Appearing like dew,
vanishing like dew—
such is my life.
Even Naniwa’s splendor
is a dream within a dream.

Death poem of Toyotomi Hideyoshi

The story of Sekigahara begins with the death of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. In perhaps the greatest career in Japanese history, he had risen through a feudal system from the bottom of society to its very peak. Born a soldier’s son, he made himself taikō, supreme warlord and ruler of all Japan.

In 1598, at the age of 62, he was overtaken by illness. His heir was a boy of 5 years, hastily declared an adult and anointed the new taikō. Before Toyotomi died he gathered the most powerful men in Japan into two committees, balancing the power of each against all others. Oaths were sworn to uphold the boy’s claim, and to leave undisturbed the balance of power upon which he depended. With these bare means, the best that could be constructed on short notice, did Toyotomi hope to secure the youth’s age to maturity.

In fact it took only two years for the tensions in this system to break into open war. By the summer of 1600, two armies were rallied and hurled towards each other, and the victorious Tokugawa Ieyasu became Japan’s new master.

It had taken decades of warfare for Toyotomi and his predecessor Oda Nobunaga to subjugate Japan’s belligerent fiefdoms. Their prize was usurped in a campaign that lasted only seven weeks. Tokugawa’s shogunate would rule Japan in peace for 15 generations, 268 years.

Ten years before the battle of Sekigahara, Japan’s present and future lords stood together on a hilltop along the eastern coast. Toyotomi Hideyoshi, at the zenith of his power and abilities, met with Tokugawa Ieyasu, who had become his lieutenant. Once comrades under Oda Nobunaga, then enemies in battle, they were now allies, united in victory over the Hōjō clan. Here on the hilltop, Toyotomi offered to Tokugawa a fateful proposition. In exchange for the 5 central provinces that Tokugawa’s family had known for generations, he offered 8 provinces eastward in Kanto, further from the capital, uncultivated, and surrounded by unfamiliar enemies. It was a daunting proposition, but Ieyasu accepted on the spot.

The day Tokugawa arrived in his new capital of Edo is still celebrated in that city, modern Tokyo. In 1590 it was a backwater, a haggard castle rising from a swamp. But Ieyasu was more than a warlord, he was an of genius. From this damp village in the Kanto he built an economic empire in the course of a single decade. Ten years later, his annual income (2.5 million koku, manyears of rice) was more than double that of any other daimyo.

Toyotomi had meant to consign Tokugawa to years of fruitless difficulties, while alienating him from the politics of the capital in Kyoto. Instead, by giving Ieyasu a large and fertile fief he allowed the emergence of a natural successor, a first among equals, in the ranks of leading daimyo. After Hideyoshi died, eyes shifted to one man; behind the system of fealty, Japan had a dominant power waiting to emerge.

***

Toyotomi Hideyoshi was one of the most remarkable men in the history of Japan. He rose through the ranks in the service of the greatest warrior of his day, Oda Nobunaga. Ugly and low-born, he was called ‘monkey’ by his detractors. But his talent was extraordinary. He came to be Oda’s most trusted retainer, pairing a series of brilliant military successes with careful reassurances of complete loyalty. One story still told today recalls Toyotomi warming Oda’s sandals by keeping them against his chest. Toyotomi was always careful to ask Oda’s direction in military matters, regardless how unnecessary. And Oda delighted in Toyotomi’s prowess. Once, seeing Toyotomi’s magnificent army, he remarked “His monkey face has not changed, but who would dare call him monkey now? Astonishing, indeed, is the way men’s positions alter.”

Toyotomi was a man of fine taste, but he could also explode into rage at a slight. His elegant death poem, above, is one of the best in the tradition. But bold indeed was the man who invited him to tea in a cherry garden only to strip every blossom off the trees. Ready to kill for such an insult, Toyotomi burst into the building and saw a single cup of water in which was balanced one utterly perfect blossom. Fury turned to gratification.

Rage like this could have geopolitical consequences. After fighting a campaign in Korea, Toyotomi received a Chinese emissary expecting to be named emperor of all lands. When instead he was acknowledged ruler of only Japan, he exploded and launched a second war. It was also this anger, or perhaps a general deterioration of faculties, that inspired the killing of his own family. When his preferred heir reached the age of two, Hideyoshi ordered the death of his previous (adopted) heir, plus 29 of his family . By so doing he left his dynasty in the hands of a single 2-year-old boy, completely vulnerable to disease or intrigues.

It was Toyotomi’s love of tea that launched his friendship with Ishida Mitsunari. Mitsunari became Inspector-General in Hideyoshi’s army, but he was not a military man; he was a tea master. Hideyoshi knew from personal reflection that someone tasteful enough to perform a superlative tea ceremony had talents that could be turned to other tasks. To him, rank and birth meant nothing; only talent mattered. In Ishida he found talent, and he promoted it. Ishida did indeed have other abilities. He became a skillful , and in time, a relentless intriguer.

Ishida is the man who would later lead an army to defend the Toyotomi heir. In the Korean campaign, Ishida made friends and enemies that would shape alliances at Sekigahara. He once attended a tea ceremony with daimyo Ōtani Yoshitsugu. Ōtani, who was ill, left a drop of pus in the cup before ing it onwards. Other participants were revolted as the cup reached their hands and they were obliged to drink. To spare the man his agony, Ishida claimed the cup out of order, drank everything in it, and apologized to all for being so ‘thirsty’. Ōtani was astonished and grateful, and years later would fight at Ishida’s side at Sekigahara. The opposite outcome obtained when Ishida visited Kuroda Yoshitaka in Korea. Kuroda was engaged in a game of go, and made Ishida wait. Incensed, Ishida reported to Toyotomi that Kuroda cared more for go than war. Kuroda was stung and never forgave the slight; in 1600 he would be Ishida’s enemy.

Toyotomi was a man of such talent and character that he could inspire loyalty through bold gesture. Many times in his career he converted a deadly rival into a vassal through an act of disarming courage or honesty. When asking his enemy Date Masamune to submit, he revealed to Masamune the tactics he would employ were they to fight, all while standing defenseless, having placed his sword in his enemy’s hands. Date was amazed, and surrendered his lands.

Bolder still, Toyotomi once travelled deep into Uesugi territory undefended, to meet in person with his enemy Uesugi Kagekatsu. Astonished by his courage, the Uesugi chose to become allies rather than enemies.

What other men would have fought for, Toyotomi was given on of the strength of his character. To describe the heroic impression Toyotomi made on his peers, historian Walter Dening makes apt reference to a story about Hercules:

“O, Iole, how did you know that Hercules was a god?” “Because,” answered Iole, “I was content the moment my eyes fell upon him. When I beheld Theseus I desired that I might see him offer battle, or at least guide his horses in the chariot-race. But Hercules did not wait for a contest; he conquered whether he stood, walked, or sat, or whatever thing he did.”

Having once trapped the rival Mōri clan in a siege, news came to Toyotomi that his lord and mentor, Oda Nobunaga, had been murdered by one of his own ers. Toyotomi wanted to rush to the scene, but a departure would leave him vulnerable to attack. Toyotomi presented himself to the Mōri and explained the situation. His courage spoke volumes, as did his indifference. Against so bold a commander, the Mōri preferred to decline combat as his troops left the scene.

That moment was the greatest turning point in his career. Returning to the site of treachery, he found and defeated the disloyal forces. He had avenged the betrayal, and his recent successes made him the preeminent warrior in Japan. It was he around whom the Oda power structure now consolidated—even Oda’s son was happy to follow Toyotomi. He had completed his rise; he was taikō.

Tokugawa Ieyasu, though of noble birth, rose from broken circumstances. He was separated from his mother at age 2, kidnapped at age 6, and taken as a hostage at age 9. Perhaps as a result of these events, emotion played little part in his character. He made his decisions on rational grounds, regardless the emotional toll. When they were implicated in a treasonous plot, he ordered the death of his own wife and first-born son.

Like Toyotomi he found it necessary to diminish himself before the rulers of the day in order not to rouse their suspicions. He took great pains not to reveal his talents or his ambitions, but some noticed all the same. An old enemy, Takeda Shingen, noted “Ieyasu cherishes great hopes for the future... He won’t eat anything out of season.” Unlike Toyotomi, who made a virtue of his vulnerability, Ieyasu did indeed act with the overcaution of one who ‘cherishes great hopes’. When he travelled out of his fiefdom he made elaborate escape plans should treachery occur.

Beneath the deprecation and caution was an extraordinary mind. His generalship was superlative. Once when fighting the Takeda he found himself threatened with disaster. Having lost a battle, he retreated with only a few troops to a nearby castle, his enemies in pursuit. On arrival, he ordered the gates flung wide, bright torches burnt outside the entrance, and a loud drum banged throughout the night. When the Takeda forces arrived, they surmised Ieyasu was planning an attack—rather than a desperate defense—and declined to give battle.

Tokugawa served most of his life under the leadership of his two great predecessors, Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Only when these warlords died, having unified the nation but failed to provide an heir, did Tokugawa reap the fruits of their labors. An old story explains it thus: Oda Nobunaga makes rice cakes, Toyotomi Hideyoshi cooks them, and Tokugawa Ieyasu eats them.

How much of Tokugawa’s success, then, was owing to good fortune? Certainly he benefitted from circumstance. Several of his rivals died at convenient moments: not merely Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi but also Takeda Shingen and Maeda Toshiie. But if his path was fortunate, was there another who could have walked it? Tokugawa needed generalship and diplomacy to expand his fiefdom; uncommon self control, in order not to come into conflict with his lords; and extraordinary management ability, that he could develop his Kanto domain into the engine of war and commerce that it became. Tokugawa played his hand so carefully, and showed such skill in its execution, that it would be unfair not to award the majority of the credit for his accomplishments to his own efforts.

***

After Toyotomi’s death, Japan emerged in stages from the rigid stasis he had willed for it. Japanese troops were still in Korea, fighting and losing the second of two successive wars. For a time, Toyotomi’s death was concealed by the state. Once the troops returned and the truth emerged, it was Tokugawa who offered the first test to the new regime’s stability. He assigned a few of his family to political marriages, something forbidden by the system Toyotomi had given them. Fractures formed in the committees and sides were taken. Then the actions of Toyotomi loyalist Ishida Mitsunari brought the simmer to a boil.

First Ishida attempted to sow suspicion between the most powerful daimyo, suggesting to Tokugawa that Maeda Toshiie would kill him when given the chance. Soon after there was an attempt on Tokugawa’s life. The attempt failed, Ishida was implicated, and a group of Tokugawa ers conspired to kill Ishida in return. Cornered, Ishida fled to the mercy of his greatest enemy, Tokugawa himself. Astonishingly, Tokugawa let him free and escorted him to safety. The reasons for this action have been much guessed at over the years, and several theories have been entertained. First, that Tokugawa was naïve and thought Ishida a friend. This is highly unlikely. Second, that he was prone to forgive. One of his favorite sayings was Lao Tsu’s “Requite malice with kindness”. He had dodged assassination once before, and had returned the captured killer to his master, saying that anyone bold enough to creep into his bedroom and perforate his bedding with a sword was undoubtedly a “valuable man”. Third, and most likely, however, Tokugawa protected Ishida because he saw in the latter an instigator capable of unbalancing Toyotomi’s careful system. Political disequilibrium would give Tokugawa his best chance to rule, and yet he could not be seen to create it himself, lest others ally against him. As one advisor put it, it was through men like Ishida that soon Ieyasu might come to rule all of Japan.

Ishida’s close escape did not stop his campaign of intrigues. Instead, he crafted a more ambitious plot to ignite war against Tokugawa with the help of daimyo Uesugi Kagekatsu. The Uesugi lived in the north of Japan, near to Tokugawa’s fief, so disobedience by the former would be the latter’s to correct. Ishida arranged with Uesugi that a disturbance would be created, and as Ieyasu went to address it, an army of his enemies would be organized behind him. Tokugawa would be surrounded and outnumbered.

The plot was launched in 1600, when Uesugi set about building a new castle and engaging in conspicuous fortification. Tokugawa asked that he come to the capital to explain his actions, and received in reply an insulting rebuff. Citified samurai collect tea implements, wrote Uesugi, while country samurai collect weapons. The gauntlet was thrown, and Tokugawa had no choice but to respond.

Tokugawa gathered a force and departed Osaka castle. He headed east and north on the Tōkaidō, one of Japan’s two highways. He moved slowly, taking forty days to reach Edo, and listening all the time to reports from friends in Osaka. What he heard was the rapid unraveling of Toyotomi’s political equilibrium. A nation of warriors, Japan demanded conflict and command. Toyotomi’s system, of peace and divided power, was in fact a vacuum, and that vacuum would now be filled. Almost instinctively, the nation resolved to fight. There would be a war, and whether in Toyotomi’s name or Tokugawa’s, Japan would have clear leadership.

It was a war born of a trap, and it sprang like a trap, catching even the protagonists by surprise with the rapidity of events. What Ishida had hoped would be an anti-Tokugawa action quickly became a crucible for determining Japan’s entire structure of governance. Would Japan be led by its strongest daimyo, Tokugawa Ieyasu, or by a caretaker safeguarding the Toyotomi succession? Two causes opposed each other, and two armies formed to champion them. Tokugawa’s became known as the army of the East, Ishida Mitsunari’s the army of the West.

Tokugawa launched a frenzied campaign of correspondence, inviting daimyo to him in the war. He wrote 180 letters, to 108 lords throughout Japan. He asked for their allegiance, and 99 of them offered it. It is an irony that it would fall to Ieyasu, unemotional and incapable of small talk, to win a war through letterwriting. In his messages he said he would depart Edo on October 1st, but when that date arrived he could not yet move because he was still uncertain who was with him. He remained until the 7th, when he decided urgency was more essential than certainty.

Ishida Mitsunari gathered the western forces from his position in the capital region. He and his ers were able to personally address most of the daimyo they wished to recruit. Mōri Terumoto, one of Japan’s most powerful men, was narrowly persuaded to the western army. Another leading warlord, Kobayakawa Hideaki, was on his way to Tokugawa forces when he was waylaid and talked into a change of allegiance.

As the war began, Ishida’s strategy was twofold. First, he sought to consolidate the castles in the capital region under his control. A number of sieges were launched, which when successful resulted in solid control of the area. The sieges were slow, however. It took eleven days to capture Fushimi castle in Kyoto. Tanabe castle took even longer on of the presence of a famous poet and his valuable library—plus the indifference of the sieging troops, who often ‘forgot’ to load their cannon with shot. The latter operation took so long that the units involved were not available to fight at Sekigahara.

Ishida’s second priority was to secure the western end of Japan’s two highways. He made an alliance with Oda Hidenobu, grandson of the warlord Oda Nobunaga, who controlled Gifu castle. All the roads west of Gifu, on both highways, were controlled by western forces.

At the same time, Ishida had to negotiate with Mōri Terumoto, the strongest daimyo of his faction. Mōri’s income was second only to the Tokugawa in all Japan, and his stature was such that he owed loyalty not to Ishida but to the Toyotomi. As such he took actions independently, uncoordinated with Ishida’s designs. He moved to Osaka castle with 30,000 men and declared himself the guardian of the Toyotomi family, heedless of Ishida’s need for those troops in the field. Ishida might have coaxed Mōri into the conflict, had he been willing to sacrifice some of his own stature. The failure of these leaders to coordinate was to have enormous consequences in the Sekigahara campaign.

Ishida gathered his army at Ogaki castle, just west of Gifu. Having consolidated the capital region of Japan, he knew now that Tokugawa would have to come to him.

As Tokugawa moved to Edo in the early days of the conflict, his strategy was still extremely fluid. He intended at first to pursue the northern campaign against the Uesugi, and moved his headquarters north of Edo, to Oyama, in preparation. Then he changed his mind and returned to Edo. He resolved upon a new strategy. Rather than fight small battles around Japan, he would force a single decisive battle that would resolve all other conflicts in one blow.

Fighting Uesugi was left to Date Masamune and other local daimyo. Another Tokugawa ally, Maeda Toshinaga, might have been included in the campaign had he not been engaged already against regional enemies. Tokugawa turned all of his forces to the west.

The westward battle plan had three stages. First, a force would be deployed to take Gifu castle and establish a forward base of operations. Second, two armies would march from Edo to that gathering point, one along each highway. Finally, the large army so assembled would march westward for a climactic confrontation.

The assault of Gifu would enable Tokugawa control of the twin highways of central Japan, the Tōkaidō and the Nakasendō, which he would then use to rapidly deploy his forces westwards. Tokugawa sent an army of 16,000 from Edo along the Tōkaidō, under daimyo Fukushima Masanori. Fearing that force might be insufficient, he sent another 18,000 to follow them. All reached Gifu, where the plan almost fractured because the two commanders could not resolve the honor of leading the attack. The night before they were to begin the assault, they nearly fought a duel before a solution was agreed: each would lead a separate attack on opposite sides of the structure.

At the same time, the campaign against Uesugi Kagekatsu proceeded. Eventually, Date and the Tokugawa allies were able to overcome the Uesugi, in a battle that occurred after Sekigahara but before word had reached the north.

With the highways under his control, Tokugawa Ieyasu moved to deploy the rest of his army. In contrast to his slow departure from Osaka, he returned with alacrity in order to surprise his enemies. He sent 38,000 men under his son Hidetada along the Nakasendō, and took 33,000 with himself along the Tōkaidō, meaning to unify the forces at Gifu castle.

During the march Tokugawa continued to receive letters pledging allegiances, in some cases from daimyo who, unsatisfied with their first decision, were choosing sides for the second time. He noted the fluidity of loyalty, worried for the reliability of his men, and resolved to test the allegiance of his enemies.

Tokugawa’s Tōkaidō force completed the march successfully and arrived at Gifu castle on October 19. The Nakasendō force was delayed. Weather was partly to blame, but more importantly, Hidetada took up a siege at castle Ueda against the instructions of his father. The siege drew on under the cunning defense of local daimyo Sanada Masayuki, until Hidetada eventually abandoned it. By then he was hopelessly late, and when the battle of Sekigahara broke out he and his 38,000 men were still 200 kilometers away.

When they first spied the eastern army, Ishida’s western forces were camped at Ogaki castle, west of Gifu. Tokugawa set his camp 5 kilometers to their northeast. Ishida’s western force numbered 82,000, Tokugawa’s eastern army 89,000. Though of roughly equal size, the two forces were in very different psychological states.

The western army was closer to home and more rested. Supply lines were cleaner, reinforcements closer. They camped not far from Ishida’s home castle at Sawayama. But the early arrival of eastern troops had unnerved them. Clearly, their plan to distract Tokugawa in the north had failed. Further, the eastern army was larger than expected—Ishida had underestimated the degree of there would be for Tokugawa. Finally, since this territory was home to the western forces, Ishida had more to lose by fighting here. He had to be concerned about defending Osaka, Kyoto, and Sawayama from invasion. While Tokugawa might be at liberty to give or refuse battle, Ishida felt his options narrowing.

Tokugawa put his proximity and confidence to immediate use by attempting to arrange defections among the western forces. Ii Naomasa and Honda Tadakatsu, some of Tokugawa’s most loyal leaders, were dispatched to speak with the retainers of several western daimyo. To Kobayakawa Hideaki they offered a domain of two provinces, if he were to switch sides and fight for Tokugawa. The price was agreed, and the seeds of treachery planted.

The betrayal of Kobayakawa had its roots in an old grudge against Ishida. The former, after leading Japanese forces in Korea in what some considered a reckless manner, was stripped of much of his territory by Toyotomi. He suspected truth in the rumor that Ishida had recommended the action. Though the land was later returned, Kobayakawa’s resentment persisted.

After reaching proximity with the enemy, eastern leadership considered several strategic options. Ii Naomasa proposed an attack on Ogaki castle, creating at once that definitive battle for which the army had been gathered. Honda Tadakatsu preferred a march to Osaka, which if unopposed would end the war just as decisively. Tokugawa’s final decision was to mask Ogaki castle with a small detachment of troops while marching west towards Sawayama and then Osaka. If successful, the western forces would be cut off from the ground they sought to defend.

The western army was also unsure of strategy. Notified that Tokugawa planned to by his position, Ishida scrambled for a proactive plan. A night attack was proposed, only to be rejected because Ishida felt it suitable only for a weak or desperate army. Instead, he settled on a night march, to select and occupy ground for a battle in the morning. For the site of that battle, he chose the crossroads of Sekigahara.

Drenching rain pelted the western troops as in darkness they departed their camp. They marched westward to a fork in the road offering different routes to Kyoto and Sawayama. To defend both, a stand would have to be made at Sekigahara. Hills ringed the road, and between them there would be room for battle. Ishida’s men took the high ground all around the site and waited for dawn.

Tokugawa’s night was nearly as restless. At 2:00, despite the storm, he mounted his horse to reconnoiter the ground ahead. When he was satisfied with the approach, he woke the army and brought them on behind him to the site of battle. He arranged his men along the road, the hills having been occupied, with a substantial force to the rear to prevent encirclement and facilitate escape. Both commanders, in fact, were careful to ensure an escape route – Ishida stationed himself at the back near the road that led to Sawayama.

Both sides pressed for combat despite having substantial temporary weaknesses. Ishida had twice tried to summon the 30,000 Mōri troops at Osaka castle, and they had not yet come. The siege of Tanabe castle had just finished, and another 15,000 troops were on their way to the main force. Tokugawa’s son Hidetada was late with 38,000 men a few days march to the northeast on the Nakasendō. Still, each felt they had more to fear from delay than action. Ishida worried about the integrity of his coalition and knew that to retreat further would be to sacrifice his home of Sawayama. Tokugawa held the advantage of surprise against an enemy with more local resources.

Each army was made up mostly of ground troops, armed with spears and swords. Each had some cavalry and some arquebusiers. The arquebus had been revolutionizing Japanese warfare in the half-century since its introduction, in the process making archery obsolete.

The morning of October 21, 1600 was muddy from a night of rain, and hazy with mist. The army of the East launched the battle when Ii Naomasa’s troops, called the “Red Devils” for the fearsome red lacquered armor they wore, charged the field. Fukushima Masanori, who had been promised the honor of first attack, plunged forward immediately as well, assaulting the strong central position of the stalwart loyalist Ukita Hideie.

Ishida ordered a counterattack, and to his dismay found that some of his units refused to move. The Shimazu merely held their positions, not fighting until they were attacked. On the flank, Kikkawa Hiroie refused a signal to attack, and the 15,000 Mōri troops behind him were satisfied to wait. Repeated orders were also sent to Kobayakawa Hideaki demanding an attack, but he stood on the southern hillside as battle raged in the valley.

Tokugawa, too, was asking Kobayakawa to move. Finally, shots were fired in his direction, in demand of a decision. With that signal, Kobayakawa engaged, charging down the hillside to attack his former allies. The southern end of Ishida’s line was enveloped. All across the field, western forces were being beaten back, despite the valor of a few loyalists.

The eastern army began the consolidation of its victory. Tokugawa Ieyasu erected a court on the battlefield in which to receive commanders and the heads of his enemies. To loyal friends like Fukushima, Ii and Honda, he declared his everlasting gratitude. He praised the turncoat Kobayakawa and allowed him to lead an attack of Sawayama castle (now largely a formality). He reserved his greatest scorn for those who had refused battle, specifically the Mōri.

Ishida escaped into the mountains, to be caught a few days later and executed. Ukita, a young daimyo who had fought tenaciously, was forgiven his involvement but forced to live in exile and abstain from politics. Toyotomi Hideyori was entrusted to Tokugawa’s care, and survived another 15 years before being killed for disloyalty.

The Mōri were stripped of most of their land and wealth, leaving them bitter and vengeful for centuries to come. Their children slept with feet pointed east, in insult to the victors of Sekigahara. It became a tradition, in Chosho where the Mōri lived, to open each new year with a ceremonial exchange in which prominent leaders would ask of the daimyo “Has the time come to begin the subjugation of the [Tokugawa]?” to which he would reply “No, the time had not yet come.” (More than 250 years later the time finally had come, and the rebellion that overturned the shogunate was led in part by Chosho.)

The Sekigahara campaign was fought rapidly. In seven weeks of hostilities, the fate of Japan was settled. The whole episode, including Tokugawa’s march northwards and letter-writing campaign, took just over three months. In that time, every daimyo had to select a side, raise troops, deploy and fight. Little wonder, then, that the campaign was so unpredictable, loyalty so fluid, plans and objectives so often revised. It was an improvised war.

In this brief and unstructured engagement, loyalty was as important as troop strength. Victory went not to the largest army, but to that which best ed its commander.

Tokugawa returned victorious to Osaka castle exactly 100 days after he had left to punish the Uesugi. His dynasty would last 268 years. It is remarkable that equilibrium so durable could have arisen from an episode so unstructured and chaotic. But it was not by chance —after he subdued his enemies, Tokugawa took every measure to subdue the nation.

After Sekigahara, Tokugawa spent the last 15 years of his life laying the foundations for the Tokugawa shogunate. (The title of shogun, inaccessible to Toyotomi for reasons of low birth, was accorded to Tokugawa.) He transferred the title to his son years before he died in order to ensure a good succession. He invented a new social hierarchy and lived to oversee it. To every station in society he gave responsibilities and obligations. To the samurai, he gave the duty of martial ceremony, in lieu of martial acts. He set the nation busy complying with new objectives, and thus weaned them from violent impulse.

Tokugawa did what Toyotomi could not: domesticate a nation of warriors. Under Toyotomi, for sake of war, conquest of Japan was followed by invasion of Korea. Tokugawa instead made warriors into governors and citizens. Tokugawa rule was known as the bakufu, which means ‘government from a tent’, or governance by soldiers. In the strict class hierarchy of the Tokugawa period, samurai abandoned bloodshed and became of the governing class.

In this transformation we see the magnitude of Tokugawa’s accomplishment. Just as he had throughout his life controlled his own emotions, now he controlled those of a nation. A great , he created the institutions that turned an entire people from war to peace, ending an era of chaos and launching an era of tranquility. The Buddha said “One who conquers himself is greater than another who conquers a thousand times a thousand on the battlefield.” Tokugawa Ieyasu did not himself subdue the various territories of Japan, as did his predecessors. He was fortunate to inherit the fruits of their struggles for unification. But only Tokugawa conquered the people, because of the three great warlords, only he had first conquered himself.