Pathway to Japanese Literature

First: Preliminary Remarks

Before critiquing the Amatsu Kyo ancient documents, I wish to explain two points: through what circumstances I became aware of Amatsu Kyo’s existence, and out of what necessity I have come to critique these documents.

At the end of May 1928, two believers of Amatsu Kyo visited my humble residence, presented me with photographs of their sacred treasures, and urged me to make a pilgrimage to their headquarters in Isohara, Ibaraki Prefecture.
I glanced at the photographs, perceived the deceitfulness of the originals, and thought it utterly outrageous, but refrained from arguing and sent them home calmly.
However, perceiving that one of the principal figures was an influential financial backer, and thinking of this individual’s future, I promptly put my humble views regarding the photographs into writing and informed them of the reasons why Amatsu Kyo warranted caution.
Since there was no subsequent response, it remains unclear how much this warning took effect.

When Amatsu Kyo affiliates underwent questioning by the Metropolitan Police Department in December 1930, I believe they should have thoroughly investigated the delusional and frenzied alterations those individuals had imposed upon imperial history and meted out severe punishment. However, it appeared such thorough measures were not implemented, for even thereafter, Amatsu Kyo—undaunted by the crackdown—continued its propaganda efforts, citing Syrian stones and pyramid-like mountains as supporting evidence while increasingly attempting to spread its pathological delusions.
I found this utterly distasteful, but as there were many others in society conducting propaganda even more inappropriate than Amatsu Kyo’s, one could not possibly confront each and every one.
However, last August, I was asked by Japan Medical News to investigate the historical value of the Amatsu Kyo Ancient Documents.
The Amatsu Kyo Ancient Documents were said to be vast in number, but presuming nonbelievers would not easily be permitted to view them, I first embarked on examining five of the seven photographs in my possession that pertained to ancient documents.
Through studying these five photographs alone, I arrived at the conclusion that not only these five but all Amatsu Kyo Ancient Documents were entirely recent forgeries, utterly without merit.
I conveyed this conclusion to the client; though decisive in meaning, the phrasing remained abstract.
The reason for abstract phrasing lay in avoiding risks—scenes such as pursuit and eradication might agitate public sentiment—and here too I sought similar caution.
However, shortly thereafter at a certain place with which I was involved, through military personnel’s urging when arranging an ideological guidance lecture, I was made to listen to a talk employing Amatsu Kyo doctrines.
At this point, treating Amatsu Kyo as a fire on the opposite shore became impossible.
Moreover, recalling that the individual who initially directed two believers to me had been a naval admiral—and considering Amatsu Kyo’s nature—I began suspecting it might possess relatively many adherents among military personnel; a brief investigation confirmed this.
Given this, it required little imagination to infer how that delusional fantasy had come to infest their ranks—a matter of grave concern.
If their gradual infiltration were not prevented now, it would inevitably provoke conflict with sound ideologies and thereby harm society—or so I feared.
Even should this prove mere groundless anxiety, we still needed to ascertain Amatsu Kyo’s true value beforehand and ensure clarity when confronting the matter.
Herein I once again resolved to critique the Amatsu Kyo Ancient Documents and—through methods previously deemed unworthy—strive to conduct meticulous scrutiny and elucidation, thereby attempting to awaken the general public.

Since I imagined there might be those unaware of what Amatsu Kyo truly represented, I shall briefly examine its nature.

Amatsu Kyo constituted an ideological system propagated around the Kōso Kōtaijingū shrine—then guarded by one Mr. Takeuchi residing in Isohara—as its central institution.
According to their assertions, descendants of Takeuchi no Sukune had later adopted the Takeuchi name and purportedly maintained unbroken guardianship of this shrine for nineteen hundred years up through modern times; having endured every conceivable hardship and persecution throughout this period while miraculously preserving ancient documents and artifacts supposedly transmitted from the Age of Gods relating to Japan’s imperial lineage.
Beyond these historical claims however—and notably unlike conventional religions—we observed no reports at that time of them offering miraculous cures for illnesses, arranging social interactions between sexes through spiritual means or coercing financial contributions.
This distinction marked them as fundamentally different from ordinary faiths.
Their organizational structure remained rudimentary without any labyrinthine secret chambers typical of esoteric sects.
Their proselytization methods appeared restrained rather than aggressive.
From an ethical standpoint therefore this sect seemed remarkably innocuous compared to its contemporaries.
Yet while their religious trappings proved unremarkable they instead focused on solemnifying imperial authority through grandiose historical fabrications—using forged antiquities and documents as evidence—to construct narratives spanning hundreds of millions of years since mythological times.
Here they adopted an uncompromising stance rejecting all critical scrutiny.
Their approach while superficially modest—entirely devoid of theatrical flourishes that might repel refined sensibilities—evoked comparisons with intellectualized forms of State Shinto designed specifically to appeal to educated elites.

The above naturally reflected surface observations; however, upon delving one step deeper into research—work undoubtedly undertaken with ulterior motives—a scheme emerged: one that exploited imperial authority to bewilder people while concealing its true purpose. Similar attempts constituted common tactics; they had appeared during the Kamakura period, the Tokugawa period, and the Meiji period alike, holding no novelty for specialists. Though Amatsu Kyo itself represented the newest iteration of this type, it remained patently obvious at first glance as an utterly crude fabrication unworthy of serious engagement. Yet securing definitive evidence to deliver the coup de grâce demanded first research and second resolve. Thus while appraising them through official commission might prove intriguing, in most cases wisdom lay in promptly retreating with a dismissive remark about such laborious futilities. However, given that these ostensibly prudent university professors now endured muddle-voiced slander from Amatsu Kyo adherents, I found myself unable to gauge what resentment might yet befall me.

Now I shall earnestly commence my critique; the materials for this are, as previously stated, five photographs of ancient documents.
Merely five photographs—truly nothing more than a fragment of Amatsu Kyo's documents.
Therefore, if there should be a rebuttal that one cannot judge the whole by a fragment, I would not hesitate to acknowledge it.
However, at the same time, one must understand that to take a life requires but a single fatal wound.
To begin with, these five documents are not mere fragments.
Though fragments, they were photographed and displayed as representative treasures.
Were one to liken this to military formations, they should be seen as generals commanding Amatsu Kyo's elite—a construct designed to evoke visions of majestic bearing and imposing dignity.
If these generals were each to suffer fatal wounds through our rigorous research, their entire army would inevitably collapse like crumbling earth and scattering tiles, left with no path but pitiful annihilation.

In commencing our analysis, we examined the documents in reverse chronological order.

Second: Origin of the Chōkei Taijingū Shrine

The first document was labeled “Origin of the Chōkei Taijingū Shrine” in the photograph; although some parts had been illegible due to staining and the small size of the characters, enlarging it revealed that all but one character could be read without error.
It read as follows.

Kakemakemō Osoregi Ōei ni Kinotoi no Toshi Jūgatsu Jūyokka Etchū no Kuni Shinmei Tōryō

Within the precincts of the Kōso Kōtaijingū lay the enshrinement of the Chōkei Taijingū; its enshrined deity: the 98th-generation Imperial King.

Emperor Chōkei Kanenari’s divine spirit; successive generations of imperial spirits and divine emperors; Kawachi Province, Katano; Shishi Master Shishi.

At Kutsu-dera cave temple, due to enemies, on the night of the fifteenth day of the intercalary tenth month of Genchū 9, His Majesty—at forty-nine years of age—had met His demise in a hundredfold manner.

In the plain, they buried the divine spirit and sacred body of the Emperor; by imperial decree, his august name was engraved upon a stone using form kana, along with his hair.

A □ jar adorned with sixteen-petal chrysanthemum crests, a sixteen-petal chrysanthemum-patterned stole, and imperially inscribed poem bells are enshrined as the sacred body.

Auxiliary Shrine Akiba-no-mikoto, Supreme Commander who committed junshi: Takeuchi Etchū-no-kami of the Ki clan, Senior Fourth Rank Kore

Divine Spirit Takeuchi Nobuharu, aged seventy-three; Divine Spirit Takeuchi Hiza Teisuke (revised), aged fifty-seven.

Divine Spirit Emperor Korenaga’s loyal royalist Takeuchi clansmen—150 members attending upon the Emperor both before and after [his reign]—

Having hidden from enemies and reverently protected [the Emperor], when the loyal royalist family safely arrived at Kutsu-dera cave temple on the thirteenth day of the eighth month of Genchū 9.

Those who fell in the arduous battles during the journey of ninety-seven individuals: Iwasaki Yasukichi, Maeda Matazō, Sekiya.

Jirō Wakatsuki Reitarō, Sekiya Wakichi, Makino Sukenosuke, Kasuya Jūrō, Kuratomi

Toshisue, Itagaki Shichinosuke, Tōgō Hachiemon, Kuroda Seibee, Shibusawa Takaei, Takahashi

Monji Shibuya An’emon Manabe Taketoshi Kusunoki Jirō Masayuki Kiyoura Zenjirō Hirata

Higashi Uemon, Nomura Sōsaburō, Nakada Seijirō, Yasuda Sakuemon, Okazaki Tōsuke, Inoue

Jirō Asano Nagayoshi, Matsui Kuronosuke, Sakurai Sauemon, Akai Kiuemon, Ichijō Suke.

Nijō Toshiyoshi, Nakajō Harumichi, Sanjō Nobuyoshi, Shijō Takatsugu, Gojō Kiyonobu, Rokujō

Sukenobu Hachijō Nobuhiro Shiba Nobuyoshi Komura Yasugorō Mutō Kiyoemon Shinbo Hachirō Koyama

Saburō Sugimasa Jirōemon Takamichi Jōsuke Takayanagi Toshiharu Fujita Kosaburō Nojiri Zen’emon

Inagaki Kakunoshin, Kusano Kiyotoshi, Hiruta Jinzaemon, Kimura Hitachinosuke, Yūki Sanzaemon

The divine spirits of Shiba Saemon, Shirakawa Masatoshi, and Nagai Kichibee were enshrined on the same day to be venerated annually.

The fourteenth day of the tenth month was designated as the festival day.

Ōei 2nd year, 10th month, 14th day, 5th day—imprinted this.

Chief Priest and Master Architect of the Imperial Grand Shrine of the Imperial Ancestor

Ki-shi Takeuchi Muneyoshi Respectfully [stylized signature seal]

Ki-shi Takeuchi Koreyoshi Respectfully [stylized signature seal]

Chōkei Taijingū Secret Repository

To summarize this origin chronicle: in October of Ōei 2 [1395], they established the Chōkei Taijingū Shrine within the precincts of Etchū Province’s Kōso Kōtaijingū Shrine, enshrined Emperor Chōkei as its principal deity, constructed the Akiba-no-mikoto Shrine as an auxiliary site, and therein jointly enshrined those who committed junshi upon Emperor Chōkei’s demise—Takeuchi Korezane and two others—alongside fifty-two comrades who fell in battle, led by Iwasaki Yasukichi.

First, regarding an examination of the literary style: while the opening phrase “Kakemakemō Osoregi” initially sounded appropriately suited to a shrine’s origin story, the subsequent phrases failed to follow through, abruptly shifting into a vulgar tone and employing peculiar compound words and phonetic substitution characters.
Examples of malformed compound words included “imperial king” (where “mortal emperor” should be used) in the second line and “His Demise” (for “Imperial Demise”) in the fourth line. Instances of phonetic substitution characters appeared as “form kana” (katakana) and “engraved” in the fifth line, “loyal heart” (for “loyal retainer”) in the ninth line, “reverent protection” (for “guarding”) in the tenth line, and “imprint” (for “record”) in the twenty-third line.
Moreover, since both the form kana and seals already appeared in the later-discussed documents of Heguri no Matoori, they could reasonably be regarded as part of Amatsu Kyo’s transmitted linguistic conventions; the fact that such characters had remained unchanged for a thousand years demonstrated a remarkably tenacious adherence to them.
It appeared that there existed some special reason for this; however, I resolved to reserve its study for later.
Among the questionable terminology lay the phrase “burial at Momoehara” at the start of the fifth line; this instance should not have been satisfied with merely the character for “burial” but ought to have adopted an honorific form.
Given that this text was largely incoherent to begin with, it might have been unreasonable to criticize its use of honorifics.
The tenth line’s “having hidden from enemies and reverently protected [the Emperor], loyal royalist family...” contained numerous points warranting discussion; however, for now I merely drew attention to the omission of the character “se” from what should have read “keigo seshi” (to have guarded).
Furthermore, “loyal royalist family” was undoubtedly an error for “imperial loyalists,” but it had an undeniably modern ring to it.
Moreover, prior to the Tokugawa period, the character 「之」 had generally been used to indicate the possessive case instead of 「の」; however, the fact that this text exclusively employed 「の」 also appeared modern.
The phrase "印之" in the twenty-third line could not be understood unless one read it as meaning "to record this."
In other words, “in” (seal) was a phonetic substitution character for “ki” (record).
This example also appeared in Heguri no Matoori.
In lines twenty-five and twenty-six, where verbs such as “write” or “record”—or substitutes for these—should have appeared beneath the signatures, the single character 謹 (“humbly”), which was ordinarily added as an adverb to such characters, had been placed there instead, with a stylized signature seal appended below it.
This format also appeared in the case of Heguri no Matoori, thus constituting what might be called the second example of tenacious adherence.

Finally, the most problematic point in this document lay in its seventh line, where it wrote “Ki-shi Takeuchi Etchū-no-kami, Senior Fourth Rank, et cetera”; however, as this pertained to historical facts, he deferred this matter for later discussion. For now, he simply stated that this text was fabricated by someone ignorant of historical allusions.

To briefly summarize the above analysis of the literary style: this text was written by someone ignorant of both grammar and historical allusions, and judging from its overall tone, it appeared to be a relatively recent fabrication.

Second, when examining the calligraphic style: the character forms should largely be considered Chinese in style, showing only faint influence from the Oie-ryū school. Moreover, Hishū's influence could be discerned at first glance. Assessing the brushwork revealed a dexterous quality that nevertheless lacked refined practice. Consequently, forced strokes emerged and erroneous characters appeared. Examples of the former included the character 宮 in the second line and others, while instances such as 夜 in the fourth line and 歌 in the sixth line demonstrated problematic line forms. Among the latter category, 窟 in the fourth line, 裟 in the sixth line, 勤 in the ninth and tenth lines, and 難 in the eleventh line stood out. In the fourteenth line, where 次 should have been used, either a strained form or an entirely different character had been employed. Furthermore, numerous peculiar character forms fell within permissible limits. Selecting two or three examples from among them yielded characters such as 皇, 霊, 義, 隱, and 信. I deemed it unnecessary to cite further instances. One could observe that these characters maintained their stubborn persistence through individual habits, inevitably recurring across other documents. This represented what might be termed the third instance of tenacious adherence.

To briefly summarize the above analysis of the calligraphic style: this document was the work of an amateur bearing traces of Hishū’s influence, and thus could not be dated earlier than the Tenpō era.

Third, regarding an examination of the content: the investigation proceeded in the order of dates, geography, persons, and events.

Regarding dates, there were no discrepancies in the entries of the sexagenary cycle or intercalary months.

Regarding geography, while the location of Etchū Province’s Imperial Grand Shrine of the Imperial Ancestor warranted scrutiny, I temporarily accepted Amatsu Kyo’s account due to the unexpectedly anticipated difficulties in determining it.
However, as it later became clear, such meticulous examination ultimately proved unnecessary.
Next, Shishikubo Temple in Katsuragō District, Kawachi Province lived on by interpreting “shishi” (師々) as lions.
It was a renowned temple once believed to house Emperor Kameyama’s imperial mausoleum.
Momoehara was also situated in its vicinity and appeared in the poetry of Kamo no Chōmei.

Regarding the persons involved, with the exception of Emperor Chōkei, all fifty-six other individuals proved entirely unidentifiable. However, altering merely one or two characters in the names of the Takeuchi family retainers caused figures who had gained considerable renown in recent times to emerge. When I selected two or three examples from those I had noticed, the names that surfaced included Iwasaki Yanosuke, Iwatsuki Reijirō, Kuroda Kiyotaka, Shibusawa Eiichi, Hirata Tōsuke, Asano Nagayoshi, Matsuzaki Kuronosuke or Matsui Kunosuke, and Fujita Shōshirō—of these, only Fujita Shōshirō predated the Meiji era. Had a different selector made the choices, the number of recognizable names would likely have increased further.

Particularly striking was the peculiar spectacle of their naming convention: they followed numerical order as Ichijō, Nijō, then substituted Nakajō for Shichijō in third position, bestowing each surname up through Hachijō with elaborate full names arranged in parallel progression. Reading through these retainer names induced an unavoidable sense that some unplaceable contemporary figures stood lined among them—an assemblage utterly irreconcilable with what one might expect from an Ōei-era gathering.

Thus while grave doubts persisted regarding these figures' historical authenticity, establishing proof or disproof for any single individual promised difficulties mirroring those encountered in locating the Imperial Grand Shrine of the Imperial Ancestor itself. Recognizing this futility, I abandoned further efforts on this front and turned to subsequent matters.

Regarding events—that is historical facts—the author discussed only those matters for which solid evidence could be presented.
This origin chronicle recorded that Emperor Chōkei "was buried at Momoehara on the fifteenth night of the intercalary tenth month of Genchu 9 at the age of forty-nine after His Majesty’s passing due to enemy action."
Concerning His Majesty Emperor Chōkei’s deeds there had previously been various conflicting theories; however these were now largely settled and regarding His Majesty’s demise the account recorded in the Daijōin Diary Catalog was accepted as correct.
According to this after the unification of the Northern and Southern Courts the Emperor returned to Kyoto and resided at Daikaku-ji Temple where he passed away on August 1 of Ōei 1 at the sacred age of fifty-two.
The aforementioned Daijōin Diary Catalog—a record by Archbishop Jinson son of Ichijō Kaneyoshi a foremost scholar of his time—rendered the Amatsu Kyo documents utterly incomparable in historical authority.
In other words the accounts concerning Emperor Chōkei in these documents are fabrications.

However, from what I had heard, Amatsu Kyo maintained that any assertion from their side must be considered correct—a most vexatious disposition—but here too, they would undoubtedly cling stubbornly to their position without conceding defeat. I therefore advanced to examine the list of those who had died in service. When previously analyzing literary style, I had noted that writing "Ki-shi Takeuchi Etchū-no-kami, Senior Fourth Rank, Koreyoshi" betrayed ignorance of historical conventions; while one might pardon their unfamiliarity with proper formats for recording official ranks, what proved utterly inexcusable was their use of "Senior Fourth Rank." The court ranking system established by the Taihō Code had remained unchanged from its inception until the early Meiji period, stipulating that each rank possessed senior and junior divisions—particularly below the fourth rank, where both divisions were further subdivided into upper and lower tiers—rendering a standalone "Senior Fourth Rank" entirely nonexistent. This made it impossible to acknowledge the existence of any Takeuchi individual bearing such a rank during the Ōei era. Consequently, this account too stood as pure fabrication.

Let us determine why such an inconsistency was committed and trace its cause. The primary consideration must be that since they would never have knowingly recorded such an incongruity, we must conclude it was done in ignorance. Two scenarios presented themselves: first, that they had known but momentarily forgotten or carelessly omitted the details; second, that they had been wholly unaware of the matter from the outset.

Initially accepting the first interpretation, one might suppose it sufficient to state that Muneyoshi and Koreyoshi had simply erred in recording their noble clan's official ranks—yet this explanation proved inadequate. For even granting these were secret documents stored at Chōkei Grand Shrine, the scribes could surely have reviewed their work; they must have proofread it upon completion. Had they noticed this discrepancy, they would have needed to either recopy the entire text or make corrections. The complete absence of such revisions indicated neither forgetfulness nor oversight, but rather fundamental ignorance.

Not only had Muneyoshi Koreyoshi lacked this knowledge—successive generations of the Takeuchi family remained equally uninformed. Was this not the inevitable deduction? Yet ultimately, it sufficed that only the two scribes were ignorant. Thus did the first scenario collapse, leaving the second as the operative conclusion.

In other words, both Muneyoshi and Koreyoshi proved ignorant of the Senior Fourth Rank’s subdivisions—a lapse one might excuse in infants or uneducated peasants and townsfolk, but what manner of absurdity was this when exhibited by two close relatives of Koreyoshi, who supposedly held courtier status?
However, if they truly did not know the facts, there was nothing to be done—but in exchange, they should have had the decency to exist in an era where such ignorance could pass without consequence.
In that case, Koreyoshi and Muneyoshi should be considered as post-Meiji individuals.
For the senior and junior divisions of court ranks were abolished only after the Meiji era began, and this was definitively established in Meiji 20.

In briefly summarizing the above analysis of content: not only are the historical facts in these documents unrecognizable, but the claim that Takeuchi so-and-so wrote them in Ōei 2 [1395] stands conclusively false; furthermore, this verdict carries with it the judgment that qualification to pen such absurdities resides solely with uneducated individuals of the late Meiji era.

Based on the aforementioned reasons, I judged that the origin chronicle of Chōkei Grand Shrine constituted a forgery produced during or after the late Meiji period.

Third: Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph

The second document was labeled in its photograph as Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph and consisted of two items.
The full text read as follows.

First Document Second Document

Nariyutanari touring various provinces Alas! Satori retreats divinely to heaven

Having pursued and reunited with Father returns Conceals soul at Lion’s Mouth; capital of hundredfold Momoe

Kawachi’s Kuchichi Temple The Emperor’s protection for a thousand generations

Genchū 9 Mizunoe-Saru August 26 Genchū Mizunoe-Saru Intercalary Tenth Month 9

Yutanari (Stylized Signature Seal) Satori (Stylized Signature Seal)

To Koreyoshi To Koreyoshi

To Muneyoshi To Muneyoshi

To Nobuharu To Nobuharu

Both those bearing Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph and those presented here bearing Emperor Go-Daigo’s Imperial Autograph exhibited extensive damage and heavy soiling; I found it difficult to explain why they had been subjected to such crude treatment as to reach this state.
Whether the damage and staining were indeed natural occurrences or whether artificial manipulation had been applied remained highly questionable.
However, given that photographs of this quality made it difficult to conduct sufficient research into this question, I ceased that investigation and proceeded directly to examining the meaning of the documents.
And I stated in advance that since it had become immediately apparent that neither this document nor the next one belonged to the Emperor, I would proceed with my critique accordingly.

First, in examining the literary style, both documents—in texts barely exceeding thirty characters each—contained numerous errors: incorrect characters, substituted characters, superfluous characters, and omissions. Beyond these errors, they appeared to have deliberately employed an aberrant writing style, likely intended to enhance their solemnity by making them intentionally difficult to comprehend.

When rewriting this into plain language, the first document read: “Ah, Kannari toured various provinces, pursued and joined his father, and returned to Shishikutsuji Temple in Kawachi.”

The second document read: “Alas, Satori achieves divine retreat in heaven, conceals himself at Shishikutsuji Temple and establishes his hidden capital; Momoehara is where the Emperor’s thousand generations are protected”—or so I believe it conveys such meaning.

If one reads the original text as it stands, it resembles the tone of a shrine maiden’s spirit possession or divine oracles, evoking a peculiar sense of pathos.

Given that this was such a bizarre text, placing undue emphasis on its meaning would have been misguided; however, one cannot overlook the “chi” in “Kuchichi Temple” appearing in the third line of the first document.

I interpreted this as a corruption of “tsu”; however, one should note that similar corruptions appear in the so-called documents of Heguri no Matoori.

To summarize the above analysis of literary style: this text contained kana errors; the excessive use of kana indicated a later period; its spirit-channeling tone was deeply problematic; and to attribute this to Emperor Chōkei’s imperial autograph was utterly preposterous.

Second, upon examining the calligraphic style, the brushwork completely matched that of the person who had written the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle; consequently, there could be no doubt that the writers were one and the same.
The peculiar character forms I had previously identified as distinctive also appeared here, which served as evidence.
In both documents, the first character of the first line was 鳴 (naku; to sound), but this was an error for 嗚 (a; an interjection).
The formation of the character '呼' was also dubious.
Although the need to dwell on erroneous characters had by now diminished, I nevertheless extracted three of those distinctive character forms—those exhibiting a stubborn consistency—for reference.
They were “歸,” “都,” and “守.”
These would subsequently manifest once again in Emperor Go-Daigo’s Imperial Autograph as well.

In summary of the above examination of calligraphic style, I arrive at the fact that the scribe of these two documents is identical to the scribe of the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle.

Third, in examining the content: While the first document states “父ををふて合して歸る” (“Having chased and joined Father, returns”), I had previously read this as “父を追ふ” (“chasing his father”) and construed it to mean that he pursued His Imperial Father Emperor Go-Murakami’s path and entered Kawachi together with him. However, even when viewed through the lens of the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle, Emperor Chōkei’s entry into Kawachi could not be inferred to predate this document’s date of the ninth year of Genchū [1392], August 26, by any significant margin. That is to say, this occurred considerably later than the 23rd year of the Shōchū era, following Emperor Go-Murakami’s demise. If one followed the previous reading, it resulted in inconsistency with historical facts. If one read this by taking the kana wo as correct and ending there, it held up to that point, but failed to connect to “joined and returned,” becoming unintelligible unless one resorted to a mystical explanation. While one could arbitrarily construct such an explanation, there was no need to engage in such practices. For while this document’s accounts did supplement the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle in some respects, their ultimate conclusion aligned entirely with said chronicle and could not be recognized as factual in any regard; thus, this document was conclusively deemed a forgery, unworthy of further scholarly attention. Next, regarding the second document: while the final character of its first line was largely illegible, I surmised it might be 辟 (“retreat”), yet inferred that this character would be incongruous in such a document; concluding it was likely an error for 避 (“avoid”), I supplemented the missing ⻌ radical to read it as such. While the notion of divine retreat to heaven was not entirely impossible to conceive, there remained a risk of veering into mysticism. Therefore, considering whether it might be better to leave “retreat” as is—even if “retreat” were to become emperor, become clear, and serve as evidence—there would still be some meaning to it. In light of these implications, it seemed that forcing a coherent interpretation would require even greater effort. And no matter what effort one made, it proved impossible to affirm historical facts identical to those in the origin chronicle that these documents purported to uphold. In conclusion, this document was determined to be a forgery like the first.

To summarize the above examination of their content: what was recorded in these two documents either fell entirely within the accounts contained in the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle or lay within the scope of what could be extrapolated from it—in either case, amounting to complete fabrication.

Based on the aforementioned reasons, I conclude that Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph is a forgery created in the late Meiji period.

Fourth: Emperor Go-Daigo’s Imperial Autograph

The third document was labeled and titled *Emperor Go-Daigo’s Imperial Autograph*, with two copies existing.
The full text was as shown on the left.

First Document Second Document

The current performs rites in Hitachi Province’s abode; my hidden soul ascends to the spiritual truth.

The King Tashiō Arahi returns to the land; The imperial branches serve, doubling the prosperity of the Emperor’s realm.

The hidden soul of the capital proclaims: “We shall protect [it] for ten thousand generations!”

Yokoku 2: September 6th Kōkoku 2: September 12th

Takaharu (stylized seal) Takaharu (stylized seal)

To Koremitsu To Koremitsu

To Korema To Korema

The two documents purporting to be Emperor Go-Daigo’s Imperial Autograph were entirely identical in handwriting to the two documents purporting to be Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph; though their status as forgeries was evident, a formal investigation nevertheless had to be conducted.

First, in examining the literary style: the two documents were identical in style to those purporting to be Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph. While some passages remained obscure in meaning, the first document appeared to suggest that Emperor Go-Daigo had made his imperial arrival at Ōarai in Hitachi Province and passed away there, whereas the second document seemed to convey an edict-like pronouncement that even after his seclusion, his august spirit should assist the Emperor and protect the nation. This interpretation might have been mistaken or perhaps fortuitously correct, but one must wonder why they composed such tortuously convoluted phrases and presumptuously appended the imperial name. Was this done under the reasoning that—much like a Buddhist priest’s sutra chanting—incomprehensibility served to enhance dignity? Even so, to attach the imperial name, they ought to have commissioned a more skillfully composed text. However pressing their need for secrecy, it struck me as peculiar that they believed this could pass muster. One could not help but tilt one’s head in bewilderment.

To summarize the above analysis of literary style, this text was—like those attributed to Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph—an utterly egregious forgery.

Second, upon examining the calligraphic style: the brushwork proved entirely identical to that of what was referred to as Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph; consequently, it also matched completely with that of the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle.
That compelled one to conclude that the writers were one and the same.
It should be noted that the peculiar characters I had previously pointed out also appeared in these documents.
When comparing the “歸,” “都,” and “守” characters found in Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph, it became immediately evident that they shared identical brushwork.
Enumerating characters with forced forms and those deemed errors revealed examples including: in the First Document’s first line, “陸”; its second line, “足”; its fourth line, “與” (a miswriting of 興); and in the same line, “幸” (a miswriting of 季); as well as in the Second Document’s third line, “守”; and its fourth line, “幸” (a miswriting of 季), among others.
These documents, together with Emperor Chōkei’s Imperial Autograph, featured characters of notably large size that allowed one to clearly discern Hirose Kōzō’s influence.
Thus, attributing these works to a period predating the Bunka-Bunsei eras remained utterly impermissible—yet on what basis did Amatsu Kyo dare assert that such crude brushwork constituted Emperor Go-Daigo’s undeniably skilled Imperial Autograph?

In summary of the above examination of calligraphic style, we arrive at the fact that the scribe of these two documents is identical to the scribe of the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle.

Third, in examining the content, what the documents purported to convey proved unclear in meaning, making comprehension nearly impossible. To scrutinize such aberrant descriptions required speculating about the author’s intentions—a process that defied straightforward judgment. One therefore had to focus solely on identifiable points. The first document bore the date Kōkoku 2, September 6th, and the second Kōkoku 2, September 12th; yet historical records showed Emperor Go-Daigo had passed away on Engen 4, August 16th. These dates fell on the 759th and 765th days following his demise—a discrepancy of approximately two years and one month by modern reckoning. This implied Amatsu Kyo believed His Imperial Majesty remained alive over two years posthumously—but did this stem from historical ignorance? Or was it an audacious attempt to assert heterodoxy? Perhaps they meant to demonstrate soul immortality? Regardless, the situation reeked of absurdity. Even allowing for stubborn denials, this conclusively proved the delusional madness underlying Amatsu Kyo’s purported scholarship.

To summarize the examination of the above content: although this document purported to be Emperor Go-Daigo’s Imperial Autograph, it was conclusively determined to be an outrageous forgery, bearing a date written two years and one month after his demise.

Based on the aforementioned reasons, I conclude that Emperor Go-Daigo’s Imperial Autograph is a forgery created in the late Meiji period or later.

Fifth: Heguri no Matoori’s Authentic Handwriting

The fourth document was labeled *The Scroll of Ancient Divine Script from the Primeval Era of the Great Japanese Imperial Nation’s Supreme Ancestral Genealogy, Minister Ki-shi Takeuchi Heguri no Matoori Sukune’s Authentic Handwriting*, and consisted of two sheets.
The text was as follows.

First Sheet

天地棟梁祖根日根人根祖日根

Tenjin Jinso Isshingū Hine-no-Kuni

Five Races of Humanity’s Pillar Emperor Amatsu Hi

Emperor Sokuten Hinoku’s Genealogical Record Treasure Bone

Scroll of the Great Secret Repository of Divine Image Treasures

Second Sheet

In the second year of the Emperor’s reign, October 3rd: [He] proclaimed an edict, effective from that day until the fifth year of the reign.

Until November 3rd, [seals] were humbly affixed.

Minister Ki-shi Takeuchi Heguri no Matoori Sukune respectfully

Minister Ōtomo no Muroya Muraji respectfully

Mononobe Mokuren respectfully

Fifth Year of the Fukuramu Reign, November 3rd: Seal Affixed Until This Date

His Imperial Majesty Ōhatsuse Wakatakeru humbly presents

The Scroll of Ancient Divine Script of the Pillar Imperial Ancestor Grand Shrine

Form Kana and Tang Script Transcribed Treasure Scroll

Scroll of the Great Secret Repository of the Imperial Ancestor Grand Shrine

Myriad Nations’ Pillar Emperor Treasure Scroll

This document differed from those handled thus far; it was not a standalone document but rather formed part of a scroll of records.
The first sheet served as the title or frontispiece, while the second sheet could be inferred to correspond to the colophon and postscript of the same record.

First, in examining the literary style, I noted that the term “pillar” appeared in four instances—the first line of the first sheet, the third line, and the eighth and eleventh lines of the second sheet.
It was evident that this term was being used here to denote someone who compiles or systematizes—nothing particularly unusual at first glance. However, given its recurrence in the Chōkei Grand Shrine Origin Chronicle and its tenacious usage, it warranted careful scrutiny.
Next, I observed that each instance of the character “根” (ne) in lines 1 and 2 of the first sheet bore the phonetic gloss “ムト” (muto), while the same character in line 4 lacked this annotation.
Yet even there, it was undoubtedly meant to be read as “Muto.”
This “Muto” clearly carried the same meaning as “Moto,” though why “Mo” had been altered to “Mu” remained unexplained.
Restoring *mu* to *mo* yielded plausible readings—“祖根” as “ancestral origin,” “日根” as “origin of the sun” (i.e., Land of the Rising Sun), and “人根” as “origin of humanity”—though deeper examination revealed ambiguities. Still, such terms seemed interpretable through forced readings.
But what of “Sohinone”?
The forgers had casually interpreted this as “the ancestor’s Land of the Rising Sun,” leaving it open to any convenient explication.
The second line’s “Tenjin Jinso Isshingū” presented an even more bewildering character combination than “Sohinone”—so much so that I resolved to disregard it entirely rather than engage in baseless speculation.
Yet even unreadable text invites conjecture about its intent. Let us briefly consider its possible significance.
The phrase “Hinokuni” directly below could only denote *Hinomoto no kuni*—our nation—a reading beyond dispute given its contextual relationship to subsequent terms.
As citizens naturally desire their country’s betterment, even boastful claims might be excused. Since this text’s author was presumably a compatriot overflowing with patriotic fervor, might we not interpret these abstruse characters as an attempt to glorify Japan through mystically charged terminology?
Objections might arise regarding its incomprehensibility, but none could deny this underlying impulse.
From an impartial perspective, no more expedient explanation presented itself.
Thus I concluded these terms were haphazardly compiled for maximal rhetorical effect.
The third line’s “Five Races of Humanity”—a phrase absent from any lexicon I knew—demanded thorough scrutiny given its later significance.
Though merely three characters, deciphering their meaning from text alone proved as vexing as physics’ three-body problem.
Fortunately, an inviolable constraint simplified matters: no interpretation disadvantageous to our nation could be countenanced.
This principle extended naturally from our approach to earlier obscure terms—a policy none would dispute.

Now, they adopted a three-tiered approach to interpreting "Five Races of Humanity" as "people of five colors," "five-colored people," and "five-color people," striving to eliminate discrepancies.
First, when interpreting “people of five colors,” if one took the “の” between “color” and “people” as indicating possession, it became nonsensical; thus by instead treating this “の” as a connective particle subordinate to “five colors” to describe “people,” it ultimately equated to the same meaning as “five-colored people.”
Second, when interpreting it as “five-colored people,” there was no need to inquire into what “colored people” referred to; given that an emperor who served as leader of a mere five races of colored people would hardly be significant, this interpretation had to be discarded.
Proceeding to the third remaining interpretation—when viewing it as “people of five colors”—it was most natural to first take the meaning of “color” as referring to the so-called five colors.
However, even with that approach, it could not possibly mean that the Five Races of Humanity referred to humans with mottled patterns.
Nor could it possibly mean humans who changed color in five ways like turkeys or chameleons.
For even if such humans had existed, it would undoubtedly have been a pathological phenomenon—there could not possibly have been many of them, and even those that did exist would hardly have been desirable, thus making them utterly incompatible with matters of divine significance.
If one then interpreted “color” not as referring to the five visible colors but rather to the fluctuations of the heart—how would that be?
Throughout history, people had categorized the fundamental functions of the mind or cultivated virtues into three, five, six, or seven divisions, assigning them names. In this sense, while referring to them as “people of five functions” or “people of five virtues” instead of “people of five colors” would have been neither interesting nor contradictory, one might have permitted it.
However, if the Five Races of Humanity in this sense were no different from simply “people,” then first and foremost, the distinctive “Five Races” characters failed to stand out.
Therefore, while this proposal contained no contradictions and was certainly not disrespectful, it failed to utilize the Five Races characters and had to be discarded.
If one then ceased to view the five colors in static juxtaposition and instead examined them through dynamic continuity, the first conception that arose was of humans fundamentally structured around psychological transformations tied to age.
However, this was ultimately no different from ordinary humans, and since the five-colored characters failed to stand out, they should not have been adopted.
Secondly, cases based on pathological mental transformations could also have been considered, but since they constituted a far-fetched theory and violated restrictions, we excluded them.
Thirdly, one could have considered people prone to capriciousness or sudden reversals—this approach would easily have yielded a large number—but ultimately it violated restrictions and had to be discarded.
Having attempted various interpretations of the Five Races of Humanity, I ultimately had to discard them all.
In every interpretation attempted, they had taken the Five Races as something each individual possessed—but perhaps this very premise had been mistaken?
Had it not been that this very premise became the cause of conflicting with the restriction?
Now, upon realizing this, it became necessary to consider a method of dividing all humanity into five categories through color distinctions—that is, no longer applying the five colors to individual persons.
Moreover, this method gave rise to two cases depending on whether the five colors were applied to the body or to the mind.

When considering the application to the mind, this corresponded to the so-called five temperaments—phlegmatic, choleric, melancholic, nervous, and sanguine humans. However, since individuals exhibiting these temperaments could be found within any single nation, district, or village, the term proved inadequate as a comprehensive designation for all subjects under an emperor governing myriad nations. I therefore discarded this interpretation as well. What ultimately remained was to examine the application to physical characteristics.

Taking “Five Races” in their literal sense yielded the most fitting interpretation here. I recalled how early Meiji-era elementary textbooks had described five continents inhabited by distinct races differentiated by skin color. To equate these five human types with the Five Races of Humanity emerged not only as the most natural reading but also because alternative interpretations risked unnaturalness, irreverence, or political impropriety—thus settling the matter conclusively.

The same line featured “Sumiramikoto” as the phonetic gloss for “Emperor,” an aberrant rendering replacing the standard Sumeramikoto without apparent justification. Yet if this mirrored the earlier substitution of mu for mo, it betrayed that same obstinate idiosyncrasy at work.

The phrase “Sacred Bone Statue Divine Object Treasure” spanning lines four to five likely denoted treasures comprising bone-carved effigies venerated as divine entities. While partial analysis left certain aspects unresolved, these tenacious character sequences ultimately conveyed surprisingly simplistic claims.

Rendered plainly, the text purported to document both the genealogy of an emperor—styled Amatsu Hizuki Amenone—serving as sovereign over humanity’s five races, and sacred bone effigies enshrined within Japan’s purportedly unique divine sanctuary housing ancestral deities. In essence, it presented itself as a secret compendium merging the Japanese imperial lineage’s global sovereignty with relic origin narratives.

Interpreted thusly—as previously noted—the passage’s function as a title page or frontispiece became evident.

The first two lines of the second sheet contained two instances of grammatical impropriety.
First, the phrase “詔シテ” in the opening line ought to have been rendered as “詔ノ,” “詔シタル,” or “詔セシ.” Had honorifics been employed, it should have read “詔シ給ヘシ.”
Next, regarding the second line’s “謹印シ” (*kin’inshi*), the character 印 (*in*) here functioned as a phonetic loan character—a point previously referenced during my examination of line 23 in the Chōkei Taijingū Origin Document.
The “shi” beneath it constituted a violation where “su” should have been used—a transgression repeated in the ninth line.
These grammatical irregularities warranted recognition as manifestations of a peculiar tenacity.

Next, regarding the format of the signatures—as previously referenced during his examination of the Chōkei Taijingū Origin Document—they appeared in exactly the same style throughout，with all concluding using the single character 謹 (*kin*). And instead of placing a stylized signature seal directly below，they recorded this on the left side using Ancient Divine Script.

While they noted “Respectfully sealed on November 3rd of the fifth year of accession” before the signature，upon reaching the sixth line，they repeated the same matter again. This should be regarded as another example of the tenacity common to these documents，but what could possibly be the intent behind writing “the fifth year of Fukuramu” instead of simply stating “the fifth year”? If Fukuramu was taken to mean “to swell/prosper，”the particle “no” became unnecessary；their failure to omit it could only be attributed to grammatical ignorance. However，since the meaning of “Fukuramu year” remained unclear，he tentatively took it to signify “prosperous” and left it at that.

The seventh line would presumably be read as presenting this to His Majesty Emperor Ōhatsuse Wakatakeru. The ninth line’s “Form Kana and Chinese Characters Used to Transcribe Treasure Scroll” likely signified a treasure scroll transcribed using form kana and Chinese characters. To interpret this “shashi” as an abbreviation omitting a single kana character from “shaseshi” or “shashishi” would, based on the text’s tone, have amounted to excessive overinterpretation; it appeared more natural to regard this as a simple error where “su” should have been used instead of “shi.” In other words, one might reasonably conclude that the author of this text had a habitual tendency to repeat the same error—using 印シ where 印ス should have been used in the second line, and similarly employing 寫シ instead of 寫ス here. Was it not misguided to attribute this to someone from Tohoku, Unshu, or an uneducated individual incapable of distinguishing between *shi* and *su* in writing? Explaining the meaning that appeared in the second sheet above: on October 3rd of the second year of Emperor Yūryaku’s reign, Heguri no Matoori had received an imperial edict and engaged in transcribing important records, and by November 3rd of the fifth year, he had completed this task. The completed works were three types of scrolls: the Treasure Scroll transcribing the Ancient Divine Script Scroll of the Pillar Imperial Ancestor Grand Shrine using Form Kana and Chinese characters; the Grand Secret Repository Scroll of the Imperial Ancestor Grand Shrine; and the Myriad Nations’ Pillar Emperor Treasure Scroll—all of which were said to be presented with reverence to His Majesty the Emperor.

To summarize the above analysis of literary style: the text constituted vulgar writing that could not be regarded as the work of an educated person; there was also suspicion that its authors were incapable of distinguishing between *shi* and *su* in pronunciation—a feature lending strong regional character that made it utterly inconceivable as the brushwork of Heguri no Matoori, who had held an important position in the central government.

Second, upon examining the calligraphic style, both sheets clearly shared identical brushwork and had been produced by a single hand.
However, this individual was determined to differ from the forger who had penned both the Imperial Authentic Handwriting and the Chōkei Grand Imperial Shrine Origin Document analyzed earlier.
The evidence lay in how that prior individual—believed innately dexterous and influenced by Hishū—had produced characters with coquettish flair and model-like regularity; by contrast, this writer appeared inept, showed no influence from established calligraphers, and exhibited brushwork devoid of elegance yet brimming with obstinate rigidity.
Though no contemporary calligrapher’s influence could be discerned, this individual’s style aligned with those frequently seen among Shinto priests.
This likely stemmed from imitation of a particular Shinto founder’s techniques; however, given remaining uncertainties in attribution, conclusive judgment was withheld.

Upon examining individual character forms, he noted that they had used a variant form of the character 國 (kuni) in the second line of the first sheet and had incorrectly written the character 詔 (shō) in the first line of the second sheet.
Not only were the character forms for ancestor, deity, treasure, scroll, and others scattered throughout within an acceptable range, but when one collected those with accurate forms—such as beam, heir, namely, and reverent—they could be enumerated; on the whole, it would have been fair to conclude that the character forms were accurate and the brushwork was meticulous.
In this aspect as well, there were similarities to the characters of a certain school.

To summarize the above analysis of calligraphic style: while the characters were written with utmost precision, they lacked antiquated elegance and appeared to be of very recent origin.

Third, when examining the content, one could not overlook the phrase “Pillar of the Five Races of Humanity” within the bizarre passage recorded on the first sheet. If this indeed related to the five continents as we had inferred through prior analysis of Amatsu Kyo’s pseudohistorical framework—a connection established through cross-referencing their forged genealogies—it necessitated examining when exactly these five continents became commonly referenced concepts in global discourse.

Japan naturally lacked such terminology in antiquity—a fact corroborated by historical linguistics—and crucially, Western classical sources similarly showed no evidence of this quintuple continental division being recognized before modern times. Ancient peoples would never have conceived humanity’s division into five distinct races—a notion fundamentally alien to pre-modern cosmologies across civilizations worldwide.

The classification system dividing humanity by skin color originated solely with Blumenbach’s late 18th-century racial theories—an intellectual development barely spanning 150 years at most when these documents surfaced during Meiji-era textbook reforms. Consequently, any textual reference to “Five Races” irrefutably dated these materials to post-Blumenbach modernity despite sect members’ predictable denials—denials rendered hollow by their probable reliance on elementary school primers circulating after 1872 educational reforms for conceptual scaffolding.

Next, regarding the sacred bone statue divine object treasure: when speaking of “sacred bones,” they were difficult to equate with ordinary human bones. This was likely a term referring to the bones of a person who had held a noble position during their lifetime. Considering the preceding context, it seemed this referred to the bones of the Supreme One. If that was indeed the case, then this too could not be overlooked. As methods for handling human remains, earth burial, cremation, water burial, and sky burial had been devised over time; however, the aim of all these methods was to avoid presenting a gruesome appearance—a matter truly befitting human sentiment. Yet when special purposes existed, they made the remains into mummies, preserved them in alcohol or salt, or cut them into pieces. Of course, they could also fashion them into dolls. A striking example was how they had crushed and solidified the bones of those who perished in the conflagration of the Great Kantō Earthquake at the former Army Clothing Depot site, forming them into Buddhist statues for worship. While there might have been justifiable reasons for mummies and alcohol preservation, the motives behind creating dolls presented numerous points requiring debate. Crushing, kneading, and manhandling bones was something ordinary people could not bear; the question became what psychological state compelled such acts. We could not help but immediately associate this with perverse and decadent thinking. And where nobility or authority were concerned, it should have been natural that sycophancy played a role. Investigating these points would have involved dissecting human intentions—an unsavory prospect—and since obtaining definitive evidence proved difficult, I refrained from further scrutiny. Another crucial point was whether our nation had ever truly possessed customs of making dolls from human bones; but were one to argue that since such practices existed today, they might have existed in antiquity too, this would hopelessly muddle truth and falsehood—hence I omitted this discussion as well.

Next, regarding the format of signatures recorded on the second sheet—such as the stylized seals in Ancient Divine Script—even if we obscure the fact that no one knows whether such writing methods actually existed at the time, we reach an impasse where debate cannot devolve into empty contention; at this critical juncture, what emerges as problematic is "Form Kana."

The rationale behind Amatsu Kyo's use of Form Kana would become clear later; however, what they sought to represent through this script here was nothing more than katakana.

Even if we dismiss as erroneous the legend attributing katakana's origin to Kibi no Makibi, there likely exists no one who would believe that katakana identical in form to modern characters existed during Emperor Yūryaku's reign.

Had such kana existed in this era, one would presume they would not have employed such cumbersome kana in the *Man'yōshū*.

Yet since criticisms of this nature would inevitably provoke obstinate rebuttals, I shall immediately identify the fatal flaw glaring before us.

The character 唐 (*Tang*) in "Tang characters" beneath Form Kana constitutes an incurable malignancy.

This 唐 was presumably intended to be read as *Kara* (China), but had that been their purpose, they should have written 漢 (*Han*) instead—the use of 唐 (*Tang*) represents a glaring anachronism.

Given that Tang emerged as a nation over 150 years after Emperor Yūryaku's reign, even had Heguri no Matoori miraculously lived three centuries, there remains no conceivable justification for employing this character during the fifth year of Emperor Yūryaku's rule.

This precisely mirrors the preposterous case of Imperial Authentic Handwriting purportedly dated two years and one month after Emperor Go-Daigo's demise—a revelation that leaves us utterly aghast.

Were one to interpret this "Tang" as referring to Yao and Shun's Tangyu era, while this might resolve chronological contradictions, it would conflict irreconcilably with paleographic evidence.

Though no one knows what script existed during Tangyu times, there exists no record whatsoever of regular script predating the Zhou dynasty.

Apologists might attempt refuge in claiming this was an erroneous substitution of 韓 (*Han*) for 唐 (*Tang*), but since the forgers demonstrably understood 唐 should be read as *Kara* [China], this still situates it post-Tang dynasty—thereby annihilating all possible avenues for defense and reducing their argument to ruins.

To concisely summarize the above analysis of content: not only did they contain internal contradictions, but they also recorded matters that only became widely known after the Meiji period—thus deeming these as records from Emperor Yūryaku’s reign was utterly preposterous.

Based on the aforementioned reasons，*The Authentic Handwriting of Minister Ki-shi Takeuchi no Heguri Matoori Sukune Transcribing the Ancient Divine Script Scroll of the Imperial Genealogy from the Primeval Supreme Eras of the Great Japanese Emperor Nation* was determined to be a Meiji-period forgery；while its author could potentially share identity with those responsible for other documents，he conclusively judged its scribe to differ from those who had transcribed parallel texts．

Part Six: Ancient Divine Script Scroll

The fifth document was titled *Ancient Divine Script Scroll from the Primeval Supreme Eras of the Great Japanese Emperor Nation* and bore an extremely close resemblance to the fourth document’s title, though it omitted the three characters for “Imperial Genealogy.”
Like the fourth document, this could not be regarded as an independent text but rather formed part of a compiled record.
It consisted of two consecutive sheets written entirely in unfamiliar characters.
When I considered that this was what they called the Ancient Divine Script, I felt somewhat startled—yet even upon hearing this claim, I remained entirely unsurprised.
Having observed Heguri no Matoori’s translations thus far—which demonstrated no knowledge of archaic language or factual accuracy, instead brimming with nonsense—I resolved to systematically dismantle them.
The sole complication lay in how this document could not at first glance be recognized as the original text corresponding to the fourth document; that is, the fourth document offered no initial clues for deciphering this one.
With no alternative available, there remained only to seek clues within the document itself.
The main text read as follows.

When extracting differently shaped characters from the aforementioned document, their number amounted to forty-four. Moreover, one observed that certain characters bore a “¨” mark at their upper right corner; this was interpreted as a voiced sound marker. If that were the case, one could speculate that these forty-odd characters were none other than the *Iroha* or the Fifty Sounds. Under this assumption, we would attempt to correlate these forty-four unusual characters with the Fifty Sounds by dividing the analysis into approximately twenty stages and laying them out systematically.

1.
In Line 19 and Line 32, entries such as “to” and “so” were inscribed in roughly the same positions; from their locations, these were interpreted as numbers indicating sheet order, with the blacked-out sections taken to be instances of scribal errors.
Having positioned these two sheets as consecutive documents—and deeming this interpretation most appropriate—under this assumption he attempted to interpret the two combinations of anomalous characters extracted above as two consecutive numerals.
And so, in accordance with the method already presented, he boldly applied a modern reading to these characters.
If that were the case, there could be no reading other than the one on the left.
The readings within the rectangle were negated and eliminated due to their mutual relationships, as would be explained below.

(1) 3 (San), 6 (Roku), 71 (Shichi-ichi), 84 (Hachi-yon)

(2) Shifu

(3) 2 Shi 1 3Ko 2Ku

(4) 2-Ichi 3 3-Roku 7-1 2-Hachi

First, the fact that there were five and six numeral characters determined that these numbers were two-digit numbers.
Next, (2) was deciphered as "Shifu" based on its positional placement corresponding to the tens place.
That is, シ (*shi*) and フ (*fu*) were recognized as identical.
At the same time, the readings within the first form were negated and eliminated.
Next, since (3) and (4) represented consecutive numbers, the readings within the two forms that conflicted with this condition were eliminated.
Next, since they appeared as the initial characters of words in the third and eighth lines, they were not ra-row kana.
That is, this was interpreted as *sa*.
At the same time, it was determined that ハン corresponded to *n* and ハニ to *ni*.
And thus, the readings within the three forms were eliminated.
Next, since they did not appear as the initial characters of words at all, they were interpreted as ra-row characters.
That is, when the readings within the four forms were eliminated, they were recognized as identical to ロ (*ro*) and ク (*ku*).
In total, seven characters were recognized as identical.

2.
The final three characters of what appeared to be five signatures spanning from Line 26 to Line 30 were all 「ミナト」.
Seeing that this combination appeared in various places within the main text, this was indeed a term frequently used in the Divine Age, likely being the honorific *mikoto* attached to the end of personal names.
Based on this estimation, 「ミ」 (*mi*), 「コ」 (*ko*), and 「ト」 (*to*) were recognized as identical.

3.
There were numerous characters that appeared to be pictographs, but it had already been established that 「サ」 clearly represented a pictograph of a fence, while 「ハ」 likely depicted a load, 「ミ」 a body, and 「ト」 a door.
Following this example, it became evident at a glance that 「田」 corresponded to *ta*, 「手」 to *te*, 「目」 to *me*, 「矢」 to *ya*, and 「輪」 to *wa*.
There appeared to be many others as well, but I did not hastily conclude.

4.
Applying the results of the preceding three stages to the mikoto names in Lines 29 and 30 revealed that Ha became Koyamikoto while another instance of Ha became Futotamikoto; interpreting Wo₁ as Ne and Wo₂ as Ma completed their respective names.
He consequently identified these two variants of Ha as representing Ne and Ma respectively.

5.
In the fourth document’s second sheet, third line, the Ancient Divine Script stylized signature seal adjacent to Heguri no Matoori’s signature read *mato*; thus interpreting it as *ri* would not constitute an error.
That is to say, this was recognized as corresponding identically to *ri*.

6.
Observing that Line 2 contained elements such as “ten” and “ten thousand years,” these combinations appeared to represent numerals; furthermore, interpreting them as pictographs—the leaf [*ha*] and the breast [*chi*]—established the term *hachi*.
If they were again considered numerals, they would suggest “billion,” while simultaneously revealing that [the character] constituted a pictograph of a tail.
Originally, 億 should have been read as *oku*, but given that in the Divine Age they freely employed *kan-on* readings to such an extent, the conflation of *o* and *wo* presumably posed no issue.
I therefore recognized ハ as identical to チ and ヲ.

7.
In the section spanning from the end of Line 1 to Line 2—where “Womiyaokurite” appears—it is natural to interpret ha (ハ) as tsu (ツ) based on contextual relations.
That is, [the character] is recognized as identical to tsu.

8.
In Lines 8, 9, and 16, the characters were combined with ト; since this constituted “Mimikoto,” it evoked Amatsu Kyo’s “Sumiramikoto.”
That is, they were recognized as identical to *su* and *ra*.
Fortunately, since applying this conjectural identification elsewhere caused no issues, he confirmed it as established.

9.
In Lines 3, 7, 11, and others appeared [certain characters], while Line 13 contained [another character].
Line 20 featured two consecutive instances of these.
Among these, only two characters were identifiable, yet he intuitively concluded they must represent Izanagi and Izanami.
He interpreted [symbol X] as a pictograph of a tree and [symbol Y] as a pictograph of a fish, finding no reason to doubt this decipherment's correctness.
Thus he recognized [symbol X] as identical to *I*, [symbol Y] to *Na*, and [symbol Z] to *Ki*.

10.
In the fourth and fifth lines，what appears as *Itsuiroto* and *Iroto* forms [the terms] *Itsuiroto* and *Iroto*, evoking the five races of humanity.
Considering this，he interpreted it as unmistakably representing a pictograph of fire.
Thus，he recognized [the character] as identical to *hi*.

11.

The portion spanning from the end of Line 10 to Line 11 reads "Materasumikoto," and if ヲ is interpreted as ア (*a*), it becomes "Amaterasu Omikami."
Therefore, he determined ヲ to be A.

12.
The combinations appearing in two places in the first line and elsewhere—when interpreted as *woho* meaning "large"—made logical sense.
While "large" was originally *Oho*, within Amatsu Kyo's framework, *Woho* posed no problem.
He therefore recognized ヲ as identical to Ho.

13.
Line 24 should have been read as *Shitamafu*; however, since *ma* had already been recognized as identical to [another character], following Amatsu Kyo’s disregard for proper kana usage—where they treated it as *Shitamofu*—he recognized *wo* as identical to *mo*.

14.
In Line 27, the character was clearly a pictograph of a field representing 'no'.
This character appeared throughout the documents, and the validity of this conjecture was immediately proven.
That is, it was recognized as identical to 'no'.

15.
Line 15 had to be interpreted as referring to Hakusan in Kaga based on contextual relationships.
That is, while ハ should have corresponded to *ka* and *i*, since *i* had already been identified with another character, he concluded that ハ must represent *yu*.
This character was evidently a pictograph of hot water.
The validity of this deduction became clear when cross-referenced with usage patterns in Lines 7, 9, and 11.

16.
The character appearing in Lines 5 and 21 is clearly a pictograph; this was interpreted as depicting the shell of a turtle-like animal.
With that, the meaning became clear.

17.

The characters appearing in Lines 5, 6, 7, 13, and others could be coherently interpreted as *Yo* when considered in context.
That is, he recognized them as identical to *Yo*.

18.
In Lines 8, from Line 11 to Line 12, Line 14, Line 25 (where the main text was missing), and others, he speculated that the characters represented numerals.
When arranging the numerals—one (*ichi*, *hitotsu*), two (*ni*, *futatsu*), three (*san*, *mitsu*), four (*shi*, *yotsu*), five (*ko*, *itsutsu*), six (*roku*, *mutsu*), seven (*shichi*, *nanatsu*), eight (*hachi*, *yatsu*), nine (*ku*, *kokonotsu*), ten (*shifu*, *tō*), hundred (*hyaku*, *momo*), thousand (*sen*, *chichi*), ten thousand (*man*, *yorozu*), billion (*oku*)—it became evident that only the character *mu* within the term for “six” remained preserved.
That is, he interpreted them as *mu*.
However, applying *mu* as “six” yielded nonsensical figures like “66 hundred million years,” “1.66 million years,” “7.66 million years,” and “8.66 million years,” which held no coherent meaning.
Yet Amatsu Kyo’s practice of corrupting *mo* into *mu* was evident from how they forced readers to interpret “根” as *muto* in the Fourth Document; if this *mu* was taken as a corruption of *mo*, then *mumu* became *momo*—that is, “hundred”—and could thereby be deciphered.
And the meaning became fully coherent.
That is, recognizing them as *mu* was correct.

19.

In Lines 2, 16, and 25 there are characters [written as] ソ; however, from their relationship with the text below in Line 25, he inferred that these corresponded to accession to the throne.
That is, he recognized [it] as identical to *So*.

20.

Since he had successfully identified thirty-nine out of forty-four characters, six remained unaccounted for. From the perspective of Iroha ordering, ten characters—He, Nu, Ru, Re, U, Wi, O, Ke, E, and We—still defied identification. By systematically substituting these into the Ancient Divine Script and assessing whether they yielded coherent meaning, he achieved full decipherment. He stated the results thus: *ha* corresponded to U, *ha* to E, *ha* to O, *ha* to He, *ha* to Ru, and *ha* to Re. With this breakthrough, every character in the documents had been decoded—though it simultaneously revealed that four symbols (ケ, ヌ, ヰ, and ヱ) never appeared anywhere in the texts.

A-row

Ka-row

Sa-row

Ta-row

Na-row

Ha-row

Ma-row

Ya-row

Ra-row

Wa-row

N

The results of examining the twenty sections above, when arranged into the Fifty Sounds table, were as shown above.
Extracting those that at first glance appeared to be pictographs—mosquito, tree, fence, back, rice field, breast, soil, hand, door, fish, load, root, field, leaf, fire, fart, ear of grain, eyebrow, body, swaddling clothes, eye, seaweed, arrow, hot water, ring, tail—and so on were obtained.
The others also all appeared to resemble pictographs, but it was difficult to determine this definitively at once.
Now, if one assumed that all were pictographs—thereby constituting a pictographic script—it was speculated that what Amatsu Kyo termed “form kana” in the Fourth Document corresponded to these katakana characters.
I did not consider this an appropriate designation by any means but suspected this was how Amatsu Kyo had conceived it.
If this conjecture held true, Amatsu Kyo should have been likened to grafting bamboo onto a tree.

First，in examining the literary style，I began with a partial inspection.

(a) The small black dots positioned at the lower right of characters are punctuation marks，but they appear where deemed unnecessary or are struck twice where a single dot would suffice.
Examples exist in Lines 4，7，11，13，15，16，17，and others.

(b) The errors in kana usage were glaringly numerous.
The conflation of *o* and *wo* occurred frequently, but since this carried no risk of misinterpretation, I refrained from enumerating each instance individually.
The persistent substitution of *su* for *shi* continued unabated here as well.
Character 16 of Line 1 constituted an error of *su* written as *shi*; Character 12 of Line 4 similarly erred with *su* as *shi*; Characters 10 of Line 6 and 3 of Line 7 displayed *su* as *shi* (permissible if construed as archaic usage); Character 13 of Line 24 warranted designation as *su* miswritten as *shi*; Character 3 of Line 28 showed *su* as *shi*; and Character 19 of Line 31 required recognition as *su* erroneously rendered as *shi*.

(c) Among instances where characters bearing no discernible relation to their context were used, there was the sixth character of Line 24. This could be categorized as such; however, even this passage remained tolerable. Yet it made no sense whatsoever.

(d) Regarding omissions: Beneath the second line’s ノ, the name of the month was missing, though it was unclear which month should be inserted. Between the twelfth and thirteenth characters of the third line, unless one inserted the three characters ノヲバ, *Izanagi-Mifutakami* made no sense. In the portion starting from the seventh character of the seventh line, there appeared to be an omission. If one inserted ヲ between them, this became equivalent to ヲバ一ニ, rendering it comprehensible. I believed one should supplement ヲ above the seventeenth character of the fourteenth line. Alternatively, perhaps Amatsu Kyo had conventionally adopted the omission of this in their usage. Between the second and third characters of Line 16 and between the sixth and seventh characters of Line 26—if following the usage example in Line 10—one would insert ヲ; however, it remained unclear which instance should be deemed correct. I noted this here as it required attention. In Line 23, Character 15, the character ヲ was missing below. In Line 25, Character 10, the character ヲ was missing below.

(e) The use of continuative verb forms where terminal forms were required had been identified in the Fourth Document; these errors also manifested within this Fifth Document. While present throughout the main text, their most conspicuous occurrences accompanied signatures—a pattern identical to that observed in the Fourth Document. The section spanning Lines 25 through 31 exemplified this precisely.

(f) Though purportedly composed in the divine lexicon of antiquity, these passages were contaminated by Sino-Japanese vocabulary intrusions: Line 2 ("enthronement spanning eight billion eight hundred million years"), Line 3 (*Saishi* and *Saikanshō*), Line 4 ("Heaven"), Line 6 (*Suimon*), Line 8 ("Heaven for one hundred billion million years"), Lines 11–12 ("one hundred billion five million years"), Line 14 ("billion" and "million years"), Line 16 ("enthronement" and "eight"), Line 19 ("sixty-two"), Line 21 (*Saikanshō* and *Sai*), Line 22 ("Heaven," *Fukusai*, and *Saikwanchō*—the latter appearing earlier with variant orthography), Line 25 ("enthronement spanning eight million years" and "one"), and Line 32 ("sixty-three") collectively evidenced this linguistic forgery.

Now, if we correct omissions, errors, and the like, the full text would read as follows.
Those marked with a symbol on the right are erroneous characters; those marked on the left are omitted characters.

2．SUMIWOYASUMIRAWOHOKAMITAMASHI HETAKARAWO．WOHOMIYAWOTSUKURITE．SOKUIHACHISHIFUHACHIWOKUMANNEN． (Unclear) MADOMUTSUHI．SAISHIISANAKIISANAMIFUTAKAMI．SAIKANSHYOU．

マツリス．イツイロヒトハヘレス．．テンヲ．ミコトシ．ヲンヘタチ．イタノクニノ．イタルネクニムリセヨトアリ．イロヒト．イト

マシテ．オノレノクニイ．コシネノドノ．ニシウラスイモン．ヨリカライカヘル．コヲイチニアメヨリアマクタリトユフ．．イサナキスミラミコトテンヲ．ムムヲクマンネンサナヘツキタツイチヒ．ミコトバヲアメマツリスミラミコトヲユヅ

Rikoto. Aneno amasakarihini mokatsuhimi Amaterasu Mikoto ni. Yutsu watashi... Izanagi-kami mumu o kuitsumu mannen. Fukumitsuki. Mado yotsuhi. Koshine naka. Nieya.

トトノヲヤマ．ヨリ．カミサリ．イサナミカミ．．ムムヲクマンネ ン．カナメツキツコモリムツヒニ．

カミサリ．トコロ、カカノシラヤマトユフ．．アマサカリヒニモカツヒミスミラミコトテンヲ．ソクイハチムムマンネン．ムツヒツキ．タツイチヒ．ニ．ムトフミクライシノシヲヲツカミヲホネノカミヨリ

ロクシフニ

イサナキイサナミフタカミ．マデオ．フミシテ．

アワセマツリ．サイカンシヤウシ．マツリ．サイシ．

テンヲ．フクサイシ．シサノヲミコト．サイクワンチヤウ

ヲモイカネ．コヤネ．フトタマ．ヤホヨロヅカミ．

Mikoto. Tsutono tematsurishita mou.

ソクイハチムムマンネンムツヒツキタツイチヒニフミシ

テンヲフ

アマサカリヒニモカツヒミスミラミコト シ

サイシミ

フ

ツキモカツスサノヲミコト シ

ミ

フ

ヲモイカネミコト シ

ミ

クニヲ フ

マ ヒトヲ リ カミ コヤネミコト シ

ミイヲ ミ

フ

フトタマミコト シ

ミ

スミヲヤスミラヲホカミタマヤノタマシヘニシ

Rokushifusan

At the conclusion of this text was an imperial signature dated New Year’s Day of the eight millionth year of Amaterasu Omikami’s reign, followed by subsidiary seals of Susanoo-no-Mikoto, Ame-no-Oshihomimi-no-Mikoto, Ame-no-Koyane-no-Mikoto, and Ame-no-Futodama-no-Mikoto.
This document thus constituted the deity’s august writings—even had it been a copy, it would have been fully qualified as a national treasure.
Yet judging from the text’s tone, how could anyone consider this a relic from the Age of the Gods?
The numerals that even children’s counting songs preserved through archaic appellations were almost entirely rendered in Sino-Japanese pronunciations within this document.
Terms like “remaining years,” “enthronement,” “invocation,” and “water gates” likewise appeared in Sino-Japanese readings.
Not only were there no auspicious phrases evocative of antiquity to be found, but the bizarre date interpretations not only failed as evidence—they actively undermined credibility.
Therefore this text was clearly of recent origin at first glance, its clumsy composition readily apparent.
Naturally Amatsu Kyo would assert this was an Age of Gods manuscript while claiming Sino-Japanese readings originated in Japan—a premise supporting their argument.
This obstinate insistence on Japanese primacy was hardly unique to them; such notions had long circulated as common societal chatter one might dismiss without consequence. Yet the flaws I had earlier identified in this document proved impossible to ignore.
With kana inconsistencies, omissions, and typographical errors amounting to utter chaos—to say nothing of having omitted most of Her Majesty the Mother Goddess Izanami-no-Mikoto’s august name—upon whom did they mean to pin responsibility for such gross negligence?
Having reached this conclusion, Amatsu Kyo ought to have engaged in profound reflection, repentance, and prudence.
While few would dispute that scribal incompetence or undue haste offered the most plausible explanations for such disarray, I further believed one could readily infer unique circumstances within Amatsu Kyo itself that had led matters to this state.
For though Amatsu Kyo claimed Heguri no Matoori’s records were translations of ancient divine script documents, the truth stood precisely reversed—the divine script records were translations of Heguri no Matoori’s writings.
Under these peculiar conditions they had rushed their translations without proper investigation of archaic language—thereby compounding errors beyond measure.

To briefly summarize the preceding analysis of literary style: while this document is written in the Ancient Divine Script, like the other documents it is of recent origin, and its production is inferred to postdate the Fifth Document.

Second，upon examining the calligraphic style，one had to acknowledge that while these characters should be considered pictographic—defying categorization as either calligraphy or painting—they exhibited dual characteristics．Applying a perspective unifying calligraphy and painting，one found their artistic vitality marked by an unrefined stiffness that failed to impart any favorable impression．Even when assessed technically，they might have possessed mere proficiency，but no refinement born of painstaking effort could be discerned．However，as preconceived associations risked overly influencing this point，I refrained from elaborating further．Regarding the author’s own expertise，he remained all the more hesitant and withheld judgment．

Due to my lack of prior knowledge regarding the so-called Ancient Divine Script, when I first began investigating these documents, I did not believe I could decipher Amatsu Kyo’s divine script. However, after unexpectedly noticing the page numbers, I applied myself diligently and managed to read the entirety within approximately one month.
Later, when my colleague Mr. Watanabe Daito informed me that a certain individual had recently published a book explicating this very script within a work on the Ancient Divine Script, I felt ashamed of my own scholarly ignorance while simultaneously realizing anew that the world still harbored those who clung to such superstitions.
At this moment, it suddenly occurred to me that the Ancient Divine Script used in the aforementioned documents might not have been this script after all. When I examined them, it indeed proved to be exactly as I had suspected.
With this, the true nature of Amatsu Kyo had been fully exposed; however, as this script had been discovered independently in several locations, among national scholars there were those who, while harboring doubts about the aforementioned documents, believed this script alone to be genuine.
However, this was an illusion born from an inability to detect forgery; there could be no doubt that this script was created by the aforementioned author, and it was decidedly not from the Age of Gods.
Such crude new characters by their very nature required no great effort to produce—one might say they could be created before breakfast—though deciphering them naturally demanded considerable time depending on available clues.
I had just alluded to the practice of “planting” forgeries, which was a widely employed method of deception involving fabricating convenient objects in locations presumed unrelated, thereby orchestrating their discovery by others.
Among these planted forgeries there existed considerably difficult cases where scholars became accomplices or were turned into dupes.
That is to say, there were those only exposed after hundreds of years had passed, and others that remained questioned even after a millennium.
That this was particularly prevalent in religious circles stood as a lamentable fact worthy of attention.
These documents possessed qualities that piqued researchers’ interest; however, older forgeries appeared as though time-barred, and there were quite numerous instances where forgers had been excessively successful to the point of intractability.
However, according to recent reports I had heard, the public had been incessantly discovering anomalous pyramids and newly unearthed ancient divine-era ruins—all of which were said to corroborate Amatsu Kyo’s doctrines. Yet this very fact was where suspicion should lie, for such planted evidence would do well to be cautiously avoided even for Amatsu Kyo’s own sake.

To briefly summarize the preceding analysis of calligraphic styles: even if one were to regard them as divine script from the Age of the Gods, they could not be considered the work of a particularly skilled calligraphic deity. Ultimately, these characters were from later periods, and we must conclude that they constituted nothing more than a second-order forgery meant to embellish the original deception.

Third, upon examining the content:
Formally speaking, the articles lacked an appropriate balance of refinement and coarseness; this point alone warranted immediate suspicion.
Matters of the Age of the Gods were indeed recorded in official histories, but they remained nebulous and difficult to grasp.
Therefore, it was said that when compiling the *Dai Nihon Shi* in Mito, Lord Mitsukuni had made the wise decision to excise the Age of the Gods.
However, exploiting this nebulous backdrop to create ever more embellished scripts and stage grand deceptions showed no sign of ceasing.
Though they all put on a commendable front, each was undoubtedly suspect.
When examining this document substantively, there remained more than enough to conclude that Amatsu Kyo too belonged to this category of fraudulent schemes.
When reading from line 11 to line 15 of this document, there appeared a phrase: “Koshine Nakani Eya Totono o Yama.”
This was thought to refer to Mount Tate in Niikawa District, Etchū Province, though *Nieya* could also be interpreted as *Funei*.
If this were the case, Mount Tate’s jurisdictional affiliation became inconsistent. What proved more significant was that this passage recorded Izanami-no-Mikoto as having passed into seclusion after Izanagi-no-Mikoto—a direct contradiction of official historical accounts.
Since such disregard for official history had precedents and was hardly novel, I now deduced a different contradiction.
In the narrative spanning from the seventh to twelfth lines, it stated that Izanagi-no-Mikoto abdicated the throne to Amaterasu Omikami after one hundred billion myriad years, while the twenty-fifth line bore a date marking Amaterasu Omikami’s enthronement eight million years thereafter.
That is to say, at the time of this document’s creation, Japan was already purported to be an ancient nation of one hundred billion and eight million years.
Thus arose the question: how much had the deity population increased during this period?
Even if all reproductive conditions during the Age of the Gods were viewed as incomparably disadvantageous relative to today, over one hundred billion and eight million years they would have produced multitudes of deities; unless periodic god-subduing had been conducted, one had to conclude that by that stated date, every square meter of Earth—land and sea alike—would have had to harbor millions upon millions of gods.
Of course, this was merely a back-of-the-envelope calculation—not that one couldn’t perform slightly more precise computations, but since there was no need, I kept it to a deliberately conservative internal estimate—yet how would Amatsu Kyo possibly resolve this issue?
Perhaps they would explain that since the gods resided in heaven, earthly spatial limitations were of no concern.
Then, in the descriptions from the first to seventh lines, there was mention of a great palace constructed during the era of Izanagi-no-Mikoto and Izanami-no-Mikoto—but where had this edifice been located?
As portions preceding this article were missing, some aspects remained unclear; however, according to the subsequent passage—which stated, “The Five Races of Humanity [omission] returned to Tang from the water gate at Nishinoura in Koshi-Noto”—it was surmised that [the location] might have been Shinmei Village in Etchū Province.
Considering this, this great palace stood on Japanese soil, and one could only surmise that the Two August Deities Izanagi and Izanami, along with eight million gods, had resided on Japanese soil for generations.

We found that conclusion perfectly acceptable.
Moreover, given that Koshi-Naka-no-Omiya was not large in scale and thus unable to accommodate the Five Races of Humanity, I found it most regrettable.
Why—corresponding to a hundred billion myriad years—did they not at least prepare an eight-million-*ri*-square skyscraper? One could not help but ask.
Examining this through such reasoning laid bare how what was expounded in these documents utterly lacked any numerical coherence, departed from commonsense thought, and brazenly contradicted official historical records.
From every conceivable angle examined at that time, they amounted to nothing more than propagating troublesome fabrications.

To briefly summarize the preceding analysis of the content, this document is utterly preposterous and entirely unworthy of belief.

Based on the aforementioned reasons, the *Scroll of Ancient Divine Script from the Primeval Era of the Great Japanese Emperor* stands as a recent forgery; moreover, documents of this category of divine script are conclusively judged to have been produced subsequent to what is termed the Fifth Document—those katakana-like Chinese character texts.

Part VII: Conclusion

To summarize the critique attempted in the preceding sections: the documents that Amatsu Kyo proudly displayed to the world as supreme treasures—namely, the authentic handwriting of Amaterasu Omikami, Emperor Go-Daigo, Emperor Chokei, as well as what were claimed to be genuine works by Heguri no Matoori and Takeuchi Muneyoshi—firstly exhibited uniformly poor composition; not only did their crucial grammatical structures and tones remain unchanged across hundreds of millions of years, but their errors were stubbornly preserved and eternally perpetuated.
Secondly, none of the brushwork proved skillful; markedly modern in style and rife with similarities, one could not consider them to be the work of different hands.
Thirdly, their doctrines not only contradicted official history but also calmly asserted matters that only became widely known after the Meiji period.
Accordingly, through successive examinations of these documents’ literary style, calligraphic style, and content, we thereby exposed them as entirely recent forgeries.
Even if one were to elucidate the residual abnormalities that remained as points of doubt, this would not alter the fact of forgery.
Therefore, Amatsu Kyo sustained five fatal wounds, tantamount to having their means of survival completely severed.
If one were to further examine the original documents and ancient artifacts, even more inconsistencies would inevitably have come to light; if one were to conduct a comparative investigation between their alleged sources—including the aforementioned texts and Western legends—their plagiaristic rehashings could have been excised as cunning schemes. Yet there was no need to expend futile effort in performing the folly of whipping a corpse.
In reflecting upon this, while Amatsu Kyo’s doctrines were indeed fabrications, the harm they had caused thus far was considered relatively minor, as their propaganda had not produced the deleterious side effects typically seen in analogous religious movements.
Though this point might be an accidental outcome, it was deserving of leniency.
Therefore, when compared to those factions that employed such deceitful sermons coupled with equally harmful side effects to lure people, intoxicate and addict them, then exploit their falsehoods to achieve success, Amatsu Kyo’s circumstances appeared pitiable—indeed, one could not help but feel sympathy for them.
Although this point was an inevitable result, there remained something deserving of sympathy.
At this juncture, I did not idly disparage Amatsu Kyo.
I merely spoke to prompt the awakening of those who were lost and those on the verge of losing their way.
It was my earnest hope that Amatsu Kyo too would reflect, repent, abandon their delusions, and swiftly return to the righteous path of the Imperial Way.