Fujiwara no Fuyutsugu
If you devote yourself to wining and dining
Politician | 775 – 30 August 826
“Wow! You’re the man, boss!”
It has been some time since one could hear people uttering fake-sounding compliments the likes of these in public. And yet, for every salaryman out there, the act of buttering up continues to be an indispensable survival skill.
“Buttering up to someone.” It doesn’t have a nice ring to it. However, even if you personally feel like that’s what it is you’re doing, as long as the other party doesn’t get the sense that someone’s only trying to flatter them, that in and of itself turns what you’re doing into “hospitality.” It would be no exaggeration to say that your future depends on whether or not you can successfully walk that thin line with proper discretion.
Now in 2019, people are clamoring for work-style reforms. Companies are scaling down the late-night meetings, banning after-parties, and requiring special permissions for wining and dining after 10 PM. It might well be that we now find ourselves in an era where even if it’s some important-looking gentleman giving their whole spiel about how “history is made at night, you know” (all while exuding that unmistakable “old person smell”), the young people of today would just be staring at them in complete bewilderment.
Be that as it may, the truth is that history is, in fact, made by “hospitality.” And if one was to trace back the history of Japan, surely it would be Fujiwara no Fuyutsugu who shines brilliantly as the country’s first-generation Hospitality Man.
But unless you were a big history buff, you’d probably have a hard time actually picturing the guy.
What might help us start forming our image of him is to mention that he was the father of Fujiwara no Yoshifusa, who became the first-ever regent not from the imperial family. Yoshifusa’s regency would lead to great prosperity for the Fujiwara family, but his rise to power wouldn’t have come about without his father’s help.
Sure, a part of Yoshifusa’s success was also thanks to his own personal qualities. However, it should not be overlooked how his father, Fuyutsugu, was a favorite of the sitting emperor at the time, Emperor Saga. This made him an influential figure in the Imperial Court, allowing him to set the stage for his son’s success.
Yoshifusa was married to Minamoto no Kiyohime, one of Emperor Saga’s daughters. (Her family name was “Minamoto” because Emperor Saga had 49 children, and it would have been financially difficult to give them all the imperial family treatment. 32 of these 49 imperial princes and princesses became subjects of the state.) Rules governing marriages of the imperial family restricted who imperial princesses were allowed to marry, all the way down to the emperor’s great-grandchildren. But then, in 793, it became possible for members of the Fujiwara clan to marry the emperor’s grandchildren.
However, Yoshifusa had married the emperor’s daughter. The fact that this violation of rules—which in modern times would be described as an “extra-legal measure”—was allowed to take place was very much because Emperor Saga strongly insisted upon it. In short, it was because, as mentioned earlier, Yoshifusa’s father Fuyutsugu was one of his favorite retainers.
And the fact that Emperor Saga first came to trust Fuyutsugu so much that he was willing to break the rules for him, it all came about from this man’s “powers of hospitality.”
In his early thirties, Fuyutsugu was busy contemplating on if there was any way he might be able to get ahead in life. Meanwhile, Emperor Saga was known to be a big drinker, and it’s even said that he was the person who first introduced the custom of drinking 屠蘇 (toso, spiced sake) during New Year’s in Japan.
This social custom first originated in China, where it was said there were demons called “蘇” (“so“) which one needed to “屠” (“to,” slaughter). In other words, to drink toso signified “killing demons.” Emperor Saga introduced it as a ritual to be performed in the Imperial Court, and his time as an emperor was a period where many Chinese-style cultural activities like this were observed.
Hearing that, you might be thinking, “What, so Emperor Saga was just some wannabe cultured man?” But don’t overthink it. Sometimes, new beginnings in history happen for reasons that are even more uncomplicated than that. You see, Emperor Saga simply wanted to have a good justification for getting sauced right from the start of the New Year. The man just loved to drink is all.
Fuyutsugu knew this, and so he came up with the idea of holding a dinner party for him.
He invited Emperor Saga to his home for a feast, and just like he’d imagined, the emperor was absolutely thrilled. Fuyutsugu was thereupon promoted from Senior Fourth Rank, Lower Grade to Junior Third Rank. The emperor was so impressed that not only did he promote Fuyutsugu, but astonishingly, he even gave his wife the rank of Junior Fifth Rank, Lower Grade. Today, that would be equivalent to the position of prefectural governor.
Just like that, even Fuyutsugu’s wife was now like a prefectural governor. (Kind of makes you question if it’s really okay to make such personnel changes purely on the account of one’s own self-interests, but oh well…) Having gotten a taste for the good stuff, Fuyutsugu kept on his “wining and dining offensive,” and doing so got him as high up as the position of Minister of the Left.
Unfortunately, because it is such an old story, it’s difficult to check the veracity of many of these claims. But to begin with, this man was generous, thoughtful, and gifted with both the pen and the sword. Surely he would have done all right for himself even without his talent for hospitality.
But what really established the reputation of Fuyutsugu and his powers of hospitality was none other than hot sake.
When it comes to Japanese sake, the mainstream option these days is to have it cold. But in ages past, sake used to be something you were supposed to drink warmed-up. People would say, “Cold sake is for poor people.” Or, “Cold sake and parental advice are something to appreciate later in life.” It was just something people tended to avoid.
(As a side note, heating up low-quality sake also has the effect of removing its impurities. Apparently, it was common wisdom how even sake that wasn’t very tasty would drink reasonably well once warmed-up.)
All the Showa era (1926–1989) geezers with neckties tied around their heads might be drunkenly rambling about how you’d catch them dead before they agreed to drink cold sake. But looking through the long lens of history, heating up one’s sake is something that only became mainstream in the Edo period (1603–1868). For the longest time, sake was something you drank cold as a principle. And yet, Fuyutsugu, even despite that, was already boldly insisting on heated-up sake way back in the Heian period (794–1185).
Once, Emperor Saga and his party were out hunting in Katano (now: Katano City, Osaka).
Fuyutsugu, who was accompanying them, figured the emperor might have been cold, so he offered him some warmed-up sake. Once again, the emperor was very impressed. But by this point, Fuyutsugu was already in the post of Minister of the Left. The fact that he was still able to show such careful consideration even after he’d climbed as high up on the corporate ladder as he could, that tells you how his hospitality wasn’t just for show. This is an absolutely crucial point to understand even in the salaryman’s world. It’s something you would do best to remember.
At any rate, the emperor was so pleased that this custom of heating up sake became an official thing in the history books. In Fuyutsugu’s book, he writes that the season of warming up sake lasts from the Chrysanthemum Festival on September 9th to March 2nd, and hot sake soon became a popular item in the Imperial Court.
Who knows, were it not for Fuyutsugu and his pioneering spirit, we may have never gotten Yashiro Aki singing about how “sake is best served lukewarm.”
While Fuyutsugu’s career success might be an extreme example, the fact is that in those days, one’s party behavior more or less determined the course of their career. The reason this was the case is because, back then, politics and booze were inseparable.
Politics is all about rituals, and rituals are always accompanied by banquets.
Whenever China sent over a large group of their emissaries to Japan, they would have to hold a grand party for them. This was so financially taxing that at one point both parties agreed, “Let’s only do this once every twelve years.” And yet, despite this agreement, China still sent emissaries the following year, and again the year after that, leading to quite the financial pinch.
Even though it is work, if said “work” entails being able to just get up to drunken high jinks at basically any given opportunity like it did for these people… It sure does sound like paradise for us elbow-benders. And in fact, aside from the main party of the night, they’d always even have an after-party prepared, and this one would be “no-holds-barred.”
(By the way, the roots of Japan’s wining and dining culture are said to go back to Shintoism and the naorai ritual. In this ritual, everyone drank the sacred wine and ate the food offered to the gods, with the aim of strengthening unity within the community. This is, coincidentally, the same as with the sakazuki ritual performed by yakuza. There are intricate rules to the whole thing, and breaking even one of those rules is considered extremely disrespectful to the other party. These strict rules are meant in part to create a feeling of tension in the room. And indeed, the atmosphere at these yakuza rituals is pretty strained—not that I’ve ever actually seen one outside of direct-to-film movies…)
Since they were holding these banquets all the time, many aristocrats of course ended up becoming some pretty serious booze sponges, and they would be judged by their conduct. Others would try to take advantage of these drinking parties by desperately brown-nosing to people in power. Our behavior today in the 21st century has not changed all that much, even when compared to the Heian period.
But another thing that hasn’t changed to this very day are the people who are always conspiring to make drinking parties somehow “not acceptable.”
In 866, the Great Council of State issued a decree forbidding the imbibing of alcohol in groups. They were in effect saying, “All right guys, this has gone too far. No more get-togethers over drinks.” But, of course, even if there was an official notice saying so, it’s not like they would be able to just stop all of a sudden.
Since then, work and drinking parties have became two separate things, and the previously complex etiquette of wining and dining has become a mere formality. Nevertheless, “having drinks” in Japan has continued to be seen as an extension of work, and the Japanese people have ceaselessly kept trying to refine their powers of hospitality.
In the early days of the Heisei era (1989–2019), when even the last traces of any possible feelings of tension had finally dissipated, we climbed to the highest summit of Mount Hospitality in the form of no-pan shabushabu—restaurant establishments with mirrored floors and waitresses wearing short skirts with no panties.
But even after that mountain had crumbled, and even as they now call our ways “outdated” and “galapagosized,” for better or worse we continue trying desperately to be hospitable to others.
I’m sure some of the young people reading this will insist, “Yeah, well, I’m actually competent so I’m good on all that, thanks.” But see, the thing about working at a company is that sometimes, competency isn’t the only thing that counts. And what the hell even is “competency” anyway?
Be confident, sure. But do not forget about the spirit of hospitality either. Just don’t go overboard with it, and know your place. If you want to know what it can do for you, you need only to look to Fujiwara no Fuyutsugu.
