The Evil Book Redeemed: Alexander Bennett's Translation Of The Hagakure

For years, the Hagakure (along with its spiritual cousin, "Bushido: The Soul of Japan") has been the bane of the Samurai Archives. Often taken by neophytes to the study of Japanese history as the 'official training manual of samurai down through time', it has been the indirect cause of much buffoonery and has left a trail of misconceptions in its wake. Many 'modern sammyrai' claiming to follow its tenets turn out to have never read the book at all, instead quoting heavily from sensationalistic (and often out-of-context) passages reprinted ad nauseam by pop culture books-the most notorious being the mantra "The Way of the Samurai is Found in Death". Recently we were given the opportunity to look at Tuttle Publishing's new translation: "Hagakure, The Secret Wisdom of the Samurai" by Alexander Bennett, a Ph.D currently teaching Japanese history and society as an Associate Professor at Kansai University. Bennett is also a proficient martial artist (among other things, Vice President of the International Naginata Federation and Editor of "Kendo World" magazine). That's an interesting and rarely seen blend of scholarship and practical experience with traditional Japanese martial arts, with perhaps Karl Friday being the only other prominent example-and not coincidentally, Friday highly recommended the book. This recommendation, along with Bennett's background, was enough to convince us that it was finally time to face the Evil Book head-on and see if it deserved the reputation (either good or bad) that it has acquired over the years. 

Before we examine Bennett's translation, it would be helpful to give some background on the authors of the original text. As Bennett explains, Yamamoto Tsunetomo was born in 1659 and was a retainer of the Saga domain in Kyushu ruled by the Nabeshima. While extremely feeble and sickly as a boy, through hard work and determination he managed to overcome his frail constitution. At the age of 14 he was made a page of the Lord at the time (Nabeshima Mitsushige) but was dismissed from service for being complicit in the Lord's son's fixation with poetry. Using this time to educate himself in matters of Buddhism and Confucianism, he was reemployed by the domain at age 24. His 'greatest exploit' came in 1700 when he managed to locate and procure an extremely rare text (the 'Kokin-denju', a commentary on a renowned book of poetry) after an extensive search and raced back to Saga just in time to deliver it to his Lord before his passing. When Mitsushige died, Tsunetomo wished to follow him in death (known as 'junshi') as was sometimes done in previous eras; however, both his domain and the Tokugawa government had passed laws forbidding this. Instead, he took up the tonsure, taking the Buddhist name Jocho and retired to Kurotsuchibaru. It was here that he was sought out by a younger Nabeshima clansman named Tashiro Tsuramoto. Tsuramoto had been relieved of duty in 1709 and in 1710 began to visit Jocho for counsel. In 1716, he compiled the conversations with Jocho into the first copy of the Hagakure. While there have been several different variants of the Hagakure published through the year, Bennett has chosen the Kohaku version as it is generally considered to be the one closest to the lost original. His translation covers the entirety of the the first two books (the first time this has been done in English), the ones that were filled exclusively with Jocho's material. A third chapter covers selections from books 3-11, which contained material Tsuramoto gathered from other sources as well as vignettes possibly from Jocho. Each chapter has extensive footnotes which provide a wealth of cultural and explanatory material. 

By far, the most impressive part of the book for us was Bennett's introductory chapter-"Hagakure in Context". It puts the Hagakure into its proper historical and social setting as well as examining 'bushido' (interestingly, Bennett notes that the term 'bushido' first appeared in the 'Koyo Gunkan', a treatise on Takeda Shingen written by a former retainer) with a critical eye and a look at how Jocho's life experiences and psychology is reflected in the work-and does so elegantly and brilliantly. This translation is well worth picking up just on the strength of this chapter. From the somewhat vague symbolism of the title (is Hagakure-literally 'hidden by leaves'-a reference to a poem by Buddhist scholar Saigyo Hoshi? Perhaps just a simple reference to the hermitage where the meetings between Jocho and Tsuramoto took place? Or a reference to one of the book's recurring themes, serving from behind the scenes?) to the appropriation of the book for various agendas by both 20th century Japanese and Westerners, Bennett examines the book from a variety of angles. Bennett states that the book is vastly misunderstood both inside and outside Japan, and perhaps that is why Jocho encouraged Tsuramoto to burn it upon completion (to prevent it from being read by those who could never understand the spirit in which it was written). 

Bennett shows how Jocho was bitter at the "disintegration of warrior norms over previous decades", "anti-Shogunate sentiment", had a nostalgic longing for the previous regimes and decried how young samurai "talk of money, about profit and loss, their household financial problems, taste in fashion, and idle chatter of sex". At one point in the book, Jocho flatly states that there are "no good men". However, Bennett also shows how Jocho realized that the nature of service had changed in the time of peace and a good retainer had to change as well. This passion for the older days mixed with Jocho's call for a new type of service based on loyalty and dedication to duty rather than martial valor resulted in many apparent contradictions within the book, including some of its most famous passages. Should a vassal rush headlong into danger, or should he seek a more peaceful alternative? Does one persistently correct the Lord and let him know when he is wrong, or does one carry out the letter of his commands unquestioningly? You should always follow out the Lord's commands, except when you don't. While mastering an art is detrimental to the way of the samurai, when can its study actually be beneficial? There are passages that seem to exhort the virtues of each. Bennett demonstrates how many of these can be explained away by Jocho's splitting one's service as a youth and as an adult-as well as how one's position inside the hierarchy of the samurai chain of command affected one's actions. Indeed, it shows how the Hagakure was an excellent microcosm of the identity crisis of Edo period samurai-how to keep the virtues of a warrior society alive in a time where they were no longer used? This is perhaps best shown in Jocho's criticism of the Ako Ronin, a group that itself exemplified how martial values no longer fit into Edo society. 

As interesting as Hagakure's contemporary setting was, Bennett's examination of how it emerged into the world of the 20th century with its first out-of-domain printing in 1906 (contrary to popular belief, it was virtually unknown outside of a select few in Saga domain before then) is even more so. Does Hagakure represent a 'mystical beauty intrinsic to the Japanese aesthetic experience', or is it a 'text that epitomizes all that is abhorrent in terms of mindless sacrifice, as well as a loathsome depreciation of the value of life and blind obedience to authority'? Invented tradition? A window into the complex ethics of the Tokugawa world? Or simply the 'seditious ramblings of a disgruntled curmudgeon'? 

A careful reading of Hagakure will reveal elements of all of these. But at its heart, Bennett believes it can be summed up by four simple oaths Jocho repeats throughout the text (none of which involve finding the way of the samurai in death): 

-Never lag behind others in the Way of the Warrior

-Be ready to be useful to one's Lord 

-Honor one's parents 

And the final one-a point which is noticeably absent from oft-reprinted quotes of the Hagakure, but which fills the book with its spirit: 

-Serve for the benefit of others with a heart of great compassion 

All precepts whose underpinning philosophy is as applicable to today as it was in 1710. 

What does Jocho see as the essence of being a samurai? According to Book 2/7, it to devotion in both body and soul to his Lord, along with the virtues of wisdom, benevolence, and courage. In other sections he outlines that devotion is the only way for a samurai of his times to be recognized since martial valor is no longer an option-an eminently practical attitude. Wisdom comes from listening to others. Benevolence is for the sake of others. And courage goes back to the 'found in death' idea (more on that later). Proper grooming, speech, and handwriting are also important. Again, all very practical concepts for finding success in the Edo period. 

Reading Hagakure reinforces much of the recent scholarship being done on samurai of the Edo period. For example, Luke Roberts's concepts of 'omote' and 'uchi'-basically 'surface' and 'beneath the surface'-is a common theme in Hagakure. Jocho stresses often that it is better to forgive the failings of others, especially social inferiors, even making excuses for them rather than criticize them harshly. In essence, while their failures are recognized ('uchi'), they are politely papered over and ignored ('omote'). This allows that person to retain their pride, forestall resentment, and encourage them to become better for next time. Avoiding conflict is stressed to be every bit as important as ending it swiftly when it does happen. 

That Jocho has a realistic view of the world is confirmed in Book 2/18: "Current trends cannot be stopped...any desire to return to the 'good old days' of a hundred years ago is futile. Accordingly, it is important to try and improve the ways of the present. It is for this reason that men who hold a nostalgic view of the past are misguided". He goes on to state that the customs and traditions of old should still be kept in mind in order to differentiate between core principles and minor details. While Jocho saw the value in remembering the past, he didn't seem to promote living there. 

Even the oft-quoted 'The Way of the Samurai is found in death' takes on a new meaning when read in its proper context. Bolied down to its core, it says to simply do your best in everything and approach every situation fearlessly as if it is your last day on earth-to not hold back out of a fear of dying or failing. It's not necessarily about rushing head-on alone into a nest of bandits determined to die a glorious death-although it COULD be, and forms the basis for Jocho's criticism of the 47 Ronin (that their calculating manner showed too much concern for their own safety rather than performing the task at hand). 

And aside from the cultural and historical aspects of Jocho's work (and the tales of others in books 3-11), the stories have a good deal of entertainment value-they're often charming and fun to read. You'll learn how a good samurai should always be able to perform at least one action after his head has been cut off-hey, wasn't Nitta Yoshisada able to bury his own body after being decapitated (more realistically, this is simply an exhortation to fight to one's dying breath)? Samurai grew mustaches to ensure a head taken was that of a man and not a woman-no slain samurai would want their head discarded, after all! 18 foot long giant snakes show up. Discussions of how to attack gaijin in Nagasaki harbor (in the wake of an unscheduled 1673 visit by English ships) are laid out in a detailed battle plan. Giving bodyguards progressively larger swords as a training tactic is examined. There's a tale of how a wily woman made herself sexually unattractive to even that horndog of note Toyotomi Hideyoshi. For more womanly hijinks, we read the saga of how a woman marched her man into battle after he had been beaten up by three farmers. Jocho even comments on his own situation, stating that everyone over 60 is senile (although he would have been around 50-55 at the time) and that applies to him. Drunken lords, seppuku, stupid samurai, liars, poseurs, harlots, and even Jocho's thoughts regarding Shudo (male homosexuality, usually between an older samurai and a younger charge-Jocho advocates "secret love", an internal burning love for another that is never revealed, thus allowing one to devote his energies to service) all make for good reading. They're also all short, usually just a paragraph or two, making this a good book to pick up and read passages at random or when you only have a few minutes. Again, the insights given by Jocho and others into what it was to be an Edo period samurai-along with a look at the culture and values of the day-are varied and extensive. 

Also available from Tuttle are recently republished versions of two Thomas Cleary books that likewise examine the thoughts of influential Edo period intellectuals and swordsmen on the changing roles of samurai and the ethics of a time of peace. While Cleary's historical notes for the collections are not as strong as Bennett's (in some cringe-worthy examples, he states Oda Nobunaga converted to Christianity and forced all his vassals to do the same and that Takeda Shingen never lost a battle), the translations he does are excellent. "Soul of the Samurai: Modern Translation of Three Classic Works of Zen & Bushido" collects Monk Takuan's (who we covered in an earlier article on the Shogun-ki) "The Inscrutable Subtlety of Immovable Wisdom" and "Tai-A-Ki: Notes on the Peerless Sword" along with daimyo/swordmaster Yagyu Munenori's "Martial Arts: The Book of Family Traditions". "Samurai Wisdom: Lessons from Japan's Warrior Culture" goes a step further with no less than five translated texts: Confucian scholar Yamaga Soko's "The Way of the Knight (Samurai)", "The Education of Warriors", and the "Primer of Martial Education", his son Takatsune's "Essentials of Military Matters" and Tsugaru Kodo-shi's (a grandson of Soko's) "The Warrior's Rule". These books provide a fascinating glimpse into the psyche of Edo period samurai and their struggles to retain the skills of war while remaining relevant in a time of peace, and they're also easily affordable. 

Now, as to using these books as a blueprint for one's own life in the modern world-while they do embody certain universal values and you can certainly learn from then, you'd be far better served (in our opinion) picking up a work that was written with modern values, culture, and mores than using something written for a centuries old culture. The samurai and monks who wrote these treatises certainly realized that living in the past was no solution and that they needed to adapt to the times-and perhaps that is the most valuable lesson to be learned from these works. 

Until recently we never thought that anything positive could come out of a study of the Hagakure, but Alexander Bennett's translation and historical acumen have changed all that. Put in its proper context, the book is an excellent tool for a look into what being an Edo period retainer was all about-from the high to the low, from the old to the young, and the changing roles assumed as one went through life. And Yamamoto's stories and anecdotes make for delightful reading on their own. The legendary Evil Book has been redeemed, and can now be appreciated for the insight it brings to the world of the warrior during the Edo period. 

The Hagakure is available through the SA Store via Amazon or directly through Tuttle Publishing.

Principled Warfare: Episode 3: The Three S's

Well, folks—sorry for the few day delay, but our series on the 12 Principles of Joint Operations is back with Episode 3: the Three “S”’s : Security, Surprise, and Simplicity. Somehow I get the feeling we’ll be talking a whole lot of Okehazama today…let’s get to it, shall we? The previous two installments can be found HERE (Objective, Offensive, and Mass) and HERE (Maneuver,Economy of Force, and Unity of Effort).

Security

(1) The purpose of security is to prevent the enemy from acquiring unexpected advantage.

(2) Security enhances freedom of action by reducing friendly vulnerability to hostile acts, influence, or surprise. Security results from the measures taken by commanders to protect their forces. Staff planning and an understanding of enemy strategy, tactics, and doctrine enhance security. Risk is inherent in military operations. Application of this principle includes prudent risk management, not undue caution.[1]

The need for security in military operations should be fairly evident. Surprises, especially those that shoot at you, are not good things on the battlefield (and that’s leading to the next principle, but we’ll get to that). As the first bullet says, security is about preventing the enemy from getting the drop on you. Sometimes, this is done through intelligence, i.e. finding out what the enemy is going to do before he does it, so you can counter it. Sometimes, it’s done through maneuver (see, they all flow together), putting yourself in position to take advantage of enemy weaknesses.

Yoshimoto never really liked rain anyways.

I’ll go more into security and its relationship with other principles in the final post in this series, but the simplest way to demonstrate it is to look once again at Okehazama. Imagine you’re Imagawa Yoshimoto in command of your 25,000-man army. You’ve got piddly little Oda Nobunaga in front of you with maybe 2,000 men, and your vanguard under this young Matsudaira Motoyasu kid has already taken some of Nobunaga’s forward fortifications. You’re going to blow through Owari pretty easily. It’s getting to be the middle of the day, and you’re kind of hungry. There’s no hurry, as Nobunaga’s probably just going to hide in his castle. The question is really will he die there or surrender to you? Anyways, it’s lunch time, so let’s just park the HQ here and start eating, shall we? And so you do, and a little while later a fight breaks out amongst some of your men…perhaps someone had a little sake with their lunch and things got out of hand…hey, why is that samurai running this way with his sword drawn? “You, there, stop!”…he’s not stopping…oh crap he’s an Oda samurai!!

We all know the basic story—Yoshimoto stops and is so confident he doesn’t really mount a guard force. Nobunaga’s much smaller force swoops in under the cover of a rainstorm and takes out Yoshimoto and his headquarters. Yoshimoto’s problem? No security—apparently he didn’t feel the need for a security perimeter of guards to give him early warning before Nobunaga’s attack.

Surprise

(1) The purpose of surprise is to strike at a time or place or in a manner for which the enemy is unprepared.

(2) Surprise can help the commander shift the balance of combat power and thus achieve success well out of proportion to the effort expended. Factors contributing to surprise include speed in decision-making, information sharing, and force movement; effective intelligence; deception; application of unexpected combat power; OPSEC; and variations in tactics and methods of operation.

This is another principle that should be fairly obvious to understand. Anyone kid armed with a water gun knows that you have to sneak up on the other side to get them before they get you. As the second bullet says, surprise can shift the balance of power—and it’s the other side of the coin when discussing security. Nobunaga, as we discussed just before, had a vastly inferior force to the Imagawa army that confronted him at Okehazama. However, he did what was unexpected, attacking instead of hiding in his castle, and took the Imagawa unaware.

We won’t go into too much detail, but all of the factors in bullet two played into Nobunaga’s favor. Nobunaga made a quick decision on how to react to Yoshimoto’s invasion; he gave orders on where to attack the enemy (shared info); moved his force through concealed routes; had a clearer picture of what was going on thanks to scouts and knowledge of the area; placed banners and flags at a dummy position and maneuvered without them (deception); appeared “out of nowhere” to attack Yoshimoto’s HQ; kept his plan concealed even from his closest commanders until the last second (OPSEC—Operational Security); and all of these are examples of tactics that deviated from the norm.

You know what else is a surprise? That all samurai generals apparently were members of a boy band.

Surprise isn’t always this dramatic—it can be something much less spectacular than attacking out of the blue like at Okehazama. But surprise gives one side significant tactical advantage that can only be countered with due attention to security.

It also applies to the operational level of war—Akechi Mitsuhide counted on having some time after eliminating Oda Nobunaga at Honno-ji to consolidate his control. That Toyotomi Hideyoshi was able to disengage from the Mori, much less do so quickly enough to be back in the capital area and defeat Mitsuhide at Yamazaki less than 2 weeks later, is a good example of operational surprise.

Simplicity

(1) The purpose of simplicity is to increase the probability that plans and operations will be executed as intended by preparing clear, uncomplicated plans and concise orders.

(2) Simplicity contributes to successful operations. Simple plans and clear, concise orders minimize misunderstanding and confusion. When other factors are equal, the simplest plan is preferable. Simplicity in plans allows better understanding and execution planning at all echelons. Simplicity and clarity of expression greatly facilitate mission execution in the stress, fatigue, fog of war, and complexities of modern combat, and are especially critical to success in multinational operations.

Simplicity is the military version of Occam’s Razor, or, alternatively, the Keep It Simple, Stupid (KISS) Principle. Ultimately, no matter if you’re using swords, guns, or UAV’s, warfare is conducted by people (at least until 2020, when Rock’emSock’em Robots become the preferred method of settling international disputes). People make mistakes, especially under pressure—when what Clausewitz calls “friction”, or what we know now as “Murphy’s Law” happens. The more complicated your plan is, the more steps there are to make it work, the more things that can go wrong to derail it, and the more details there are for a subordinate to forget. The simplest solution is the best solution 9 times out of 10.

 

The 4^th Battle of Kawanakajima is a good example of simplicity done wrong. We’re all familiar with the Takeda’s genius plan “Operation Woodpecker”, supposedly concocted by either Yamamoto Kansuke, Baba Nobuharu, or the two of them together, in which the Takeda split their forces and attempted to maneuver around the Uesugi positions on hills to the north and attack them from behind with one force, forcing the Uesugi to run down the hill into the waiting spears of the other Takeda force. Great plan, but it was a tad bit too complicated to execute—especially the timing of it. Unfortunately for the Takeda, the Uesugi had designs of their own and moved off the hills while half the Takeda army was trying to go around them. The Takeda were faced with the entire Uesugi army charging down on them, with half of their own army actually moving away from the battle. Desperate fighting saved the Takeda from complete collapse before the detached force could arrive back on the battlefield, but the complicated plan opened an advantage that the Uesugi were able to exploit. Historians are divided on who (if anyone) “won” at 4^th Kawanakajima, but it’s fairly obvious that the Takeda took the worst of it, due in no small part to out-thinking themselves.

Well, that’s it for this installment. Next time, we’ll look at the three relatively new additions that the US military has added based on experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan, among others: Restraint, Perseverance, and Legitimacy. We’ll see whether or not these also fit in a Sengoku context. See you then!

The above comments represent the views of the author only, and should not be interpreted to represent the views or official position of the United States Army or the Department of Defense. 

MAJ Nate Ledbetter
Intermediate Level Education Class 12-002
Staff Group D
Fort Gordon, Georgia
 

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[1] Department of Defense. Joint Publication 3-0, “Joint Operations” Washington, D.C.: 11 August 2011. Pg. A-4.

Principled Warfare II: Samurai Combat Done Right (And Wrong)

Welcome to installment 2 of our 5 part series on the Joint Operating Principles and their application to pre-modern Japanese warfare. Go here for the Introduction and Part One of the series, where I examined the Principles of Objective, Offensive, and Mass. Today we’ll look at Maneuver, Economy of Force, and Unity of Command. Since I already did the explanation of what we’re doing in the first post, I’ll just jump into it today.

Maneuver

(1) The purpose of maneuver is to place the enemy in a position of disadvantage through the flexible application of combat power.

(2) Maneuver is the movement of forces in relation to the enemy to secure or retain positional advantage, usually in order to deliver—or threaten delivery of—the direct and indirect fires of the maneuvering force. Effective maneuver keeps the enemy off balance and thus also protects the friendly force. It contributes materially in exploiting successes, preserving freedom of action, and reducing vulnerability by continually posing new problems for the enemy. [1]

Every military commander wants to be in the best position to attack and destroy the enemy. Sometimes that means moving around to the side or rear and surprising him; sometimes it means getting to a certain place, like the defensible high ground, first before the enemy so you have the advantage that location gives you. The way this is done is through maneuver, which as the second bullet says is moving in relation to the enemy to gain the advantage. Like in a wrestling (or judo, or whatever) match, you want to pin your opponent and prevent them from escaping while at the same time being free yourself to move how you want.

The first example for maneuver that we’ll look at is the engagements between the Uesugi and Takeda at Kawanakajima. While everyone remembers the violent and bloody 4^th Battle of Kawanakajima in 1561, it is important to keep in mind that the two sides faced off at the same location three times before that (1553, 1555, 1557), and one time after (1564). In each of these other contests, the opposing armies withdrew after posturing and minimal combat. What was the difference between these four engagements and the 1561 battle? Maneuver...or rather, lack thereof.

In the first three engagements, both sides arrived at Kawanakajima (a plain in northern Shinano province, which now is the location of Nagano City) and took up defensive positions on high ground on either side of the plain. The terrain is such that neither side could venture into the center without exposing itself to attack, and neither side could determine a way to maneuver around the enemy’s flank without abandoning its defensive position. Consequently, after sitting for a while and watching each other, both Kenshin and Shingen would realize the other wasn’t going to make a mistake and move, and so they would retreat to conduct operations elsewhere.

Takeda Forces Maneuver Across the River at Kawanakajima

4^th Kawanakajima, however, is different, because at the 1561 contest, one side concocted a scheme to tactically maneuver and gain an advantage. It’s interesting to note that the sides in this engagement were quite larger (20,000 Takeda vs 12,000 Uesugi, about 40% more on each side) than previous battles. Why is this important? Because with 20,000 troops, Takeda Shingen had enough that he felt he could split his force in two, maintaining some defense on the hills to the south of the Kawanakajima plain while maneuvering a force around the hills the Uesugi occupied to the north, attacking them from the rear and catching them between his two forces. He understood he needed to move his forces, or maneuver, to put them in a position of advantage relative to the Uesugi. 

Unfortunately for Shingen, Uesugi Kenshin saw what he was doing, and also maneuvered his force to take advantage of the situation. Kenshin moved under the cover of darkness from his positions on the high ground down to the valley below and attacked Shingen’s weakened position, almost overrunning it before the detached force that was supposed to surprise the Uesugi arrived to salvage what was becoming a Takeda defeat. Historians debate who was the victor in this battle (for the record, the Uesugi clearly won a tactical victory in my eyes, as they destroyed a higher percentage of the Takeda force than they lost, and defeated Shingen’s tactical plan), ultimately it doesn’t matter as the end operational and strategic result was the same as the previous battles—both sides retreated with no strategic or operational gain. The 1564 battle was a return to the previous pattern, with both sides setting up defensive positions, observing the other side, and eventually withdrawing. I guess Shingen and Kenshin had learned their lesson three years previously.

Fighting at Yamazaki, 1582

Another example of maneuver (among other things) winning a battle is the 1582 Battle of Yamazaki between Hashiba (later Toyotomi) Hideyoshi and Akechi Mitsuhide. If you’ll recall, Mitsuhide had just assassinated Oda Nobunaga, hegemon of central Japan, 13 days earlier and effectively controlled the capital of Kyoto. No rivals were in position to stop his takeover, as they were all engaged fighting Nobunaga’s campaigns in other theaters. Hideyoshi completed a hasty peace with the Mori, whom he was beating pretty badly at this point, and rushed his forces back to the capital region to engage the Akechi. While we can travers his route from the Okayama area to Kyoto now in an hour or two on the bullet train these days, for him to end fighting, negotiate a peace settlement, and turn his 20,000 man army around and march them all the way to Yamazaki to encounter Mitsuhide’s force is staggeringly impressive. His ability to maneuver completely took Mitsuhide by surprise and gave him considerable advantage.

At the tactical level, maneuver played a huge part at Yamazaki as well. The battle began as a race to the promontory of a mountain, as each side recognized that holding the high ground would be key to deciding the battle. Without going into too much detail, forces under Hideyoshi got their first, claiming the terrain and putting the Akechi forces at a distinct tactical advantage.

Economy of Force

(1) The purpose of economy of force is to expend minimum essential combat power on secondary efforts in order to allocate the maximum possible combat power on primary efforts.

(2) Economy of force is the judicious employment and distribution of forces. It is the measured allocation of available combat power to such tasks as limited attacks, defense, delays, deception, or even retrograde operations to achieve mass elsewhere at the decisive point and time.

This Principle boils down to using the bulk of your resources to accomplish those key tasks necessary for victory, and not on things that have little or no effect on the success or failure of the operation. To do otherwise is wasting your efforts. Consider attacking an enemy castle: if you have good security and are not worried about enemy forces coming from elsewhere to attack you from the rear, you would not leave half of your force to guard your supply train. A few soldiers left behind to raise any warning necessary and watch your horses would suffice, while the bulk of your army attacks the castle, to put the necessary mass (see, they all relate) in position (i.e., maneuver) to exploit the weak points in the enemy’s defenses. 

Ueda Castle, where Tokugawa Hidetada wasted time and did not practice Economy of Force!

Economy of force is perhaps best described through an example where it failed. During the 1600 Sekigahara campaign, Tokugawa Ieyasu charged ahead west with his main force to confront Ishida Mitsunari’s coalition in central Japan, meeting them in battle at Sekigahara in Mino province. Ieyasu’s son, Tokugawa Hidetada, was sent along a different route with 38,000 men to meet his father at the battlefield; together they would have had overwhelming force against the enemy. However, along the way Hidetada passed Ueda Castle, held by the Sanada family who opposed the Tokugawa, and he decided to attack it despite orders from his father to bypass it and hurry along to the main battlefield. Even though he only spent a short amount of time trying to take Ueda before he gave up and moved on, it was enough of a delay that Hidetada’s force missed the Battle of Sekigahara completely. Thankfully for the Tokugawa, due to other Principles we will discuss in a bit, the Tokugawa won the day and went on to rule Japan for over 250 years. However, Hidetada’s 38,000 troops were completely wasted, and could have been the difference between victory and defeat. You better believe Tokugawa Ieyasu let his son know this! 

Unity of Command

(1) The purpose of unity of command is to ensure unity of effort under one responsible commander for every objective.

(2) Unity of command means that all forces operate under a single commander with the requisite authority to direct all forces employed in pursuit of a common purpose. During multinational operations and interagency coordination, unity of command may not be possible, but the requirement for unity of effort becomes paramount. Unity of effort—the coordination and cooperation toward common objectives, even if the participants are not necessarily part of the same command or organization—is the product of successful unified action.

You’ve no doubt heard the phrases “Too many cooks spoil the batter” or “too many chiefs, not enough Indians”. These both allude to the fact that systems work best with one person in charge giving one vision for the rest to follow. This is why the military is not a democracy. Operations simply do not work if everyone involved gets to do their own thing. There must be one commander, and everyone has to work towards his objective for things to succeed.

Let’s return to Sekigahara for a perfect example of Unity of Command in action. On one side, you had Tokugawa Ieyasu, a clear leader. Respected by all, even his enemies, there was no doubt who was in charge of the eastern forces. Daimyo that chose to side with the eastern side were choosing to be led by Tokugawa Ieyasu; there was no challenge to his leadership.

On the western side, you had…well, you had a loose coalition. There were a variety of motivating factors for daimyo to choose the western side: loyalty to Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s memory, fear of Tokugawa Ieyasu, a vague sense of how things should be. One thing that wasn’t a motivation was strong coalition leadership. Ishida Mitsunari, the de facto head of the anti-Tokugawa, pro-Toyotomi forces, was generally disliked by most of the daimyo in the coalition. He was not seen as a strong leader, and was not even seen as an equal by many of the daimyo in the western coalition. Several prominent daimyo chose to join the Tokugawa, motivated by their hatred of Mitsunari (Kato Kiyomasa is the most notable example); changing the political leadership of the country was preferable to having to work with “that guy”. Though in command, Mitsunari wasn’t even the “head” of the western coalition; that fell to Mori Terumoto, who wasn’t present at Sekigahara, and who was a representative of Toyotomi Hideyori, the seven year old heir of the late Hideyoshi.

Shimazu Yoshihiro, as seen at Sekigahara Warland Theme Park

This lack of unity of command for the western forces seriously hampered their efforts. Several daimyo delayed their movement east towards the campaign; some, tasked to besiege and take Tokugawa held castles west of Kyoto, took their time to do so. Shimazu Yoshihiro didn’t see Ishida Mitsunari as a leader at all, and took umbrage with being gruffly ordered around. This caused Yoshihiro to sit on the battlefield and brood, waiting until after combat had been taking place for a while before committing his forces. Even more detrimental were the defections of several leading Western daimyo, most notably Kobayakawa Hideaki and Kikkawa Hiroie, whose combined 18,000 men falling on the flank of the Western force they were supposedly a part of (their actions encouraged by Tokugawa Ieyasu, of course) turned a close battle into a rout. (Edited note: this is not a blow-by-blow of tactical action at Sekigahara, which was obviously much more nuanced. I'm illustrating a point, that is all. Don't get bent out of shape because I simplify things.)

Had the western army had any unity of command, Japanese history would likely be very different. They had a number of tactical advantages (better terrain, more troops) that could have resulted in coalition victory, had there been any unity of command or unity of effort. Even a coalition can be very successful if the coalition members all strive towards the same goal. However, that didn’t happen, and the strongly-led Tokugawa forces took advantage of it.

Well, there you have it. Next time we’ll look at the Three S’s: Security, Surprise, and Simplicity. See you then!

The above comments represent the views of the author only, and should not be interpreted to represent the views or official position of the United States Army or the Department of Defense. 

MAJ Nate Ledbetter
Intermediate Level Education Class 12-002
Staff Group D
Fort Gordon, Georgia

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[1] Department of Defense. Joint Publication 3-0, “Joint Operations” Washington, D.C.: 11 August 2011. Pg. A-2.

The Death of Takeda Shingen - A Translation

The Sengoku Daimyo Takeda Shingen's death has been tackled before on this blog, but this time I decided to translate a section from Takeda Shingen, a biography written in 1970 by Isogai Masayoshi that addresses the topic:

The Death of Takeda Shingen

Shingen was ill during the siege of Noda castle. The departure from Kofu prior to the siege was unusually slow because of this illness, and there was clearly worry about his health.  After the fall of Noda castle, Shingen was unable to continue his military campaign, and withdrew to Nagashino, and it's said that Shingen went to Houraiji to recuperate, but when his condition didn't change, he packed up his army and returned to Kai.

Shingen's sickness was a lung illness, and symptoms began to worsen. A skilled physician recommended a course of medical treatments and potions, however, day by day it became clear that this was an incurable disease.  Now deathly ill, Shingen retired to Shinano province, Ina district, Ikkaneki-Komanba (Modern day Nagano prefecture, Shimoina district, Achimura city, Komanba).

Near death, Shingen called his son Katsuyori to his bedside and said, "I have some small lands, and have invaded other districts and provinces, and for the most part have no regrets.  However, the fact that I wasn't able to raise my flag in the imperial capital has been my most obsessive, if unrealistic, regret.  If it becomes known that I have left this world, my enemies will take the opportunity to rise against you. Therefore, for the next three to four years, keep my passing a secret, and secure and fortify the defenses of the domain, build the military forces, and if you are ever in a position to take the capital, I will be satisfied." That was Shingen's final message.  This was the 4th month, 12th day of the first year of Tensho (1573), and he was 53 years old.  He had held the rank of Daizen Daibu Shinano no Kami, Jushiinoge, and his Buddhist name was Erinjidenkisangenkoutaikoji.

A hero of his generation, even Takeda Shingen couldn't defeat illness, and his ambitions disappeared like mountain mist.

An Intro to the Sengoku Daimyo - a Translation

As a mental exercise I've been doing some translation work, and since it is a basic introduction to the Sengoku Daimyo, I decided to post it to the blog.  There isn't anything groundbreaking here, but it does serve as a good quickie introduction to where the Sengoku Daimyo came from, and who they were. 

From Family to Ability: The Sengoku Daimyo of Gekokujo - Translated from:

Sengoku Busho: Shireba Shiru Hodo by Owada Tetsuo

Oda Nobunaga

A single word that sums up the Sengoku Period of Japanese history is Gekokujo. Gekokujo refers to, for example, when an incapable lord was forcibly removed by his vassals. What determined a lord’s capability during the Sengoku period? A capable lord protected his lands and rewarded his vassals with land. A lord that can’t protect his lands exposes his vassals to danger. Furthermore, a lord needed to be willing to invade other lands in order to increase his holdings to reward his vassals. Because of this, Sengoku Daimyo were required to risk their continued survival in battle.

The Sengoku Daimyo came about in various ways: The Shugo of the Muromachi Bakufu who were able to evade the wave of Gekokujo became Sengoku Daimyo. Examples of these Daimyo include the Takeda of Kai province, the Imagawa of Suruga, the Rokkaku of Omi, the Otomo of Bingo, and the Shimazu of Satsuma. On the other hand, there were families and clans that drove out the Shugo to become Sengoku Daimyo. These included the Asakura of Echizen province, the Oda of Owari, the Nagao of Echigo, the Amako of Izumo, and the Ukita of Harima. There are also many examples of small time rural regional lords, known as Kokujin, who became Sengoku Daimyo as well. These included the Date of Mutsu province, the Asai of Omi, the Mori of Aki, and the Matsudaira of Mikawa.

Unlike the three examples above, some men who became Sengoku Daimyo defy classification – three examples would be Hojo Soun, Saito Dousan, and Matsunaga Hisahide, who have been called villains of the Sengoku period. Their origins are shrouded in mystery. Hojo Soun was a mere lowly ronin, Saito Dousan was an oil merchant, and Matsunaga Hisahide was a merchant from Yamashiro province.

From these inauspicious beginnings, these men rose up and embraced their dark ambitions by becoming Samurai and independent Daimyo through plots and trickery in perfect displays of Gekokujo – and symbolize more than any other the Sengoku warlord.

However, is there really a difference between these three treacherous villains and heroes like Oda Nobunaga and Takeda Shingen? If one gives a precise definition of a villain, it would be someone who is ferocious and treacherous – how does Oda Nobunaga stand up to this definition? Nobunaga is infamous for his atrocities, including his burning of the Enryakuji temple, atrocities during the Nagashima Ikko-Ikki, and for drinking sake from the skulls of Asai Nagamasa and Asakura Yoshikage. Yet, in Japan he is still considered a "hero" of the Sengoku.

Villains used treachery to remove or murder other lords, and while it could be said that driving out a lord was a more moral alternative to murder vis a vis Gekokujo, Nobunaga murdered his brother and attacked his grandfather, however Takeda Shingen removed his father from power and drove him from the province, sparing his life. So it might be a better question to ask not what makes a hero or villain but why one was designated one or the other. Even if the methods are considered heinous and barbaric, protecting one’s lands and maintaining the peace was the goal, so as long as it was effective, it could be considered heroic. So when comparing Oda Nobunaga, who burned temples and essentially maintained a sustained terror campaign of “shock and awe”, he was doing it with the relatively honorable goal of unifying and bringing peace to Japan. This is contrasted with Matsunaga Hisahide, who was essentially making a selfish grab for power. These men were a product of their age, and the glorification of brutality was a symbol of the times.

Shadowboxing: Kagemusha or the Real Deal? Kenshin Vs. Shingen

I thought I'd revisit Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin again for this week's blog post, this time looking at their purported hand-to-hand combat during the 4th battle of Kawanakajima. The typical depiction of this event, from the Koyo Gunkan, is as follows:

While the Uesugi and Takeda armies clashed in mortal combat, a lone mounted warrior with a white cowl covering his head rushed into Shingen's battlefield headquarters, directly at Shingen, who was sitting at his camp stool, and drew his sword. Shingen had no time to draw his sword, and instead was forced to catch the blows on his war fan. Shingen's attendant, Hara Osumi no kami, ran to Shingen's aid, and struck at the rider with a spear but missed, hitting the horse instead. The horse reared, and the mounted warrior retreated.

This is the same famous scene found in books and movies; The warrior in the white cowl is Uesugi Kenshin, and Takeda Shingen's warfan bore eight sword cuts. However, did this really happen as described, or is this just the stuff of legends? It is plausible. Kenshin is known to have held Minamoto Yoshitsune in high esteem, and as such always rode with his men, and personally led his men into battle to emulate his hero. It would not be unreasonable for him to have made his way to Shingen's camp. According to one book (Sengoku Busho Omoshiro Jiten), there are historical records that have been discovered that dispute this personal combat. According to this book, the Kenshin Nenpu (Kenshin Chronological Record), states:

Arakawa, who was dressed as Kenshin, rode at Shingen and attacked. Shingen was unable to draw his sword, and so blocked with his war fan. Hara Osumi no kami ran to Shingen's aid, and drove off the mounted warrior.

Arakawa Izu no kami was supposed to have been Kenshin's kagemusha (double) during the 4th battle of Kawanakajima (although I couldn't seem to find him in the Sengoku Jinmei Jiten). According to the above source, it is thought that the man that Shingen fought at Kawanakajima was Kenshin's kagemusha, rather than Kenshin himself. To further confuse the issue, according to the Hokuetsu Gunki, some time after the battle, Shingen received a visit from a monk by the name of Tenkai, who would later become an advisor to Tokugawa Ieyasu. Tenkai would tell Ieyasu that Shingen told him during thier meeting that "the man who fought with Kenshin that day was not me, but someone who looked like me". Meaning that apparently it wasn't Shingen but his Kagemusha that fought off the attack.

We are left with the somewhat boggling possibility that that they were both kagemusha. Moreover, it is believed that Kenshin and Shingen had never seen each other's face, which likely would also have added to the confusion. Although the personal combat between Kenshin and Shingen is recorded in the Koyo Gunkan, there doesn't seem to be any other additional evidence to support this, however I only flipped through a few books in preparation for this post, so I welcome any comments or sources to dispute or enhance what I have here. In particular, I have to wonder if Terje Solum's Saga of the Samurai series (Which I don't have, but is on my "to buy" list) on the Takeda clan covers this.

Some references for this post:
Koyo Gunkan. (Edited by Yoshida Toyo), 19th edition, Tokyo, August 2005.
Narumoto, Tatsuya. Sengoku Bushou Omoshiro Jiten, Japan, 1998
Sato, Hiroaki. Legends of the Samurai, Overlook, 1995
Arakawa Izu no kami - SamuraiWiki