For Honor
I know a story of a samurai.
When the Mongols invaded Japan in 1274, the farmers and lords of the island of Tsushima (the first step of the invasion) were faced with a moral dilemma. Do we face these overwhelming odds, most likely die, and allow the Mongols to enter the mainland? Or… do we change the game we’re playing?
The Mongol invasions of other countries were some of history’s most barbaric campaigns. The Mongols used terror as a weapon of warfare. They raped, pillaged, burned, and tortured their way to military goals. They displayed the mutilated and punctured bodies of their enemies as warnings: “roll over or you and your family will end up like this.” For example, Mongol soldiers would stab knives through the palms of captured women, torture them, and hang them on the side of Mongol warships. There were no boundaries around Mongol military behavior; whatever it took to win is what they would do.
And at the other end of the spectrum were the Japanese. The polar opposite. There is one single thing that has historically been paramount to Japanese culture: honor. Above all else, honor. The Japanese, at least for most of the second millennium, embraced a very Confucian society. Life was about responsibility to one’s family, one’s superiors, and one’s nation. It was about order. Individual freedoms were an afterthought; an asterisk.
For the Japanese, warfare was fought with stoic civility and the respect of gentlemen. If you died, as a warrior, in any way other than face-to-face combat with your enemy, you brought down tremendous shame on your family.
There’s a certain comfort and stability that comes with such commitment. There’s something to be said for having unshakeable principles to build your decision making on. It’s certain. It’s uncompromising. It says “here’s what you do, no matter what the consequences are.” In a lot of areas of life, that’s incredibly useful.
But this dramatic contrast in values put the Japanese in a peculiar and unfortunate position.
For most samurai, there was not even a question. Unflinching principle was the one and only option. No matter the circumstances, death for the honor of one’s family and one’s lord was the ultimate goal of their lives. Death was literally their goal — even if their death accomplished very little.
But for one samurai, a question nagged. He saw the truth of the situation: If we face them in honest combat, our people will fail. They will slaughter us. The samurai way will get us all killed fruitlessly. The Mongols will easily overrun us and our entire nation will cease to exist.
What do we do? Do we die for honor and abandon our posterity? Do we accept torment and death even when we might be able to do something about it? Or do we budge from our principles and try to just survive?
Poison and Thieves
Our samurai, up until now a model leader for his people, launched a campaign of his own.
He began taking down enemy soldiers, officers, and camps with brutal and sneaky tactics. He devised plans. He played dirty games. He enlisted the help of a thief to learn about how to infiltrate enemy lines and catch them by surprise. He went directly against the wishes of his own uncle — the lord of his clan — to try to protect his people. To try something different.
He avoided honorable combat wherever possible. He used gunpowder (brought by the Mongols themselves), poison, traps, ambushes, and scare tactics. He made the Mongols feel unsafe. He traded the way of the samurai for the tactics of a ghost.
Some people, including his own friends, were worried. When asked about this radical change in his behavior, he replied “To fight them, I’ve had to do things I would have frowned on before.”
Stories of the Ghost of Tsushima spread like fire. There was a great divide among the people of the island — this was a very fundamental moral issue. On one hand, the Ghost was abandoning everything that was important to Japanese culture — particularly in a military sense. On the other hand, he was providing an otherwise missing sense of hope for the oppressed people of the island. He made people believe that the Mongols could be beaten at their own games. People wanted to see the Mongols beaten at their own games.
It made his people braver. Maybe it even made some of them fight harder and sacrifice more.
Eventually, the Mongol invasion failed. Due to the conspiracy of luck and excellent tactics, the Japanese drove the Mongols from Tsushima. They never made it to the mainland. The Japanese people survived, and avoided torment and slavery for what would have been years to come.
But the questions remain: was it worth it? Is survival more important than honor? Is it okay to put aside principles when they are pushed to the point of futility?
Is it okay to be a “bad” citizen or father or son or brother when your survival, your family’s survival, and your people’s survival depends on it?
Things Change
There’s a scene in The Patriot where Mel Gibson’s character, the war hero Benjamin Martin, is faced with criticism from his friends and townsmen. In a courthouse full of brilliant thinkers and storied soldiers, he has to decide between war and family. Go to war with the British for independence, or protect his family and leave the effort (and maybe its success) on the shoulders of others.
Friends remember him as the ruthless and loyal Captain from Fort Wilderness. Locals see him as a respected citizen and a thoughtful landowner. But all that matters to him anymore is that he’s a father.
Horrified at the decision he now has to make, he explains to the room how his life has changed. “I have seven children,” he says. “My wife is dead. And who’s to care for them if I go to war?”
And so he chooses family.
However, shortly after this scene, his oldest son enlists to fight. Then, his second oldest son is executed by a British officer outside their home.
And things change again.
He did end up going to war, and he did end up avenging his son and saving his family. His principles had to change, not once but twice. And that’s okay. In both cases, he did two things right: stood by his principles even when he hated to do so, but then pivoted when life made it clear that he must. When it was clear that there was no alternative.
When you know precisely what you’re standing up for, your life is simple. Never easy, but simple. You don’t have to do any thinking. You just take whatever action is necessary to cherish it and defend it. You speak whatever words will preserve it, even when it’s hard. And that’s how I think we should spend 99% of our lives.
But once in a while something might come along and challenge what it is we’re standing up for. And I think it is incumbent upon us to be ready for such a time. And to be willing to adapt if absolutely necessary, and to come out on the other side with just as much conviction and grit as we had on this side.
There are very few principles that can carry you all the way through life without ever being challenged. In fact, there may not be any. But when you have them, they are an immense comfort.
Drink some water (unless it would dishonor your family)
JDR
“I’m a parent. I haven’t got the luxury of principles.” - Benjamin Martin, The Patriot
(i'm very objective and not a populist)
when you compare Mongol's brutality with Japanese's honor, without time boundary, you realized that the butchering in China and Korea during WW2 did happen, do you?