to building it, and there is, strangely, no evidence of extreme coercion.  Similar to the pyramids of Egypt, these tumuli do not appear to have been built by slave labor but by the same forces that drew labor from one community to help build irrigation for another, just now on a different scale.  Clearly it wasn’t only the elites, but also the people who had some inclination that these tombs were an important part of who they were as a people.

Over the next century, the people built more kofun, mostly of the square type that seems to be so peculiar to Izumo.  The area was still divided into various groups in the different valleys, and the Nogi Plain area seems to have prospered the most.  Indications of Yamato’s hegemony are present, but only just, especially when compared to the communities of Kibi and Northern Kyushu, where clusters of large Yamato-style keyhole tumuli can be found.  The Izumo style Houfun, though square in shape, internally does show similarities to the kofun in Yamato, though.  Some of the kofun even show a connection in their grave goods, and in both directions—some of the clay figures found in other areas of the archipelago are identified as having been made in Izumo.

Now one of the interesting indications of the connection between Yamato and Izumo sits in Western Izumo, along the reaches of the Hii river, at small shrine called Kanbara Jinja.  This shrine is actually built on top of an old tomb mound, an old square kofun.  In fact, there are quite a few shrines that found themselves atop these tomb mound; perhaps as the occupant’s memory was carried forward, they lost their mortal status and were equated with a kami.  Regardless of how the shrine got there, when this particular kofun was examined they found that it contained a mirror with an actual date inscribed on it that suggests it was made about 239—right around the time that Yamato traveled to the Wei court.

The Kanbara Jinja Kofun was probably constructed around the early 4th century—within a century from the time the mirror came back from the mainland—but still, this indicates that someone in Izumo wound up with a mirror from Himiko’s collection.  So they had to have some connection back to the Yamato court, and quite likely a subservient one, at least from Yamato’s perspective.  The mirror clearly had significance to be buried with such an elite member of society.  On the other hand, this kofun was not built as one of the Round Keyhole tombs that were so often used by the Yamato court, so in all likelihood, this person was either outside the Yamato court structure or held a low rank.  The general assumption being that tomb shape and size were impacted by one’s lineage and place in Yamato’s hierarchy.  Of course, for those on the periphery, I can’t help but wonder if other factors were in play as well.

Now, besides Kanbara Jinja, we also see connections to Yamato on the far eastern edge of our range, in Eastern Tottori.  Sitting on a ridge over the West Tottori Interchange, between the Nosaka and Sendai Rivers, is what was originally thought to be a round kofun, but which has since been confirmed to actually be one of the round keyhole shaped mounds, such as those found down in Yamato.  It turns out this kofun, known as Motodaka Kofun, may be the oldest keyhole shaped kofun found in the San’in region—that area on the Japan Sea side of the mountains in Western Honshu.  Motodaka Kofun, as well as Kanbara Jinja Kofun, are both thought to be products of the early 4th century.  By then, Himiko had passed away, as had her immediate successors—an unnamed male ruler and then a woman named Iyo, a 14-year old relative of Himiko.  These early rulers in Yamato handed out the bronze mirrors they had received from the Chinese court, and they would later be found in burials throughout the archipelago.  In the fourth century, beadwork from the Korean peninsula—particularly the area of Pon-Kaya—made its way into these tombs as well.  Not surprising, as this was the period when Yamato and the people of the peninsula were actively supporting groups on the mainland.

You see, on the Korean Peninsula, in the early 4th century, Koguryeo attacked and finally defeated Daifang and the Lelang commandery.  The kingdom of Baekje developed a stratified culture of their own, and the chiefdoms in Jinhan were coming together to form Silla, distinguishing themselves from the Gaya confederacy, to their south. The peninsula also had its own mounded tomb culture—a culture that likely influenced the archipelago.  Yamato would spend the next fifty years or so embroiled in conflicts with various allies on the peninsula, with constantly shifting allegiances and loyalties.  Were Izumo soldiers there as well?  Did they answer the call when Yamato levied troops to go to the continent?  Or did they sit on the back side of their mountains, dealing more with their own internal struggles?  It is hard to tell, but the keyhole tomb at Motodaka does appear to indicate that there were at least some who were loyal to Yamato and offered it service—possibly military service at that.  This trend continued in Eastern and Central Tottori, where many more round keyhole tombs would be built in the following centuries.

Meanwhile, Eastern Izumo and the Nogi Plain still seems to have supported the largest and most prosperous site in the area, including the 60m long Oonari Kofun and Tsukuriyama Kofun—the most massive kofun in the region, if not the archipelago.  These are remarkable for their size and their shape—it must have taken a massive number of people from the area, and possibly beyond, to build such monumental tombs.  If they were part of the Yamato polity, would such an effort have been used for someone who wasn’t to be buried in the Royal Yamato fashion?  Whoever was in charge in the Nogi area, they must have been living pretty well, for the period, and they weren’t quite drinking the Yamato Kool-Aid.

That said, the Yamato style round keyhole tomb style tumuli did make some inroads across the Izumo cultural Zone in the 4th century:  There is Oodera Kofun on the Izumo plain, thought to be the oldest round keyhole tomb there, and even kofun such as Kamimaruyama on the Nogi plain, which may have been built as early as the 4th century.  But these were interspersed with other types of burials and tumuli of various shapes—particularly on the Nogi plain.  What are we to make of this other than there were some connections to Yamato, but for the most part Izumo remained on the periphery?  This matches up with a court that was embroiled in politics on the Korean peninsula and also seeing some turmoil at home; some time in the 4th century, you see, the court abandoned its site in Makimuku, for reasons that are not entirely clear.  In later periods these kinds of moves were often made when a sovereign died, presumably to avoid any spiritual pollution surrounding their death, though possibly also linked with some sort of political realignment. 

And so the 4th century was one of dynamic growth and change.  The rise of the mounded tomb culture in the archipelago affected the Izumo region, but of course with its own distinct flair.  Conflict on the peninsula sent various groups of exiles to the islands, where they would settle in, often becoming influential in their new home.  They settled across the islands, including Izumo, and they brought the technical innovations, particularly in the ways of working iron.  These immigrant smiths appear to have settled in the mountains, and may have brought some of the stories and traditions that we associate with the god Susanowo, possibly explaining his connections with Silla.

During all of this time, communities in Izumo proper kept up their independent streak, but more and more other parts of the Izumo Cultural Zone appear to have adopted the round keyhole tumuli—and presumably they thus came more and more under the sway of the Yamato court.  Besides the tombs in Central and Eastern Tottori, they also appear in the Oki islands.  We even see round keyhole tombs as the dominant style on the Izumo plain, though the number of tombs that could be considered “royal” is much fewer than elsewhere, possibly indicating that Western Izumo may have been subordinate to the chieftains in Eastern Izumo through much of this period.   Over time, more and more of the Yamato style kofun also appear in the area of modern Yonago, until only the area of Eastern Izumo continued to exert their independence. Eventually, even the Nogi plain and areas east of the Ou plain, around the Nakaumi, largely adopted the Yamato style. 

Of course, it wasn’t just keyhole shaped tombs that make an appearance.  We mentioned square tombs, or houfun, and there were also round tombs and even some scalloped shape tombs similar to Hokenoyama.  We also see a new and different type of Kofun start to arise that is of particular interest, one that we might refer to as the “square keyhole”.  This generally mimics the Yamato keyhole shape, but instead of a round end, where the burial pit is typically placed, these use a square shape, not unlike the houfun that grew out of the earlier four-cornered burial mounds.  It is suspected that this shape was chosen as it was similar to the Yamato style, but not exactly, thus it would have been clear of any potential conflict with edicts from the Yamato court.

“What was that?  Who gave us permission to build a keyhole shaped tomb?  What are you talking about?  As anyone can see, this is *square* tomb mound, and we just put a little extra bit on it.  It is totally different.”

You know, like the Duracell and Energizer bunnies—completely different pink rabbits used to hawk batteries.  I’m sure any similarities are just a complete coincidence.

I should note that Eastern Izumo wasn’t the only place to use this kind of a square keyhole kofun shape.  In fact, they aren’t even unique to the San’in region.  The oldest kofun in the square keyhole tradition actually comes from the modern prefecture of Aichi, in Ichinomiya city, northwest of Nagoya, and later there are monumental square keyhole tombs built in the Yamato area as well.  Whether or not this was actually a predecessor to the tombs of Izumo or simply a parallel development, though, is difficult for me to say—but the point is that this idea was not unique to Eastern Izumo. 

Moving on to the 5th century, these trends continue in the archaeological record, and at the same time, the Chronicles start getting more and more trustworthy the closer we get to the time of their writing, though they still aren’t 100% accurate.  

According to them, Yamato was being ruled by the Great Lord Wakatakeru, also known to history by his 8th century posthumous title: Yuryaku Tenno.  He is also known from the records of China’s Liu Song dynasty as “Bu” the King of Yamato.  “Bu”, you see, is the Chinese reading of the character for “Takeru”, and along with some other evidence provides us a bit of validation for Yuryaku’s existence and rough regnal dates.

Now the story of Yuryaku gives an idea of where things stood in Yamato at this time.  Even while they were expanding their influence, the Yamato court was hardly peaceful.  Yuryaku was the youngest son of his father, and when his eldest brother, Ankou Tennou was murdered—yes, you heard that right, murdered—all hell broke loose.  Yuryaku eventually triumphed over his brothers and took the throne, as confirmed by the Chinese chronicles.

There are many or stories about Yuryaku that I’m sure we’ll get to in the podcast, but important to us is that during his reign, Yamato and Kibi were in conflict with one another.  This may be part of how Eastern Izumo was able to thrive so well without a great deal of interference from the central authorities.  That didn’t mean that Izumo was out from under Yamato’s thumb entirely, though, only that it had room to breathe.

I would note that the Chronicles do not treat Yuryaku well, claiming that he was “ungovernable” and excessively cruel.  Even after his death, which was probably around 502, according to the Chinese Chronicle, conflict continued, and his successor, Ohodo, aka Keitai Tenno, had to put a stop to it through military force.  This included the rebellion of Tsukushi no Iwai, a powerful governor in Kyushu, who rebelled in 527.

Clearly Yamato was busy.  Nonetheless, Izumo was not entirely ignored.  The Chronicles tell us that during this time Yamato was “guarding” the sacred regalia from various shrines around the country—to include Kizuki Taisha, aka Izumo Taisha, among several others.  The Nihon Shoki states that these treasures were kept safe in Isonokami shrine, down in the Nara Basin.  Were these treasures given freely or taken?  Were they kept in a place of honor, or were they effectively held hostage?  And when did Yamato acquire them?  Was it back in the 1st and 2nd centuries, during the activities attributed to Sujin Tenno, who is said to have initiated worship of Ohomononushi at Mt. Miwa?  It is unclear, but it could make some sense.

As the 6th century got under way, Western Izumo was building their round keyhole tombs and Eastern Izumo was largely continuing with their square keyhole tradition, though that would change over time, with more and more round keyholes showing up in the record over the course of the 6th century.  One aspect of the difference between Western Izumo and Eastern Izumo, besides the shape of the kofun, was consistency.  Eastern Izumo appears to have had much more variability in kofun shape, which would fit with their more independent style.  Western Izumo, on the other hand, appears to have fallen in line with Yamato tradition and the burials tend to be much more standard and common—though many fewer of them, at least at the quote-unquote “royal” scale.  In both cases, there are still items and artifacts that are uniquely Izumo, so Yamato had not yet broken their spirit completely.

I’d like to take this moment to also note a change in the way that kofun were built.  While the shapes remained fairly consistent, internal features changed over time.  Early on, many of the tombs consisted of a large mound with what was effectively a vertical burial—the main burial chamber was simply a pit, lined with large stones, and it was then covered with more stones and then the dirt and earth of the kofun.  Later, though, we see horizontal chambers, sometimes with stones used to block egress.  This may indicate a change in the burial procedures, including the ritual practices that having to do with scattering the remains and moving the various offerings to prevent the spirits of the dead from coming back to haunt the living.  This also appears to be the genesis of much of the imagery that we see having to do with the Land of the Dead in the legends and myths—such as the stories of Izanagi and Izanami or even Amaterasu’s own rock cave.  That isn’t to say that those deities were “new” in this period, but it shows how the stories may have changed as people’s relationship with death and its associated rituals changed, as well.  Thus many of the features in the “oldest” part of the Chronicles may actually be rather anachronistic, which, again, makes it hard to make concrete assertions about how the myths and legends might translate into actual history, customs, and traditions of any but the 8th centuries authors who were compiling them.

Another feature of these tombs is the coffin.  These are categorized in various shapes, from a simple box, to a boat shape, and a house shape, among others.  The manufacturing of these coffins can be linked to various other parts of the archipelago, or at least they were produced in styles that have a link to other locations, including as far afield as Kyushu, providing us some more glimpses into the intricate web that connected everything.

Now around this time, during the early 6th century, the center of influence appears to have shifted from Nogi slightly westward to the Ou Plain, which would be the administrative center of Izumo by the time the Chronicles themselves were written, and where we also see some of the greatest variability in kofun shape—particularly among those believed to house the remains of the regional elites.  This shift in the political gravity appears to have actually started around the end of the 5th century and continued in the 6th.

In concert with all of this, we have evidence that the priests at Izumo Taisha—who may have been related to the chieftains coming to power on the Ou plain—were sending tribute to the Great King, or Ookimi, of Yamato, and those rulers were returning the favor, providing their patronage to the shrine.

Whatever political machinations may have been happening, by 540, the leaders of Izumo, the Izumo no Omi, were attending the Yamato Court, and it seems that after this we see fewer square keyhole tombs that can be easily dated to after this period—though there are plenty where it is unclear just when they were built.

Over all, it seems there are about 17 square keyhole tombs identified in Eastern Izumo with lengths between 50 and 70 meters, and even more smaller tumuli, which had been built largely between the 4th and 6th centuries.  These are not nearly as large as the very largest round keyhole tombs in Yamato and Kibi—which, after all, are assumed to be the “royal” tombs.  Still, respectable, nonetheless.

The kofun would continue to be built until about the 7th century.  By then, Buddhism had arrived, and this new religion quickly spread throughout the archipelago, including Izumo, and it seems that kofun were abandoned in favor of new, Buddhist rituals.  By 733, there are more than a few new temples noted in the Fudoki.

At this time, Izumo was still powerful, but clearly operating in a subordinate position to the sovereigns in Yamato.  Still, the Izumo no Omi were able to maintain their position, such that they continued to run the show in Izumo, even under a unified Yamato court.  They maintained traditional privileges and even their title.  All of this speaks to the idea that Izumo must have kept some measure of independence—something we will see as we continue with the Chronicles.

So, whew.  That was a lot, and it is messy, confusing, and admittedly full of conjecture.  So to sum it up: What we know for certain is that around the 3rd and 4th century, the people of the Izumo cultural zone left behind the practice of their distinctive “four cornered burial mounds” and joined in with the practice of large, mounded tombs for their elites.  Early tombs followed in the tradition of their squarish burial mounds, and some of most impressive mound in the region actually followed that local design.

Meanwhile, the influence of Yamato, in the Nara basin, grew.  It spread through the regions of Central and Eastern Tottori—the 8th century provinces of Inaba and Houki—and eventually to the rest of the region.  In the last hold-out, Eastern Izumo maintained a mix of kofun styles for several centuries, but by the latter half of the 6th century the traditional rulers of Izumo were clearly a part of the Yamato court.  Still, they had enough political might to maintain some power in their local region, though whether it came from their ties to Izumo Taisha and other important shrines or because of secular power as an important trading port or some other factor, we cannot be certain—perhaps some hints shall be found in the chronicles as we move forward.

That they maintained as much independence as they did is impressive.  They were not crushed, like others who were seen as outside of the Yamato polity—the Tsuchigumo, the Kumaso, or the Hayato, for example.  But they did eventually accede to the rule of the Yamato sovereigns.  For their troubles, their gods and stories appear to have found a particular place of honor in the pantheon of the new Japanese state that was created, even if they are found in a subordinate position—though there is an argument that they were actually in a superior position vis a vis the cult of Miwa until the Ise cult gained dominance in the late 7th and 8th centuries.

Perhaps future historians and archaeologists will shed more light and better illuminate just how this process came about.  For now, I hope that it gives you some reference points as we proceed with the chronicles.  I mean, clearly, as we go into the story of how the Imperial Grandson was given power over the archipelago, we can see how that story was created for the benefit of the Yamato line.  And going forward, as we encounter Izumo in the record we can have some thought into just how complex the issues were—issues that are largely glossed over or ignored in favor of a more straightforward narrative.

But that will be covered in the future episodes.  Until then, thank you for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have a few photos, maps, and some more discussion on this episode.  Questions or comments?  Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.

That’s all for now.  Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.