Pathway to Japanese Literature

A complete comparative study could not yet be hoped for.
It would likely remain at merely identifying similarities within the Japanese-Ryukyuan language family and tracing their connections.
Yet I could not help fearing that even such simple tasks might someday cease to be considered relevant due to transformations in human geography.
It was from this unease that I came to resolve myself to compile this brief treatise.
Let it stand merely as a record - one I hope might also commemorate the enduring fellowship posited by the Japanese-Ryukyuan common ancestry theory.

Japanese and Okinawan have today been established beyond doubt as cognate languages.
Yet upon close examination, the archaic grammatical features contained within both languages exhibited rather complex manifestations—in such moments arose an intuition that here lay grammatical issues defying ordinary explanation.
While pondering this more deeply still, I came to realize that what had initially appeared as differences between them unexpectedly demonstrated instead an inseparable bond connecting these two language families.
——Such experiences have occurred to me time and again.
As for this phenomenon too—whether it represents a sentiment unique to myself or something universally arising in all who consider it—I find myself compelled to examine these matters.

This first part that I intended to write next had long been a pressing matter for me personally; nearly forty years had passed with it remaining largely unwritten. In the meantime, forward-thinking scholars had already reported some of those findings. I recalled that Dr. Tsuboi Kumazo’s paper, published in *The Light of East Asia* during the early Taishō era, had been one of those seminal works. Among the several examples I would cite hereafter, some were already present in that paper to such an extent that, though I had arrived at them through my own independent consideration, it may well have been that in certain respects I had benefited from and been influenced by it.

Part I: Japanese Word Order

I. The "Lower" Compounds

From the perspective of later word order, what would later be expressed as "blind-lower" (簾下) or "footwear-lower" (沓下) had in ancient times been articulated through a completely inverted method as "lowered blinds" (下簾 *shitasudare*) and "footwear lining" (韈 *shitauzu*).
I resolved to proceed from this line of thought.

If *shitasudare* derived its name from referring to a blind hung beneath another implement or blind, then no issue would arise.
Similarly, if it were called *shitagutsu* because an additional layer was worn beneath the footwear’s lining, this too would follow naturally.
Yet *shitasudare* and *shitauzu* were not such things.

The name 'shitasudare' referred to cloth draperies hanging beneath blinds attached to carriage fronts, while 'shitauzu' (also read 'shitagutsu') denoted items resembling tabi socks worn beneath footwear. Both terms carried strong linguistic sensibilities of the Heian period, yet might they not have already existed earlier? As for *shitagutsu*, even Book 16 of the *Man'yōshū* contains the phrase "two-patterned lower footwear" (二綾下沓). These were tabi socks with double-layered twill patterns worn as underfoot gear.

Examining the concatenated phrase "[...] two-patterned lower footwear from Ochikata, and the black footwear sewn with rain-restraint stitches (*nagameimi*) by Asuka no Takeo of Tobutori," one discerns both the aforementioned lower footwear and—layered above them—the black footwear meticulously stitched by Asuka villagers during rainy seasons. This clarifies not only the layering sequence but suggests the terminology's origins might reach back to the Fujiwara-Nara period or earlier. The semantic continuity of these terms appeared preserved throughout. Consequently, we must conclude that dual word-order patterns existed in *Man'yōshū* compositions.

In texts following standard word order，compound terms—where elements that should logically precede were instead postposed—persisted through the long eras following the Asuka period to such an extent that their existence during that time could be imagined；moreover，it may be considered that some even remained fixed as established compounds well into later ages．
Moreover，this fact naturally occurred under such circumstances．It referred to the existence of terms with entirely different—indeed reversed—word order interspersed among the numerous compound terms used in accordance with standard Japanese word order．
Thus，with our current knowledge—synthesized and studied from ancient documents surviving to this day—it becomes easy to imagine an era when expressions adhering solely to one particular word order prevailed．
Even when examining documents as far back into antiquity as possible，compounds adhering to standard word order remained overwhelmingly numerous，while those following the reverse pattern proved far fewer than could be called merely extremely rare．
The fact is that such words were intricately inlaid and intermingled．
Needless to say，there was never an era when only reverse-word-order terms prevailed；indeed，not even a period when they held significant sway could be observed．

That being said, it could not be considered a natural bifurcation emerging from a single developmental trajectory of the Japanese language. The most plausible interpretation would be that two distinct stylistic modes—arising from separate linguistic lineages—left enduring imprints upon Japanese over extended periods. While no era dominated by so-called reverse word order can be substantiated within documentary history, this does not render it mere fantasy—it retains theoretical validity.

For *shitagutsu* ("lower footwear"), attempts can be made to trace its origins as outlined above; however, regarding *shitasudare* ("lowered blinds"), whether due to emerging late or because early forms are scarcely preserved in extant documents and classical texts—or perhaps because they never manifested an early form—in any case, nothing predating the Heian period can be found.
However, since things of this same style can naturally arise even temporarily, there should be no issue in positing that compounds in the *shita-XX* form likely existed.

II. The *Kata* Compounds

There was no particular reason why I had to rely exclusively on the *Man'yōshū* to seek examples of the same kind; however, I adopted this approach because these terms offered a readily comprehensible understanding and possessed a certain familiarity.
Among terms found in the *Man'yōshū* and appearing quite frequently elsewhere was *Kataoka*, a word related to topography and geography.
Due to being place names, there were quite a few regions where they remained living terms even today despite being archaic words.
There were also documented examples such as *Kataoka* [傍岡] and *Katacka* [傍丘] that clearly demonstrated an awareness of etymological origins.

From places where the terrain called *oka* left a strong impression, a habit formed among us to envision landscapes centered around hills.
In the manner of saying “the mountain beside the hill,” there were regions that adjusted their geographical conceptions through place names like Kataokayama.

The term *kata-yama* ("mountain beside [something]") was also a compound of the same type.
Kataoka ("hillside") and Katayama ("mountainside") referred to individual areas adjacent to a hill or mountain—the land beside these features did not itself need to directly constitute a hill or mountain. However, owing to the typically unchanging nature of geographical conditions, people developed a habit of conflating even those respective areas located beside hills or mountains with the hills or mountains themselves.

Katacka in Yamato Kitakatsuragi County, where imperial mausoleums were scattered, formed a terrain that was narrow yet exceedingly long.
This flatland spanning three ri north-south beside a hill—a place where the custom of expressing [locations] through reverse word order had become formally fixed—was precisely the kind of terrain where one felt it entirely appropriate to rephrase [the designation] as "hillside."
However, later—gradually influenced by shifts in linguistic nuance—it came closer to being called "the hill beside [something]" or "the hill beside the village," and as associations shifted over time, this designation became firmly established and remained in use for generations.

The hill bearing the name Katacka was a modern hilly terrain called Mamiyama Hill, which originated from Okazaki—a place south of Hōryūji Temple in the north—extended westward and southward through its hilly terrain, turned eastward where another Okazaki lay, and there the hill came to an end.
The hilly terrain spanning from this Okazaki to that Okazaki came to be referred to as "hills," so originally, the flatland along those "hills" had been what constituted Katacka.
The hill located in this Katacka region ultimately came to be thought of as “Katacka” itself, and the act of calling that hill by the name “Kataokayama” represented a toponym that had already shifted toward *oka* (hill) from ancient times.

Kataoka is a widely distributed place name; even in Yamashiro, there existed two renowned Kataoka.
In the *Man'yōshū*, though it remains unclear which hilly area this refers to, there exists the passage: “If one were to plant oaks on this opposite ridge of Kataoka...” (Book 7).
This tends to be interpreted as “Katacka being the hill across here that is Katacka,” but here too, it refers to “the hill across from the village (flatland) beside the hill,” indicating a place name derived from “hill” that points to the hill standing before that land.

III. The Relationship with Vertical Bridges

Next came an example anyone might readily acknowledge - vertical bridges.
When we speak of celestial ladders like *tatehashi*, they persist vividly within us as living word order; yet terms sharing this patina of archaic obsolescence - *kakehashi* (makeshift bridges) and *ihawahashi* (stone bridges)...
...could be considered to possess fundamentally different qualities.
Whereas ordinary bridges were built horizontally or on inclines, vertical bridges stood perpendicularly from upper structures, rooftops, or eaves into the sky - often conceived in religious contexts (indeed predominantly so) as spanning from rooftop voids to specific aerial points. These continued being called *tatehashi* ("vertical bridges"), all while preserving awareness of their etymological roots in *magai* ("interstitial wood").
We later adopted replacement terms bearing affectionate suffixes like "ladder's child" (*hashigo no ko*) and plain "ladder" (*hashigo*).
The structure accommodating both these bridge-related word orders was *Kurahashi* ("storehouse ladder").
Likely during an era when imaginary celestial ladders faded from common thought, *Kurahashi-tate* became fixed and simplified while retaining this etymological consciousness.
"The divine splendid storehouse too, just as with the vertical ladders,"
...records the *Suinin Chronicle* regarding these *tatehashi* - ladders serving deities enshrined in storehouse upper chambers.

Even after entering the Showa era, the old-fashioned ladders that could still be seen on Okinawa Main Island were what should be called single-pole ladders—thick poles notched at intervals with a hatchet to serve as footholds.
By leaning these against any available surface, one could use them with great simplicity as ladders.
During the period when they referred to them as *tatehashi* (vertical bridges), they likely employed such devices.
Unlike horizontally placed bridges, there was no need to prop either end against objects.

The *Harima Fudoki*’s Ibo District entry states: “The Mountain of the Sacred Bridge was that which Ōnamuchi-no-Mikoto created, resembling a piled-bag vertical bridge, a mountain, and a stone bridge.” I considered that it had been erected vertically toward the sky as a vertical bridge. The "Eighty Bridge" in the same Inami District shared a connection with the legend of a stone bridge that eighty people ascended and descended during the time when it had reached the sky. This too could be viewed as having been conceived as a single-pole ladder.

That tatehashi (vertical bridges) likely exhibited reverse word order was something Dr. Tsuboi must have already addressed.

**IV. Mogari (Provisional Encoffinment)**

The compounds I have presented thus far should not, I believe, contradict my reasoning, but there are some that remain rather questionable.

The character 殯 in *Mogari Palace* and *Mogari interment* did not appear incorrect when read as *mogari* or *araki*. Even today, its etymology remained largely unclear. Scholars theorized that *honashi no agari*—which seemed to signify *hi-nashi mogari* interment—derived *agari* from terms like *kamiagari* ("divine ascension"), while interpreting *mogari* as *mo-agari* ("mourning ascension"). However, this theory itself contained contradictions, and it could not be definitively ruled out that the archaic term *honashi no agari* was not a scribal error for *honashi no mogari*. Mogari was originally not a formal funeral rite. It constituted a ritual of placing the corpse—still retaining a spirit that had not yet departed—in a separate location for a period. Since it maintained treatment befitting a living person, the court historically referred to this state as *Dai-kō Tennō*. This served both as a name invoking the corpse and a designation addressing the spirit.

When referring to *mogari*, people also used the term *karimogari*, though there was no substantive difference between them. Upon reflection, I believe *mogari* was originally conceived as a temporary act that ultimately became formalized as one step in funeral procedures. By calling it *karimogari*, they demonstrated a perception akin to conducting provisional funerary rites. However, since *mogari* itself constituted a provisional method, this awareness of temporality became doubly emphasized. The *mogari* preserved in regional dialects among certain clans no longer corresponds to ancient interment practices. It had come to denote split bamboo objects erected on newly dug graves. One might observe bamboo flower baskets with drooping "beards"—carried at funeral processions and planted atop fresh graves—partially buried in grave soil with their filaments protruding outward. The term that appears to reveal its ultimate purpose is *mehajiki*. It was thought to serve the function of repelling wild beasts that might unearth and devour corpses. In what seems an archaic dialectal usage beyond regions employing *mogari*, one recalls its transmission through terms like *sakamogi* and *mogari*—names for defensive obstacles in battlefields and fortresses. Even in modern times, bamboo drying racks with dense branches—structures from which long cloths could be hung—were called *mogari* by dyers. Through this association, the term came to describe rogues who entangled others through fabricated pretexts: swindlers, instigators, and practitioners of honey traps.

The obstacles installed in provisional burial sites (*mogari* sites) of antiquity came to be directly called *mogari*, which then underwent semantic shifts. Among these meanings, one should be permitted to trace back and consider even the ancient *karimogari* ritual. The designation that ought to have been termed "provisional mourning"—anticipating subsequent rites in funerary practice's earliest form—had instead been expressed through an archaic reverse word order. While it cannot be claimed that the true burial following *mogari* was properly inherited intact, the dual-grave system—whose traces remain vividly evident in Japanese folk customs today—may nonetheless be said to convey, to some degree, an ancient folkloric impression: that without undergoing two or more funerary rites, people could not attain satisfaction that a complete mourning process had been observed.

From this repetition of funerary rites emerged a tendency to express what might be termed provisional burial—a nuance carried by *mogari*—and upon this foundation arose the tautological expression *karimogari*, as if compounding terms.

Even the *mogari* interment rituals—given their considerable stylistic differences—could be considered inherent to our folk customs rather than necessarily adopted from Chinese mortuary practices; yet we cannot definitively assert these were uniformly practiced across all ancient Japan.
Traces remain discernible in regions where this was not observed and among tribes where it existed.
Throughout Okinawa, sky burial and bone-washing customs persist; yet these too cannot be deemed funerary practices universal to every era and locality.
Among Japanese north of Okinawa, such traditions had gone unacknowledged until recent decades; now however, traces of folkways adjacent to bone exposure and ritual cleansing increasingly manifest their contours.

V. Nakedness

Now, another reverse word order theorist, Prof. Kanazawa Shōsaburō, had posited—based on the traditional theory that “nakedness” (*hadaka*) derived from “red skin” (*akahada*)—that this represented reversed word order.

However, merely invoking *mogari* and similar concepts while attempting to prove them through etymological reasoning ultimately amounts to constructing another theory atop an existing one.
Unless an etymological theory is fully substantiated, it cannot be recognized as a reliable academic proposition.

Compared to the *mogari* theory, the *akahada* theory strikes me as intuitively closer to the truth—or so I sense.
What merits attention here is how a phenomenon akin to reduplication emerges—manifested in forms like “nakedness” (*akahadaka*)—seeking to evoke archaic impressions.
One might say word order inversion undergoes a reduplicative process; moreover, regarding the formation of reduplication in Japan, there are aspects where changes in word order must be seen as causative factors.

Before tracing back to the oldest eras accessible through Japan's literary records, I first examined terms imbued with Heian-period linguistic sensibilities.
Now, proceeding a bit further, I intended to examine what form they assumed in the archaic language of Japanese during its earliest period.

VI. The Terms “Sane” and “Nushi”

The terms *kannushi* and *kamizane* may be treated collectively for discussion.
The term *muzane*, etymologically writable with characters like 身実 (“body-truth”) or 身真 (“body-genuine”), signifies being at the body’s core—or could be rendered as “the body’s heart.”
Modern readers would understand expressions like “true form” or “essence.”
Terms such as *kamizane* (“divine essence”) and *kannushi* (“shrine priest”) denote a deity’s central existence—the living marrow of divinity—with *kannushi* ultimately signifying “chief deity” (*shushin*).
Given its frequent usage interpreting *kannushi* as a god embodying divine essence becomes reasonable.
This term thus signifies what contains that which becomes enshrined divine marrow.
Even reversing components to form “sane-mi” (実身) equates to saying “the body’s heart” (身の心).
As *kannushi* also came to mean either divine humanity’s principal entity or master of gods considering them together proves valid.
When bias enters vague representations meanings solidify though some remain fluid.
The mind pursuing representations has largely outgrown linguistic conception’s original intent.

One contemplates what constitutes the essence.

Whether it was the deity itself or something non-divine, beginning from a point where such distinctions received no deep consideration, the fateful significance of that term became fixed. Therefore, "kami-zane" could be understood as either a deity or a shrine priest. As Shinto underwent ritualization and worship of human deities intensified, the term's weight shifted toward kamizane—that is, shrine priests. Yet it must be said that its meaning still wavered in precise terms.

Whether one spoke of "the body's core" (mi no sane) or "the substantial body" (jitsu naru mi), both interpretations should have been comprehensible before their meanings became fixed. Once the word form stabilized, however, alternative interpretations outside this framework became incomprehensible—or so it appeared. It seemed the form had come to require being muzane.

When the archaic term muzane ceased appearing in extant literature—or perhaps merely fell from widespread use, though possibly persisting regionally—there emerged sōjimi, a term that appeared to have advanced somewhat in meaning from its predecessor. This was the Japanized form of shōjin (正身, "true form"), a Sinicized compound. Through phonological change, it came to be called sōjimi, acquiring a linguistic texture truly characteristic of the national language. One may reasonably conclude that when an appropriate opportunity arose for replacing muzane, it was finally supplanted. This term stood as a striking example of Japanization efforts.

In terms of meaning, the true form was muzane; deconstructing the word yielded sanemi. While words were not necessarily formed through such analytical decomposition, it remained true that their creation involved such conscious processes. From a spiritual perspective, one could say that certain periods exerted force compelling word order changes. Even if we posit a word order transition period, it would belong to an era so remote that its reality became as unfathomable as fantasy.

Yet these transformation efforts persisted over considerable time, making people feel etymological shifts had occurred unconsciously—without deliberate awareness of directionality between standard and reverse orders—and we may conclude that changes gradually manifested through a spiritual impetus prioritizing transformation itself over adherence to existing forms.

The residual momentum of word order changes that should have spread gradually across the entire language still lingered belatedly in some cases, while conversely, some forms may have reverted from standard to reverse order—though with no inherent "reverse" directionality, later Japanese had no choice but to adopt these terms provisionally as baselines.

Since forms in standard word order constituted an overwhelming majority—and as this order persisted rather late—there must have been cases where linguistic properties bearing later-period characteristics like muzane and sōjimi came to be expressed through newly introduced Sinicized compounds. Naturally, some elements remained untouched by these changes, which explained why medieval Japanese exhibited such disordered states.

It followed naturally that vestiges of these untouched forms were often found in proper nouns—those linguistic elements most resistant to new transformations.

Moreover，even among those outside [proper nouns]，remnants could be found—instances like those discussed thus far—and at times，even when the word order was reversed，they had come to regard this as something ordinary that should naturally exist.

VII. On Personal Names

Silla Lady Zemmyō

Kudara Lady Myōkō

Nakatomi Kane Muraji

Nakatomi Kamako Muraji (also Nakatomi Kamatari Muraji)

Soga Iname Sukune

Soga Umako Sukune

Soga Emishi Sukune

Soga Akae Omi

Soga Kuramaro Omi

Mononobe Me Muraji

Mononobe Oko Ōmuraji

Mononobe Yuge no Moriya Ōmuraji

Ōtomo Dan Muraji

Ōtomo Kanamura Ōmuraji

Ōtomo Nagatoku Muraji

At first glance, the arrangement of personal names in the *Nihon Shoki* appeared to intermingle standard and reverse word orders, though it might also have seemed like a natural ordering.

For instance, if one were to interpret a name like "Kudara no Ikezu Hime" according to standard word order, modern sensibilities would likely perceive the title *hime* (Lady) as merely an honorific.
However, under ancient court conventions, the titles *Fujin* (夫人) and *Hime* (媛) had indicated the official ranks or clan affiliations of noblewomen from the Three Han.
"[They] ordained Lady Koma [a certain individual], Lady Zemmyō of Silla and Baekje, Lady Myōkō, and others."
The entry in the Chronicle of Emperor Sushun’s third year referred to people newly arrived from those regions who had been ordained at Bodai Temple.
Silla Lady and Baekje Lady denoted their clan affiliations, while Zemmyō and Myōkō appeared to state personal names.
In the Yūryaku 2nd Year Chronicle, 'Lady' was positioned afterward.
This pattern too required similar interpretation and could be considered equivalent to "Kudara no Ikezu Hime."
The manner in which the Muraji surname was appended to members of the Nakatomi clan—such as Kane and Kamatari—likely demonstrated that the practice of positioning surnames after personal names had already emerged during the *Nihon Shoki*'s compilation era. Simultaneously, it revealed how surnames had begun acquiring honorific connotations.
In other households, titles such as Sukune, Omi, and Muraji were positioned both above and below names during the same period; however, their increasing placement below names reflected shifting perceptions between old and new conventions.
As time progressed, titles like Mahito and Asomi came to be used more as honorifics than as clan designations.
The custom of addressing those above a certain rank as Asomi had likely been induced by this tendency.

Originally, surnames—which were not intended to serve as honorifics—became detached from clan names and came to be positioned below personal names.
This was nothing more than a mere change in word order.
Yet when this occurred, surnames came to be felt as deepening a personal relationship with personal names.

Thus while the shifting positions of surnames, clan names, and personal names might appear attributable to changes in social perception, their fundamental cause lay in word order change.
What emerges here is a state where such word order and honorific sensibilities intersected and alternated.

Terms such as *bashō* ("sloping hill")—which could be considered semi-proper nouns—may be uniformly viewed alongside examples preserved in everyday objects like *shitasudare* ("lowered blinds"), *shitauzu* ("footwear lining"), and *tatehashi* ("vertical bridges").

The era expressed through old word order—or perhaps such a characterization may reflect an overly unilateral perspective skewed toward language families retaining archaic syntax—belongs to a past so ancient that its nature diverges from what we envision as antiquity.
The linguistic reality in which such reverse-order terms were commonplace survives only through impressions left by ancient documents and must be considered beyond our imaginative reconstruction.
There appears to exist forms so severed from continuity that they remain undetectable in subsequent records.
The language employed by ancestors of Japan’s pivotal tribes—not implying numerical dominance—in their pre-migration homeland era differs so fundamentally from later standard word order paradigms that even this contrived formulation verges on plausibility.

VIII. The Position of Hime

For instance, in the name *Himetatarai Isuzu Hime no Mikoto*—where the term *hime* is redundantly applied—one can discern that even people of the remotest antiquity held doubts. There was an etymological narrative stating that what had been called *Hototatara Isusugihime* came to be referred to as *Himetatara Isuzuhime* (or *Isukeyorihime*). As for etymological theories qua etymological theories, they ultimately originated from *Himetatara*; there existed a direct cause for the derivation of the *Hototatara* title, and furthermore, reasons for engaging in such etymological expansions came to be appended. That being said, this honorable name demonstrated, so to speak, both archaic and modern word orders. In terms of new word order, it should have been called *Tatarai Suzuhime*. Under the old word order, it would have taken forms such as *Himetatarai Suzuhime* or *Himetatarai Isuke*. In older titles, there were likely even more complex ones; however, adding such assumptions would conversely have rendered it unnatural, so let us consider it in a simpler form.

In contrast to *Himetatarai Suzuhime*, the *Mikoto* honorific was at minimum a considerably later addition and should be regarded as a secondary appellation. It constituted a courtly designation that unified diverse ancient historical and regional titles; the repetition of “*hime…hime*” alone sufficed.

Next, while the *hime* appended at the end might appear—by later-era standards—to occupy its proper position as a suffix, this merely placed the honorific ending where it ostensibly belonged. If no honorific suffix had originally existed there—a grammatically legitimate state under archaic word order—then *Himetatarai Suzuhime*, as previously noted, would have been entirely adequate.

If, due to later-era conventions, one felt uncertain about its linguistic resonance, it might provisionally be rendered as *Himetatara Isuzu no Mikoto*.
Simply put, if positioning honorifics at the beginning rather than placing them at the end were correct, there would be no issue.
However, whether terms like *hime* or *hiko* had been used from the outset with a conscious awareness of their honorific nature remained questionable.
Since names indicating sacred qualifications had gradually accrued honorific connotations, one might consider that in antiquity they inherently expressed distinct significances.
Examples where *hiko* remained at the beginning proved exceedingly abundant by comparison.

IX. On *Hiko*

Hiko Kunibuku (彦国葺)

Hiko Sashiri (彦狭知神)

Hiko Itsuse (彦五瀬命)

Hiko Masu Ō (彦坐王)

┌ 主┐

Hiko・Sashima │彦狭島 │

└ 神┘

Hiko・Hohodemi (Hikohohodemi no Mikoto)

Hohodemi (Hohodemi no Mikoto)

Amatsuhikone (Amatsuhikone no Mikoto)

Ama-tsu-hiko-ne-ho-no-ninigi (天津彦根火瓊々杵尊 no Mikoto)

Ama-tsu-hiko-hiko-ho-no-ninigi (天津彦々火瓊々杵尊 no Mikoto)

Kamu-yamato-iware-hiko-ho-ho-demi (神日本磐余彦火々出見天皇 no Mikoto)

Hiko-nagisa-take-ugaya-fuki-ahezu (彦波瀲武鸕鷀草葺不合尊 no Mikoto)

Personal names (divine names) that bear *Hiko* at their head are not only numerous in this regard alone but indeed quite abundant; however, most of them—having become fixed during the era of pure reverse word order and entered an age of oblivion—impart a settled linguistic resonance as if in a state of stability.
Therefore, it would not be an overstatement to say that each and every one of these personal names—having been used, become fixed, been carried over, and fallen into obsolescence—demonstrates this history.
Particularly among terms belonging to the lineage of divine names, there appear to be some that were formed by imitating the structure of words created through old word order—for instance, new classical terms that seem to have emerged prior to the Nara period.
Among them are types such as Kunibuku Hiko, Sashiri Hiko, Itsuse Hiko, and Sashima Hiko—names that, even when reversed, seem capable of conveying the original sensibility they carried—leading one to recognize that among many ancient personal names, some were transmitted through replacement from old to new word order.
However, the majority preserved in texts had likely already quietly solidified during the new word order era, rendering the necessity to rephrase them in such a manner obsolete.

In particular, regarding *Hiko Itsuse*, one gets the impression that *Itsuse no Mikoto* would indeed have been referred to in that manner under the old word order—that is to say, *Itsuse no Mikoto* should have been called "*Itsusehiko no Mikoto*."

“Hohodemi”
The designation *Hikohohodemi* appears to have served as a shared honorific for ancestors venerated in the ancient court—traced back from *Hikohohodemi no Mikoto* through his predecessor *Ninigi no Mikoto*, and descending even to Emperor Jimmu—as evidenced by appellations like *Kamu-yamato-iware-hiko-ho-ho-demi*, where all were styled as *Hikohohodemi*.

If examined in detail, unresolved issues remained, but broadly speaking, it followed that “Hikohohodemi” constituted the Emperor’s sacred name, while “Kamu-yamato-iware” served as the Emperor’s individual designation—originally a place name.
This too represented a later, classically systematized appellation—Hikohohodemi no Mikoto—but in ancient times, it would have been a name in the style of Hohodemihiko.

If we were to rephrase “Hikonagisa” by rearranging its word order as in “Hahanagi Hiko Takeugaya Fukiaezu no Mikoto,” it would likely become a more readily comprehensible term.

There were also many examples of appellations where *ama-tsu* accompanied *hiko-ho*. Furthermore, there existed an example where an additional *hiko* was attached, forming *Ama-tsu-hiko-hiko-ho-no-ninigi*. These could be attributed to scribal errors from the documentary era, prior mishearings during oral transmission periods, or faulty associations—regardless, they resulted in the loss of crucial reference points for classical studies. This name, among others, had to be considered as preserving what was likely the most authentic ancient form of names. By dividing a single title into portions—treating *Amatsu-hiko* as one segment and *Hiko Ho no Ninigi no Mikoto* as another—one could achieve comprehension.

“Amatsu-hiko” belonged to the new word order era, while “Hiko Ho…” preserved the form of the old word order. This word order confusion was thought to have accumulated through the eras of oral transmission and historical development. Conversely, one could imagine that reverse word order forms such as *Hiko Amatsu* were also employed; beyond this, *Amatsu Hiko* survived into later periods. Generally being Amatsu Hiko while simultaneously possessing the meaning of “that sacred child belonging to heavenly divinity,” these coalesced into established compound terms.

The compounding with Amatsuhikone clearly demonstrates this fact.
From Amatsuhikone Ho no Ninigi no Mikoto emerged forms that should be considered simplified—Amatsuhikone no Mikoto and Amatsu Hiko no Mikoto.
Furthermore, through recompounding, they developed into complex forms such as Amatsu Hiko Kuniteru Hiko Ho no Ninigi no Mikoto.
It appeared that the character Hiko was appended to the form “Kuniteru Ho no Ninigi,” forming a couplet and thereby adopting the structure “Amatsu Hiko Kuniteru Hiko.”
(For the same reason, though differing in form, it could also be interpreted in the style of Amatsu Kuniteru Hiko Hiko Ninigi.) The psychology underlying such divine names’ expression during religious ecstasy arose from latent impressions chaotically surfacing; thus, attempting simplistic one-sided comprehension paradoxically invited unease.

In any case, over the long course of transmission, word order became disordered—to the point where even instances of *hiko* usage grew unclear—but this much can be stated without reservation.

During the reverse word order era, elements that had occupied the initial position—much like latent terms—were relocated to the final position when the structure shifted to correct word order. However, those elements with an extremely fixed classical sense were retained at the beginning while another similar term was placed according to the method of the correct word order era. Therefore, as in the case of “Hiko Hiko,” they merely added a classical nuance and thus remained.

Hiko-ho was commonly considered as a fully matured term akin to *hikoho*. However, this too—*hiko* and *hōto*—were not originally combined. Indeed, *hiko* had originally been part of a reverse-order “*hiko*…” structure; later, under the perspective of correct word order—as exemplified by terms like *Amatsu-hiko*—it came to follow the preceding term. It appeared necessary to consider that upon those which had undergone such stages, there was a further attachment of *ho no…* to the correct-order *Amatsu-hiko*. However, if expressed in Chinese terms, *ho* could easily be considered a kind of laudatory expression akin to “a fire-virtued Shangdi.” That it had come to be viewed thus was indeed close to fact; however, while it seemed that in ancient times it had already been interpreted as something referring to imperial virtue, it should likely be understood as having originally been a marker denoting a certain era’s monarchic designation. It would seem more appropriate to view this as demonstrating that they were chiefs of tribes possessing clan spirits of celestial bodies, light rays, air, and other such elements beyond animals and plants. In other words, *ho* indicated “fire” or “sunlight.”

The correct-order form referred to as *Hono-Ninigi-Hiko* appears not to have become established.
What remained in its earlier form was *Hiko*・“Hono-ninigi”; by systematizing an honorific suffix to this—rendering it “Hiko Hono-ninigi no Mikoto”—it came to satisfy the linguistic sensibilities of the correct word order era.

The fact that precedence was given to *Hiko* and *Hime* would not be surprising even if found elsewhere.
The name “Hikonagisa-Take-Ugayafukiaezu” that appeared earlier would likely have been expressed as “Nagisahiko Ugayafukiaezu-Takeru” in the correct word order era.
This was a divine name that possessed two epithets.
*Take*, when occupying the same position as *Hiko*, took the form *Take* when at the head [of a compound], but became *Takeru* when appearing at the end.
*Take* and *waka* (稚, “young”)—terms combining character indication with laudatory epithets at the head [of compounds]—when shifted to the tail [position], took forms such as “…-tate” (建).
“[They] came to take on a sensation akin to an old surname in the manner of ‘…-wake.’”
Now, here I would like to present examples that possess a sensibility reminiscent of divine names.

The Chronicle of Empress Jingū records that after seven days and seven nights had passed, they finally responded by proclaiming: "The deity residing in the Isuzu Shrine at Tsuwai District in Ise Province of divine winds—its name being Tsukisakaki Izu no Mitama Amasakar Mukatsuhime no Mikoto..."—thus initiating the invocation through which several deities manifested.
The first to appear was identified as the Aramitama (Wild Spirit) of Amaterasu Ōmikami.
This entry in the *Nihon Shoki* contains a variant text presenting an alternate tradition:
"...invoking three deities' names before further declaring: 'My name is Mukahitsu O Kikisō Ōfure Itsu no Mitama Hayasato no Mikoto...'"
These divine names emerge as distinct male and female forms between the main text and variant version.
Yet their morphemic structures share significant common elements:
Mukahitsu corresponds to Mukatsu; Itsu no Mitama to Izu no Mitama; Haya Sakari to Ama Sakaru—shared components through which we observe that while the main text designates a goddess ("Hime"), the variant specifies a male deity through "Mukahitsu O."
This divergence should be understood as representing separate gendered manifestations of the same deity—an unproblematic distinction.
Notably contrasting are the phrases *Kikisō Ōfure* (キキソオホフ？) versus *Tsukisakaki*, along with their respective honorific suffixes *Mikoto* and *Hime no Mikoto*.
Though *Tsukisakaki* clearly reads as such in one version, *Kikisō Ōfure* resists analogous interpretation.
While both texts contain this pillow-word-like expression, its divergent realization here stands unique amidst otherwise parallel structures.
The sole significant variation lies in radical transpositions within divine names' word order.
Such extensive alteration cannot stem from mere mnemonic or scribal error.
Rather than indicating confusion, both versions exhibit deliberate structural integrity.

When we systematize according to the methodology of this book,

聞襲大歴 ┐ はや┐ をの ┐

├Itsu no Mitama・ ├Sakaru(ri) Mukahitsu・ ├Mikoto

Tsukisakaki┘Ama┘Hime no┘

Such divine names cannot be said to have emerged merely by chance without relation.
Undoubtedly, it can be considered that there was a considerable degree of free variation in word order.

Up until now, I have referred to linguistic arrangements based on standard Japanese word order as “correct word order,” and have termed those that present a contrasting form—demonstrating older arrangements—as “reverse word order.” But needless to say, this categorization merely follows commonsense conventions. There exists no intrinsic justification for labeling them “correct” versus “reverse.” To state it plainly, we simply designate as “correct order” the word order prevalent in contemporary usage across most terms—taking modernity as our evaluative standard. Yet through another commonsense lens that regards ancient forms as authentic, this very distinction between “correct” and “reverse” inevitably appears inverted. The transformations in divine nomenclature pertaining to this matter did not unfold across extended epochs. As an actuality of ritual memory, such word order shifts must have manifested within a comparatively brief span.

Regarding the facts of correct and reverse word order, there was one more point I had to note: facts such as word order changes—those requiring considerable time—could not clearly reveal their causes.

I shall now record a few more ordinary facts that may serve as material for such observations.

10. Nōzaki (荷前) and Katami

In ancient rural communities, there existed a practice where the first harvested crops of the year—the initial yield transported from the fields—were presented to the deities.
It was termed *Nōzaki* in reference to conveying offerings—untouched by human hands—from former provinces to the imperial court.
The envoys subsequently dispatched from the court to Ise and royal mausoleums with these inaugural offerings were called *nōzaki tsukai*.
As the characters 荷前 (Nōzaki) literally signify, it denotes the foremost offering.
After prolonged conventional use, this term endured even into the medieval era.
Thus *Nōzaki* stands as a reverse-order term expressing "initial offering."
When examining how *shimono* evolved into *saki*, we see phonological transformations did not follow a simplistic linear progression from *ni kara no*.
There had been a more organic intricacy at play.
Beyond this, not only did the combination of *ni* and *saki*—mechanically conceived by us—transition to that of *saki* and *ni* (荷), but one discerns here the profound complexity inherent in linguistic psychology's composite forms.

While the term's antiquity might be considered older than Nōzaki, the word *katami*—whose usage spread more widely and endured longer—still retained vestiges of its youthful vigor even during the Heian period, when it was already a considerably archaic term. This represents an ancient belief—the reverse word order of body-form: *mi no katachi* [body-form] becoming *katami* [form-body]. It was believed that by affixing what they regarded as the very body of the worshipped entity to their own bodies, they could prevent the soul bound to that body from departing. This belief spread, leading people to think travelers could carry with them not only their own souls but also those of shrine maidens and close female attendants. In this sense, it constituted *migahari* (body-attachment) and *mi no kata* (body-form). However, the most representative example was clothing that had been worn close to another person's body. This involved donning garments that had touched a lover's skin. As this belief proliferated, the custom of exchanging garments became long preserved in our country. Posthumous *katami* were, in the broadest sense, relics and legacies. This term persisted from ancient and medieval times through the modern era—indeed to the present day—despite changes in substance and fluctuations in associated faith. This was not a term emerging in later periods but one that had been carried over from previous eras.

The term *katami ni*—which means "mutually" and employs the ateji rendering 迭に—also constitutes a specialized meaning that arose from this noun's conventional usage.

This is because garments serving as *katami* were meant to be exchanged and worn reciprocally.
When someone presented a garment as *migahari* (body-attachment), the customary practice of receiving one in return from the counterpart became established.

In ancient literary expressions, phrases like "*onoga kinuginu*…"—literally "one's own garments…"—are also attested.
The adverb *katami ni*, meaning "mutually" or "alternately," branched off from this ritualized exchange of keepsakes.
While the term *katami* increasingly leaned toward meaning "death memento" in modern times, from antiquity through the medieval period it possessed more apt usage examples better rendered as "living memento" or even *migahari* (body-attachment).

One might tentatively state that terms like *mi no kata* (“body-form”) and *katami* (“memento”) had undergone a reversal between standard and reverse word order, though one could not definitively claim that every nuance of their meaning—down to each logical and linguistic detail—had been entirely inverted.

The fundamental representation underlying their meaning lay in the interconnectedness of “body” (*mi*) and “form” (*katachi*), though this did not constitute a complete inversion.
When the era of correct word order arrived, even if conventions had developed for switching to terms like *mikata* or *mi no kata*, *shitauzu*...
“*Shitasudare*” would not have undergone such reversal.
Herein lay an inherent unnaturalness—evaluating compounds formed during the reverse-order era through the semantic framework of the correct-order period.

To definitively settle on either correct or reverse [word order] would ultimately mean asserting that only correct word order exists; thus, terms like *katami*—being products of an older era—are judged accordingly.

Among those that clearly had their word order reversed depending on the era, terms such as *torimiru* ("to look after") and *mitoru* ("to nurse") would be particularly striking. *Miru* carried meanings such as "to care for" and "to handle with affection," seen in terms like *ushiro miru* ("to look after from behind") or *tachi miru* ("to stand and observe")—while *toru* meant "to do with one’s own hands." The term *atsukau* ("to handle") was often used in such contexts. Between these two concepts of *toru* and *miru*, there existed elements that intervened and arose spontaneously; it was not merely a mechanical combination of *toru* and *miru*. In ancient times it had been *torimiru*, but at some point shifted to *mitoru*. Though *mitoru* is typically translated as "nursing," it originally stemmed from directly attending to needs and caring for someone, eventually evolving into expressions like "tending." The same applied to *torimiru*; however, given usages such as "a mother would *torimiru*" or "a wife would *torimiru*"—where they physically held the hair, hands, or body to nurture through touch rather than mere nursing—the meaning could shift with some freedom depending on individual modes of expression. Generally speaking, *torimiru* and *mitoru* demonstrated distinct periods of word order.

At the same time, such cases may have had little connection to what constitutes the fundamental conditions of word order reversal—namely shifts among language families.
Within language families that experienced word order changes, a uniform historical shift emerged.
This could indeed serve as an example demonstrating that word order transformations occurred within a single linguistic group.
Yet such instances would hardly seem striking enough to merit particular attention regarding word order issues.
Most people would likely detect no tangible distinction between torimiru and mitoru. To state it plainly however, their disparity equals that separating the vocabulary of the Man'yōshū and Shin Kokinshū anthologies.
In poetic terms at least, I sense these words confront each other across the chasm represented by the Kokinshū.
This straightforward metaphor notwithstanding, none of these three anthologies accurately reflects historical reality.

Part II: The Ryukyuan Language as Japanese

My discourse here did not commence solely to expound upon the linguistic kinship between Japan and Okinawa. What I sought to elucidate was this: that an archaic and distinct word order in Japanese—still unacknowledged by many scholars—had indeed existed; that vestiges of it remain discernible even in modern literary language; and how such facts most potently reveal their connections within cognate language families. I believed that examining this through the lens of reverse word order might prove most efficacious.

While the fundamental relationship with Japanese remained axiomatic, I first sought to compare it with Okinawan—a language that had undergone complex admixture through repeated incorporations as dialects. Thus far, I had aimed to prepare for comparisons with Southern language families whose presumed kinship had not been clearly demonstrated.

In Ryukyuan languages, the suffix ko first arrests one's attention. Among these are affectionate appellations like Naniko or Naninanko—commonly used in Japanese too, particularly prevalent in Tohoku dialect—corresponding to those endings such as ko...kkoo...ko...kko that denote terms of endearment or treasured objects. Concurrently, the suffix ko expressing notions of "smallness" or "diminutive objects" appears with remarkable frequency. These two aspects are ultimately unitary: the affectionate guwaa operates psychologically, while the smallness-denoting ko manifests hierarchical differentiation. The suffix ko attached to Japanese personal names, implements, and animals indicates that this concept of smallness abstractly signifies something mental rather than making comparative statements about physical objects. Ultimately, it derives from an extreme-love perspective—something deemed supremely worthy of cherishing. At times, establishing comparative frameworks to discern size and directing exclusive affection toward a singular object would have been equivalent. This divergence must be considered natural development.

From a word-order perspective, the suffix ko in personal names and tool names could also be interpreted as reverse-order expression. If perceived through the lens of "ko-nani" (small-what), it becomes comprehensible. Even today, we retain within our hearts the capacity to apprehend terms of endearment beyond mere dichotomies of "the smaller one" or "the not-the-larger one."

1. “Guwaa” and “Gama”

The Shuri priestess “Ōamushirare” had maintained an ancient tradition where women of the Kudaka clan served in this role across generations.
During what is considered the medieval period, when no suitable candidate existed within the clan, authorities temporarily appointed an “Ōamushirare.” Simultaneously, adhering to old customs, they designated a seven-year-old girl from the Kudaka clan as “Shuri norogama,” placing this *norogama* before the Ōamushirare during rituals—a practice recorded in the *Ryūkyūkoku Shojiraiki* and other sources.
The custom of appointing young individuals became institutionalized, giving rise to the term *norogama*.
What this signifies is something akin to a “small female priestess”—hence *norogama* being rendered as “Priestess Small” (巫小).
The term *gama* later became commonly known as *guwaa* (small).

In both Japanese and Ryukyuan, when suffixes like *ko* or *guwaa* carry affectionate connotations, they manifest in forms such as “Naniko” or “Naniguwaa”—corresponding to the standard word order “Ko-nani” (“Small-[X]”)—thereby demonstrating semantic equivalence to *ko-nani* ([X]-small).

In Ryukyuan usage, *inu-guwaa* (dog-small) conventionally meant "small dog," while *hashi-ko* (bridge-small) meant "small bridge." In the Tōhoku dialect, these appeared as *hashi-ko* ("bridge-small") and *inu-ko* ("dog-small"). We today perceive terms like *hashi-ko* ("bridge-child") and *inu-ko* ("dog-child") as such; however, they signified neither literal smallness nor simple compounds meaning "bridge-child" or "dog-child," but rather served as psychological expressions denoting cherished bridges or endearing dogs. While identical in form, these diverged into two distinct aspects between those [terms] and these [terms]. Yet in Okinawa, examples could not be denied where [the suffixes] had been used across both aspects—both historically and contemporaneously. This development reflected not balance but bias—the gradual proliferation of hierarchical "X-small" forms. Since rooted in a unified psychological foundation, intermediate concepts were thought to have gradually gained flexibility and come to straddle both usages.

However, in any case, the form was purely reverse word order.
Among expressions conveying the same concept of smallness, there existed *ko* (< ko).
Place names such as Torikobori ("Bird-Small-Moat") and Uokobori ("Fish-Small-Moat") could be found.
In Shuri there were locations pronounced as “Tonjioimoi,” and in the former lands of Naha Higashimura places called “Uogubui.”
Though *ko* phonetically shifts to *ku/gu* (< *ko/go*), making it appear related to *guwaa*, this constituted a separate term.
In terms of word order, avian and piscine elements had been appended to “kobori” (small-moat/ditch).
That is to say: small.
*Guwaa* developed independently from this [kobori], having likely originated as *gama* in antiquity.
The “norogama” mentioned earlier—referring to the child priestess of Shuri’s High Priestess—represented this same term.
Furthermore, “Ibēgama” in the *Naha Yuuraiki* denoted a tomb rather than a cavern.
Since *ibe* signified divine nature, honorifics like “*kami-ko*” (deity-small) or “*ko-kami*” (small-deity) had likely persisted in association with ancient burial mounds.

Even into modern times, numerous examples persisted of reversed word order in personal names.
In the Yokiya (与喜屋) Norokumoi Origins and Family Tree compiled in Meiji 37 [1904], family heads were called "Higa Chikudun Pechin" across generations, with Higa constituting the house name.
Other instances included "Kana Higa," "Yamato Higa," "Buta Higa," and "Kabato Higa"—all retaining their form as childhood appellations.
Records show entries like "Yamato Higa, child of Buta Higa" and "Matsu Higa."
Though these were childhood names rather than formal designations, their very informality lent them an archaic yet versatile quality; even among those born into Okinawan noble families who did not inherit such names, being addressed thus remained customary.
This demonstrates how family names and surnames maintained reverse word order structures.
In ancient Ryukyu, people presumably bore no surnames—even former monarchs were often known by posthumous titles.
Research by Mr. Higashionna Kanjun and Mr. Iha Fuyū has already elucidated how childhood names—or rather, common names—were frequently assigned Chinese characters to affect formality.
There remains no doubt that many surnames developed from place names and house appellations.

The Ryukyu royal court demarcated a unique cultural sphere and stood in marked contrast to the folk customs of Okinawa Island itself and those of the surrounding islands in many aspects.

They preserved extremely ancient elements as fixed knowledge, both textually and through oral tradition. Among these, what came to function as an institution for maintaining such knowledge was founded upon the faith of the court priestesses (high priestesses)—a synthesis of the royal court and the priestesses of its affiliated islands.

I would now like to present several examples.

2. “Kanashi” as an Example of Specialized Semantic Differentiation

While the highest honorific suffix for humans had differed in the most ancient eras, *kanashi* emerged as the top-tier honorific after such linguistic unification was implemented.
The king, his consorts and concubines, and the high priestesses all generally shared these titles, and following this precedent, the royal family too appeared to standardize their honorifics accordingly.
In earlier periods still, these honorifics showed no such uniformity, but the most elemental form observable in this primordial state was likely *kimi* (lord).
Though this term had been applied to both kings and high priestesses, it gradually became chiefly associated with priestesses—eventually evolving into generic titles like the “Thirty-Three Lords.”

The second was likely Anji (按司). This title was commonly used among men as an honorific for nobles and lords. However, it also became simplified to the monosyllabic Aji (按司). Linguistically, it could be said to derive phonetically from aruji (master), but since it formed a paired couplet with the honorific kawara, this aspect too had to be considered. Just as men progressed through honorifics like kawara → chyara → sara, women too were referred to with terms such as onasara and onachyara. Of course, Anji was also widely used as an honorific for women. Moreover, Anji had notable conventions that indicated aristocratic class distinctions.

When Anji and Kanashi were combined, the depth of respect increased. This had been an honorific title equivalent to queen or positions of comparable status. I will omit compound honorifics here, but it appeared that through such compounding, the degree of respect conveyed by expressions like kanashi had gradually diminished. Kanashi—likely originally reserved for kings or high priestesses—came to be used with considerable freedom. The establishment of Ryukyu's highest-ranking woman being called queen dated from the reign of Shō Shitsu. Until then, the royal court's high priestess Kikoe-ōgimi (聞得大君) had held that position due to her intimate connection with the gods. This paralleled how kings were referred to in incantations as *Ama-kanashi* and *Shuri-kanashi*. In Anji's case too, posthumous titles were appended: Shō En received "Kane-maru Aji-soe," Shō Sei "Ten-zoku no Aji-soe," Shō Gen "Tsuki-hajime Aji-soe," Shō Nei "Mekamasu Aji-soe," and Shō Hō "Tenki-yamasu Aji-soe." After Shō Ken's ascension in the fourteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, such divine titles disappeared entirely. The element soe corresponded to osoi—seen in terms like Urasoe—and while rationally interpreted as governing Anji lords through appended authority, this duplication of honorifics had already occurred. Without this layered reverence, Anji's status as an honorific would lose its rationale. As the title became common among nobles generally, its unsuitability for royalty necessitated additional honorific layering. To call the founder Shō En by Aji-soe seemed excessively ornate—a posthumous title applied much later. Contemporaries would have found "Kanemaru Aji" perfectly sufficient.

In Ryukyu, childhood names were highly valued based on lineage. In ancient times, there had been only childhood names. Therefore, even kings without divine titles would have their childhood names passed down unchanged. The royal title was later added to this practice. When examining old childhood names arranged together, one could discern meaningful patterns.

Shidekane (Shō En).
Otochidomo Kane (daughter of Shō En, Kikoe-ōgimi).
Ogiya Kamoei (Shō Shin).
Shiokane Aji Kanashi (Shō Shin’s wife).
Shidekane (child, Prince Urasoe).
Maburekane (same child, Prince Nakijin).
Masanrakane (same child, Prince Gōeku).
Shō Sei’s childhood name was Maniōtaru Kane.
The Queen Consort was Shisenkane Aji Kanashi; Wife (1) Matsurukane, Wife (2) Maminakukane, Wife (3) Mayonikane.
Among Shō Sei’s children, Prince Ie’s recorded childhood name Kaneshirogane likely derived from a tradition within the Ie family as their founding ancestor.
Childhood names formally carried the honorific suffix *-kane* until modern times, being common to both men and women—or rather, they should be regarded as having never been distinguished by gender from their very origin.

In ancient and medieval Japanese language pertaining to these matters, *kanashi* meant something adorable—dear, worthy of love, or delicate in nature. The thread-referring *kana-i* became abbreviated to *kana*, while what was termed *kanhebi*—resembling a snake yet delicate—proved to be a lizard. In girls’ names too, *kana* functioned as a semi-proper noun with notable frequency. Those unable to withstand children’s doting affection were called *kana-hōshi*. *Kanashi* stood as an ancient adjective whose root form was *kana* (or *kane*). The “Kane” appearing in Ryukyuan royal childhood names relates directly to that of their ancestral King Kanemaru. Yet this connection stems precisely from *kanashi*’s inherent semantic sphere—hence its persistence in both honorifics and childhood appellations. What likely occurred was this: the sustained use of ceremonially refined speech solidified into honorifics, while addressing others through intimate familiarity fixed itself as what we might call “endearing epithets” appended to childhood names. Thus did they bifurcate into honorific titles and familiar terms. As endearments required only their root forms, while honorifics formally preserved the full *kanashi* structure. Herein lies another dimension: identical *kanashi* and *kana* resist fusion within our hearts when contrasting Japan’s lovable things with Ryukyu’s sacred ones. Herein flows another undercurrent of sentiment.

Among female lords bearing kanashi names, one particularly worthy of attention was Iheya’s Amaganashi. As a successor to the lineage of Shō En’s elder sister, she held primacy among outer island female rulers. This was a term of endearment for women paradoxically used when addressing superiors, signifying both mothers and aunts. Anganashi constituted reverse word order from kanashi a mono.

Though kanashi meant “adorable,” it did not evolve directly into something venerable. I posit that through the concept of “those beloved by gods,” people came to designate specific individuals as “divinely cherished persons”—thereby marking them as recipients of divine favor and protection from calamity. This act of identifying god-loved individuals to deities constituted the essence of “…kanashi.” The case of “Kane” makes this clearer still. To ensure divine grace from childhood through adulthood, what was called kane or kana became phonetically fixed as kane. Parallel examples persist in childhood names. This “Omo” similarly permeated both genders’ names—often combined with Kane or used independently. While Shō En bore Shidekane and Shō Shin Makataruzukane without apparent “Omo,” the divine title Ogiya Kamoei reveals its presence. Okiyaka formed the name’s root while Moi (茂慧) represented “Omo.” This mirrored Ukiyaka—the childhood name of Yosoe Ōmi Gozen Kanashi, consort to his father Shō En—where Moi’s attachment becomes evident.

_Omo_ (思) could almost be called synonymous with _kanashi_, evident in Japanese expressions like "_omoi-ko_" (beloved child) and "_omoi-kimi_" (beloved lord), which specifically denote cherished affection.
This further demonstrates that it signifies something receiving divine favor.
Among female lords of high rank bearing titles like _uwamori_ (written as 上森)—the _mori_ in Shuri Uwamori Anji, Gaja Uwamori Anji, Yodaka Uwamori Anji, and Irabu Yodaka Uwamori Anji corresponds to this _moi_ (思).
In titles such as Pekumi, Norokumoi, and Takumoi—used for both men and women—the _moi_ here derives from _Omo_, while "_ku_" likely represents a separate lexical element.
The _kumoi_ and _moi_ in "_Tsukasakumoi Anji_" similarly stem from this.
Expressions like "_kami no kanashi hito_" (divinely beloved person) and "_kami no omoi-ko_" (divinely cherished child) inherently carry ritual significance.
In ancient Japanese conventions, one might say "_itoshiki nanigashi_" (adorable so-and-so); an older form using _kanashi_ in its root-like state would phrase it "_itoshi nanigashi_."
Given the linguistic kinship between Japanese and Ryukyuan languages, "_nanigashi kanashi_" can be considered the reverse word order of such "_kanashi nanigashi_."
Thus, words formed under archaic word order underwent shifts in linguistic tone over time while retaining their syntactic structure.
Such divergences exemplify differentiation among related peoples.

In Japanese, placing *omo(i)* in a suffix-like position renders comprehension impossible.
"Beloved So-and-so"
is referred to as "*Omo(i)* something."
This being reverse word order, it becomes expressed as "So-and-so *Omo*," as seen in childhood names like "So-and-so *Omo*."
It then forms "*Nani Omo Kanashi*."
Therefore, this "*Omo*" too constitutes reverse word order.

III. Aji

Regarding terms related to Aji, considerations on word order had yet to be systematized. When referring to female Aji as “Aji,” there was no alteration; however, when mentioning its counterpart term *chara* (< *kawara*), they called it *onna chara* (female chara). Also, they were called Aya Aji. In this case, it referred to the chamber of the Aji-be—equivalent to feudal lords. When Aya appeared as a true royal figure, the female Aji-be were said in the *Onna Gozen Sōshi* to have “worn robes of figured silk,” but this was a precarious theory. Aya originated from the title of the king’s consort and became the designation for wives of nobility. When it came to terms like this, because there were many instances of morphological corruption, various reasonable theories were proposed. In Okinawan classical language, there are especially many words with such intertwined etymologies.

The terms *Anji*, *Kawara*, and *Chara*—so widely used that they seemed less like antonyms and more like variants of a single word—might well have been termed substitute expressions. *Anji* carried weight while *Kawara* conveyed lightness—they were likely interchanged according to such contextual nuances.
*Kawara* was a term that would correspond to “leader” or “chieftain,” likely predating the emergence of titles like Anji.
Furthermore, since *tama* (jewel) and *kawara* formed an antonymous pair deriving from the concept of *tama*, those permitted to wear jewels—the authorized wearers—came to be referred to as chieftains or leaders.
Even during the era when *Anji* saw widespread use, people likely employed it both as an archaic term for regional lords and as a familiar expression.

Following Kanashi and Anji came what should be discussed next - the aforementioned kimi.
The title 'kimi' held particularly deep associations with women.
Even titles like Anji had reached such significance that I came to consider whether female lords constituted their original essence.

Among the great female lords of the outer islands, the one succeeding Iheya’s Amaganashi was Kumejima’s *Kimihae*. In modern times, they are called Kinbai or Chinbei. In Japanese, *hae* refers to both “south” and “south wind.” Though Okinawan uses *hae* for “south,” they adopted the Japanese characters 南風 (south wind), rendering its meaning as “southern direction”—thus *Kimihae* signifies Southern Lord. She represented the female lords of the southern outer islands and led the vanguard during the Yaeyama Conquest. Indeed, she was the Southern Lord. That *Kimihae* constitutes reverse word order should be beyond dispute.

The title *kimi*, even among the many appellations for female chieftains beginning with *Kikoe-ōgimi*, exhibited varied forms—some following standard word order, others reverse word order.

IV. Lords

The *Onna Gozen Sōshi* listed the name Kimitoyomi (written with the characters 君豊) and recorded the noblewomen in that position—King Shōhō’s consort and three others below her. Beyond Kimitoyomi and Anji, other examples existed, and it was documented that there had been one called Kimitsushi Anji (君辻按司). Additionally, one member of Kimiganashi Anji appeared. These might seem like mere honorifics, but they carried emotions likely derived from exceedingly simple divine names. In cases like *Kanashi Anji-kimi*, even without debating standard versus reverse word order, a sense of aptness surfaced. In such instances, one could glimpse linguistic nuances predating the division into standard and reverse orders.

Another example—this one giving a somewhat altered impression—is Kiyora Ōaji Shirarei (daughter of Shō-shi Chatan Ōji Chōri, wife of Shō-shi Gushichan Aji Chōju), whose name appears as one such entry in historical records.
“Kiyoragimi…” does not follow standard word order.
This female lord’s name has an old-fashioned quality befitting divine names enshrined at sacred sites and other such places; it is likely ancient even as a divine title.
So to speak, it is a name in the *omoro* style.

Those who have read *Yumiharizuki* likely recall perceiving the spiritual entity called “Kimimamono” as some bizarre specter, but in Okinawa, it was an exceedingly sacred lord.
It was a deity that manifested near the royal palace and was regarded as the most spiritually potent among the gods.
However, it did not appear only in Shuri but seems to have manifested in various places.
During the Yaeyama Conquest as well, it is said that “the Kimimamono of that island appeared, and they welcomed Kimihae.”

In the *Omoro Sōshi* that extolled Shō Shin, there also appeared “sedakasa no mamono.” Sedakasa denoted the True Being of a place imbued with lofty divine authority—this True Being praised its own divine nature through this epithet. Kimimamono was essentially Mamono-kimi, manifesting spiritual power indistinguishable to humans as either deity or female lord; in reality, it referred to that which was channeled through priestesses during spirit possession.

“Shuri Mimonogimi”
The female lord’s name “Hirara Mimonogimi,” when reversed in word order, became “Kimimimono.” This proved useful for annotation purposes.

In Okinawan religious practice, deities typically manifested through female lords—yet even within this framework, many male gods appeared by possessing these female mediums’ bodies.

Speaking of lordship titles, there existed a female lord’s name—Sechi Ara Kimi Anji—that ostensibly followed standard word order.

As previously noted in my analysis of the *Omoro Sōshi*, one finds phrases like “sechi-ara-tomi” used in praise of kings.

*Seji* corresponds to what we call *itsui* (divine authority) in Japan.

Though written with the character for “new” (新), *ara* was frequently employed in examples conveying “appearance” or “manifestation.”

“Sechi Ara Kimi” thus appeared to signify a female lord endowed with remarkable divine authority.

Another *tomi* represented the conventionalization of *toyomi* as a compound term.

Among nine *Seto* officials recorded in *Shoshi Yuraiki*—all bearing names like Seiken Tomi, Setaka Tomi, and Seiji Ara Tomi using the character 富 (*Tomi*)—one individual uniquely wrote it as “Fuhōmi” (浮豊見).

Given Seiji Ara Tomi’s prior appearance in records, one could discern connections; however, this likely indicated that *Seto* positions were held by individuals of renown—those celebrated for their reputations and widespread acclaim.

The office was said to have originated with Motobu Pēchin Masatsune.

The *Omoro Sōshi* contained phrases like “Toyomu Setakaga…”, meaning “a person of renowned and intense divine authority.”

Expressions following standard word order included designations like “Toyomu [so-and-so],” exemplified by Nakasone Toyomi Oya—a meritorious figure from the Miyako Conquest era—while female titles included Kimitoyomi mentioned earlier, with three recorded names documented accordingly.

Toyomi-kimi constituted an honorific epithet for celebrated female lords.

The "Toyomi" and "Tomi" of the Seto officials could respectively correspond to "Toyomi Seiken" and "Toyomi Yomochi," and it would be appropriate to interpret them in this manner.

The fourth point I wish to present is what should be termed commendatory titles or flattering appellations rather than honorific or reverential titles. One such example I offer is *Shirare*. Concerning *toyomu* and *Shirare* as laudatory epithets, Professor Yanagita Kunio frequently discussed these following his 1921 expedition to Ryukyu; here, I have simply incorporated his theory into the framework of word order analysis.

*Shirare* meant “there was none who did not know [of them].”
“A remarkable person”
“It would likely be something like ‘a broad-faced person,’ but this was generally considered to exhibit reverse word order.”
That which formed a pair with this was *kikoe*.
“Known far and wide,” “resonant in name,” “renowned for good repute”
While this could be explained in various ways, traces existed in the *Omoro* of it having been said even of kings.
As a female lord’s title, the one consistently used was that of the highest-ranking female lord: *Kikoe-ōgimi*.
In the case of kings, there was *kikoe setakaga…*.
*Shirare* occurred more frequently in reverse word order, while *kikoe* appeared predominantly in standard word order.

It appears this title had been held by the king’s mother, consort, or the wives of princes, Aji lords, and Oyakata officials; the names of female officials recorded as “Ōaji Shirare” remain preserved.

Next, the title of the king’s consort was transmitted as “Agomushirare.”

Ōamushirare became a title held by high priestesses of Shuri Sanbyōdō and wet nurses to the king.
The one referred to as Ōamushirare of Migozen was a wet nurse.
Many court ladies bore the title Amushirare.

There were the Amushirare of Daikuri (three members), the Amushirare of Maebi (two members), the Amushirare of Sakuji (three members), the Amushirare of Yota (two members), the Amushirare of Yochiyokui (three members), and others; though many more women bore titles ending with Shirare, I omitted them here.
Moreover, there were also many names recorded using the phonetic variant Shitare for Shirare.

All of these signified "Shirare so-and-so," representing "renowned deities" and "renowned people." When one compared classical Ryukyuan elements with Japanese in this manner, it became a group of words distinguishable through thorough bilingual analysis．However,could all these vocabulary items necessarily be considered ancient Ryukyuan words? I was not particularly questioning such matters; however、these classical terms demonstrated a medieval yet not excessively ancient period．

Among those employing archaic word order, could these new terms—having digested newly incorporated Yamato words—not represent honorific expressions? Building upon what they had possessed prior to ethnic separation, the Yamato words that entered multiple times as standard language bore characteristics particular to their respective periods. At least in the pre-Nara era, one could clearly discern such forms as well. What I have described constitutes one particularly striking new example among them. Even when discussing the pre-Nara period however, we cannot characterize it through simple isolated terms. Archaic word order alone does not prove a language's antiquity. Similarly, we must not assume etymological authenticity merely because vocabulary appears ancient.

The term *ugona ari* appears in the *Konkōken-shū*, standing apart from other medieval Japanese terms through its archaic quality.

Though Prof. Iha Fuyū claimed this term remained alive in Sakishima, imagining how it persisted conspicuously unassimilated within Sakishima's grammatical framework inevitably raises suspicion of documentary errors in collectors' accounts of its transmission.

Even among other archaic terms showing Japanese-Ryukyuan correlations, when tentatively measuring against archaic Japanese standards, Okinawan exhibits a degree of linguistic slackness—yet nothing approaches the extremity of *ugona ari*.

In *ugona aru*, where the attributive form persists prominently, these supposed Ryukyuan survivals grow so dubious that their status as genuine remnants becomes questionable.

Might some accidental misunderstanding—superimposed upon interpretations of phrases in Okinawan ritual prayers like *omoro* and *otakebe*—have spuriously connected them to Japanese *norito* lexicon?

Even if *kanashi* remained acceptable, one could readily discern that the positions and meanings of *kikoe*, *toyomi*, and *shirare* were Japanese in essence yet un-Japanese in character—in other words, they incorporated tendencies that had developed uniquely in Okinawa. Yet among these, “kimi” (lord) stood as an old-fashioned form steeped in Japanese sensibilities, evoking profound familiarity. Such honorific terms must have had counterparts in both reverse and standard word orders. Furthermore, within Ryukyu itself, this foundation saw honorifics leap forward; while still comprehensible within a Japanese framework, a new method appeared to have emerged dialectically. The linguistic forms of honorifics seemed to have made significant strides in late medieval Ryukyu, coinciding with Okinawa’s history gaining clearer definition around that time. Most issues concerning honorifics pertained to this period and its vicinity—in Japanese terms, the eras flanking the Kamakura-Muromachi period.

In any case, before that period, a vague ancient past had existed within Okinawan language and created a gap with the Japanese mother tongue in terms of adjectives and adverbs.
When we observed these differences in grammatical structure, we believed this was not a task that could be easily accomplished in a short time.

The fact that the respective conditions of adjectives and adverbs—which had originally been very similar—underwent a great divergence in both Japanese and Ryukyuan needed to be considered in correlation with the issue of word order.
However, compared to the differentiation of parts of speech, word order had likely taken far more time to develop over the ages.
Although the process by which both Japanese and Ryukyuan gradually altered their word orders could not be clearly grasped, there undoubtedly existed certain shared conditions between them.
To observe this, there was likely no other way than to accumulate the many individual words belonging to reverse word order—such as those we had presented thus far.
We had to extend such endeavors to the Southern Islands as well.
And the day would come when our endeavors aligned with the research on word order in Southern China and the South Seas, which had already been systematized to some extent.
I did not intend to delineate the language family sphere through correspondence in word order.
However, there seemed to be something in which we, at certain points, considerably coincided with the mytho-ethnic sphere that still remained in the realm of conjecture.

Yet among these, it was precisely the Okinawa Islands that had their affiliation as a language family asserted prior to any correspondence in word order, and more broadly still, their ethnic kinship came to be recognized.

Will the sorrow that led me to write this word order theory never be redeemed for eternity?