Adversity, Leadership, and the Tenets That Bind Them

*** This article, a comparative of modern leadership philosophies, was written during my time in the military. These are own views and not those of the branch I served for. Footnotes were included in the original draft, and have been preserved at the bottom of this article. Hope you enjoy the read!

I. INTRODUCTION

In an age of social media, we are bombarded with quick anecdotes of other’s successes and pithy sayings that, if we would all just repeat them as mantras, might lead us to great fortune and happiness. A short review of the headlines on either Facebook or LinkedIn is sure to reveal “the ten rules of leadership,” a paraphrased quote on happiness never actually uttered by the philosopher to whom it is attributed, and a stranger’s ever-so-humble brag post about their own achievements as anecdotal evidence of a common notion of successful people—never give up and you will succeed, it is said! Of course, the Air Force has its own sayings: integrity first; service before self; and excellence in all we do. While I believe in the core purpose of these values to cultivate good character, let me pause here for a moment to address them with candor. If your training experience was anything like mine, these values were levied upon you in dry, PowerPoint fashion coupled loosely to glib quotes of the sort we are likely to encounter in the Twitter feed of a modern-day armchair philosopher. Leadership, it seems to me, has become a movement in lip-service over substance as of late.

I am here to offer you something quite different—eight tenets in total that encompass the very heartbeat of leadership, justice, and citizenship. I speak of the tenets comprising the Japanese code of bushidō. You might ask: why these tenets? And, what authority does this guy have to speak on them? Let me first emphasize, these principles are not a mere code or creed, and they cannot be reduced to a simple set of rules less they lose all meaning. Study of these tenets encourages the development of a rich mindset, differentiating them from the hollow transactional rules you’ve likely encountered elsewhere—the eye-roll-inducing “do X and you’ll be rich” or “do Y and you’ll be successful” sort of oversimplification. To be sure, these tenets have their origin in nearly three millennia of cultural and philosophical development, a depth I think you’ll quickly see for yourself. Humbly, I suggest to you that I have some ability to speak on the efficacy of these tenets in that they have been truly transformational in my own life; and, to prove that, I’m going to be frank with you on my own failures and later successes as we move further into this article. But, you need not take my word for it alone. These tenets have influenced such men as Theodore Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy. They successfully navigated one of the world’s preeminent cultures through centuries of history, having been relied upon by warriors and statesmen alike. And they are, in fact, the modern hallmark of an entire nation, known for its humble grace, global power, and intellectual influence.

Bushidō —the way of the samurai (literally “the way of warriors” or “military-knight ways”)—is a series of ethical principles developed during the Tokugawa Shogunate of feudal Japan circa 1603-1868. [FN1] This code, while originating in Japan, was later made famous around the world in the preeminent work of Inazō Nitobe’s Bushido: The Soul of Japan in 1900. [FN2] I’ll discuss Nitobe’s view of bushidō in some detail here, but should you wish to read the full source material I draw from for yourself, I encourage you to also consider Yamamoto Tsunetomo’s Hagakure, Yamaga Sokō’s The Way of the Samurai, Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings and Dokkōdō; and, finally, Daidōji Yūzan’s Budō Shoshin-shū. [FN3]

II. ADVERSITY & FAILURE: THE FOUNDATION OF LEADERSHIP

“Resentment and complaint are appropriateneither for oneself or others.”

—Ninth Precept of Dokkōdō

Bushidō is a doctrine of leadership, one of many in fact, but it is not fair to call it the origin. Where does human leadership come from, and why does it exist at all? Those questions must be addressed before we can consider bushidō’s full utility. A cross-reference of human history, from the Creationist story of Adam and Eve, to the fundamentals laid down in the Tao Te Ching, or even Darwin’s theory of natural selection, reveals that adversity—and from it, failure and growth—is the keystone of the human experience. Indeed, the verb “lead” comes from the Old English word “l?dan,” meaning to “go before as a guide,” thus recognizing the experiential values of a leader as one who has been tested by life. [FN4] In many ways, bushidō was built upon the recognition that we will inevitably confront adversity in life. And so, from the outset, I must take issue with the Air Force’s third core value—the demand that we be excellent in all we do—as a prime example of the imprecisions in modern leadership theory. To the extent it suggests we should rally to the occasion, I fully concur, but to be (or expect to be) literally excellent in everything we do is both a fool’s errand—rather impossible, in fact—and quite stifling to our own growth. Dare I suggest this value possesses a certain underlying egotism for which we Americans are well known; of course, we can be and should be excellent in everything we do, right? Wrong. Let me offer you an alternative: fail—fail often, don’t be afraid to do so, and show some grace in the process. In this, I am urging you to charge headlong into adversity when it approaches, and don’t concern yourself with the results. If you fail the first time, you won’t the next. That is learning—that is the concept of l?dan! William Durant, in opining on the meaning of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, once said, “we are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” [FN5] To this, I must agree. Excellence is a culture of thought, a way of looking at life as a long-term growth trajectory and not a win-loss column, and thus excellence should not to be mistaken—though it often is—for arbitrary benchmarks and isolated moments of perfected effort.

For me, adversity and failure are familiar bedfellows. Let me be up front about this: I am a patently average person of no remarkable pedigree. Growing up, I was a small-town kid with as much chance getting mixed up in drugs as ending up where I did. I was an unassuming C-average student; I was expelled a time or two, and spent most of my weekends in detention. There were, to be frank, very few voices in my youth who would have suggested to you that I would become something even minimally noteworthy. In law school, there were people far smarter than I. In the military, there are unquestionably people stronger, faster, and more capable. Beyond the early educational struggles, I also faced my fair share of adversity. My parents divorced when I was young, a few years later I found my father dead of an unexpected heart attack, a few years after that my step-father committed suicide (I found him too), and just recently my brother-in-law committed suicide—resulting in a period of rough seas for my wife and our marriage. One of the most transformational, and frankly reflective, moments of my early years came when I was attempting to clean the area where my step-father was found so that my mother could see where he died; she couldn’t comprehend what had happened without seeing the scene for herself, so I took it upon myself to try to make the area look presentable with a bit of bleach and elbow grease. Staring death in the face, as I had done, has a powerful reformative effect.

This last example reveals a blunt truth about life: the universe doesn’t much care how you or I feel—you will be challenged, circumstances will often be unfair, and it’s exceedingly likely you’ll be kicked when you are down; to be sure, good deeds will be met with bad results. C’est la vie, as the French might say—that’s life. That’s also why it is a fool’s errand to tell yourself that you will be or should be excellent in everything you do. Such a half-baked mindset prompts the exact opposite behavior in practice: a compulsion to lie, make excuses, and justify half-truths to retain an otherwise unsustainable “status of excellence.” Perhaps this is one reason why we see works like the 2015 U.S. Army War College study entitled Lying to Ourselves: Dishonesty in the Army Profession, in which it was concluded that our military ranks are steeped in chicanery. [FN6] Do things like EPRs or OPRs, which a quick perusal of Reddit reveals have become mere satire at this point, leave any doubt of our unabashed flamboyance and propensity for embellishment? It’s not enough that we do our jobs with unassuming integrity, effort, and focus. We must now be the “rockstar” and our commander’s “go-to man” or “fastest-rising woman.” I say again: fail—fail often—and have dignity when doing so. Steer your ship into the path of the oncoming storm, and do not fear what adversity follows. [FN7] These moments are a gift. Intrinsic as it may be to methodically build fortresses and walls to guard against such moments, that effort is wasted. We can no more avoid tribulations than we can stop the sun rising. And these avoidant reactions, in fact, harm us. Here’s another truth: adversity, and failure by proxy, is the highway—paved in gold—to good character, success, and maturation. I am reminded of the biblical story of Job, whom God permitted Satan to beset with a number of maladies and bad fortunes in order to test his resolve—the beauty of life is not what it brings us, but in how we respond. [FN8] It is, thus, crucial that we seek opportunities to disrupt our immediate wellbeing and complacency, which is anathema to the modern framework on success that instead suggests we act perfect, look perfect, and be perfect in each moment.

I am neither perfect, nor excellent in the traditional sense, but I do carry with me a potent alternative framework— bushidō. A creed engendering habits, bushidō has taught me how to confront adversity; I do not make many excuses, I choose to live in authenticity (even if that means I have to be honest about my own failure and limitations), and, yet, I also take risks, embracing the inevitability of failure, so long as those risks do not border on foolish impossibility. And what have been the results? Today, I am a military officer in the JAG Corps, an adjunct professor of law at a top-ranked university, a judicial clerk to a wonderful mentor in the federal courts—the Honorable Stephen N. Limbaugh, Jr.—and father to two wonderful, disciplined, compassionate children. Early struggles aside, I now count a multitude of degrees under my belt from respected institutions like Missouri State University, the University of Missouri, and Washington University in St. Louis. I am something of a novice author, having published in the Journal of Dispute Resolution, the Michigan State University International Law Review, the Missouri Bar Journal, and the American Bar Journal, to name a few. I’ve even received a state-wide professional award or two.

The origin of leadership is not excellence, but failure tied to an unwillingness to yield and a thirst to grow. Bushido provides the mental framework for this accomplishment. It is simultaneously uplifting poetry and autocratic taskmaster—reinforcing, from two ends, the human spirit’s capability of enduring and growing through adversity. Transformative as it has been for me, I think its value to a Western reader, in general, derives from its distinctively foreign concepts—an interwoven philosophical fabric of Confucianism, Buddhism, Shintoism, and perhaps even a bit of Daoism. [FN9] Its potency is maximized through its assimilation with our own American ideals, thus creating a unique synergy between them. And so, I begin the next section with an example juxtaposing classical Western and Eastern viewpoints on leadership.

III. THE MAKINGS OF LEADERSHIP: THE EIGHT TENETS OF BUSHIDO AND POTENTIAL SYNERGIES WITH WESTERN IDEOLOGIES

In the movie “The Last Samurai,” there is a sparring scene between Tom Cruise’s character, U.S. Army Captain Nathan Algren, and a fiercely dedicated samurai, Ujio, in a downpour of rain. [FN10] Ujio—a master swordsman—soundly defeats the less-experienced Algren. Yet, time-and-time again, Algren would struggle to his feet, ready to fight once more. Our instinct might be to say, “this is the sign of a true leader! This is an honorable man who doesn’t quit when knocked down and doesn’t shirk from terrible odds.” Like Rocky Balboa in the twelfth round or the modern-day Avengers taking the fight to near-omnipotent villains, we Americans are ingrained to cheer for the underdog; we swell upon the courage and heroism of “never giving up.” Of course, it is the underdog story that comports with the American dream—that we all have a chance with enough effort.

But, Ujio looked upon Algren with disgust, clearly perplexed why Algren did not accept defeat with honor and dignity. You see, to the samurai, unabashed “courage” was a metonym for arrogance. Nitobe explains in his book that “to run all kinds of hazards, to jeopardize one’s self, to rush into the jaws of death” is “rashness of conduct,” not true courage, for it is easy enough to court death, but true courage is “to live when it is right to live, and to die only when it is right to die.” [FN11] In contrast to the self-centric underdog story, the samurai placed a premium on their loyalty and duty to others. They were sworn to their daimyō (think: king), which dictated that they accept defeat when necessary to preserve their ability to “fight another day,” even if that meant swallowing their own pride for the moment. Inapposite to the underdog story, which is self-aggrandizing at its core, [FN12] bushidō dictated that the samurai disclaim personal outcomes—perhaps most famously exhibited in the story of the forty-seven rōnin. [FN13]

The story of Algren and Ujio reveals an important illustration of the asymmetry between Western and Eastern ideals on leadership. Certainly, Algren’s unyielding tenacity is praiseworthy, but there is also an allure to Ujio’s graceful restraint. A comparative approach identifies a fascinating middle ground likely to uncover the highest forms of leadership—a man of both total resolve and prudence, of both innate emotionality and erudite rationality. As I mentioned, this is where bushidō, specifically the culture underpinning the code itself, is of the most utility to a Western audience, I think.

Consider another example—that of marriage. In his book, Nitobe points out that in America, while we speak of the idea of “two becoming one” in marriage, that notion is quickly side-stepped with an emphasis on our individual rights when we feel threatened; he also comments on the peculiar practice of how we lavishly compliment our spouses in the presence of others. [FN14] The samurai, unburdened by the dogma of Lockean individualism that girders our democracy, would have found these practices altogether odd. [FN15] To be sure, they certainly would not have lavished praise upon their spouses in the presence of others—though not out of disrespect, mind you. For them, doing so would have been an unflattering act of self-praise. They took the idea of marital union quite literally in comparison to our own. Is that practice more valuable? Is it more valuable to maintain the appearance of marital cohesiveness accepting that it is partially suffocated by the gravity of self-maximization, or is it preferential to totally embrace martial cohesiveness at the expense of ourselves?

Those questions are at least partially rhetorical; I do not endeavor to declare a winner. Rather, such differences are highlighted as a jumping off point into a more robust synergy between them. To be sure, there are unquestionably a number of synergies already formed between bushidō and many of our own ideas of leadership. Find any pamphlet on the Air Force’s ethical credo and you’ll quickly discover many of the underpinning ideas are pulled directly or indirectly from the much older doctrine of bushidō, which pulls itself from millennia of philosophical and martial thought (Sun Tzu’s inimitable work, The Art of War, among them). [FN16] So, as you read about the tenants of bushidō, which I am about to unveil below, I encourage you to consider how each might bring to light a philosophical gray area between our ideologies and those of the samurai—as seen in the story of Algren and Ujio. In doing so, ask yourself: “is there something to be integrated, here, into our own concepts of leadership?”

Rectitude (Gi, 義)—The very embodiment of justice and rightful conduct. Rectitude is the apex of bushidō, acting as the ever-present compass orientating the samurai towards irreproachable behavior. All other tenets, properly performed, have their beginning in rectitude; it is the origin of all things, giving purpose and depth to our decisions. It is noted that “giri,” having a meaning similar to duty, is a necessary corollary to rectitude. Giri is, in essence, the taskmaster of rectitude, ensuring righteous conduct is achieved even when our own senses of love and compassion fail to compel us to do so. Rectitude and duty combine to create a firm backbone that frame the very core of the samurai, for which all things begin and end. [FN17]

Courage (Yu, 勇)—Courage is the spear tip of rectitude. While rectitude orders the samurai to do what is right, courage sees that it is done. As suggested with the example above from “The Last Samurai,” samurai courage is a carefully balanced one—neither to the one extreme of a fool’s errand, nor the other extreme of a coward’s side-stepping. True courage requires the demonstration of pensive restraint married to punctual action. Courage is an elusive muse, requiring a reactionary equilibrium that heavily relies on the informative nature of rectitude as the backbone of proper conduct. [FN18]

Benevolence (Jin, 仁)—If courage is the spear tip of rectitude, benevolence is the steady hand that holds it. Benevolence imbues a samurai with soft emotion, putting in check his otherwise militaristic impulses. An emotionless warrior is little more than a thug, a vagabond, or a bloodthirsty sociopath. It is the strangest of all things to hint at the “tenderness of a warrior,” but this paradox was critical to the even-handed samurai. It may seem strange to picture a grizzled, sword-bearing warrior as one walking amongst the cherry blossoms, holding a parasol for an elderly woman to reach her destination, but this was a critical developmental tool—the power of kindness and love—that promoted the aforementioned equilibrium necessary to ensure rectitude was achieved. [FN19]

Politeness (Rei, 礼)—Politeness, a secondary virtue to others, is best viewed as an amalgamation of both rectitude and benevolence. In essence, politeness effectuates sympathy in civil interactions and is responsible for much of the famous courtesy of the Japanese. In many respects, politeness also buttresses self-control, another virtue, by ensuring the samurai avoids the destructive impulse of greed, envy, and provocation. Politeness best symbolizes a bridge or link between self-control, benevolence, and rectitude, over which regular travel is an encouraging sign that the samurai has honed the more pronounced, though abstruse, virtues. [FN20]

Veracity (Makoto, 誠)—Keeping with the metaphor previously used, veracity is the very air surrounding the samurai, his spear, and the steady hand holding it. Veracity provides a tangible space in which rectitude can be achieved and for which courage, benevolence, and politeness can be exercised. In a nutshell, the practice of truthfulness is akin to living what is real and genuine, rather than what we might wish, want, hope for, or otherwise pretend to be. Indeed, it is assuredly difficult to sustain the action-oriented virtues of politeness, benevolence, and courage while existing in a malaise of falsehoods and “faking it.” As the adage goes, “the truth shall set you free”; [FN21] for the samurai, this meant residing in a realm of authenticity. [FN22]

Loyalty (Chugi, 忠義)—Loyalty, like duty, is probably best viewed as a countervailing taskmaster—in this case, against the moral toxin of selfishness. The story of the forty-seven rōnin, who avenged their shamed master by killing his adversary even though it also meant their own deaths, is the preeminent example of unyielding samurai loyalty. Loyalty engenders a certain collectivist impulse woven into the fabric of Eastern philosophy, and, thus, foreign perhaps to American individualism. Hence, narcissism, to the extent it manifests as a sickness borne of individualism, is anathema to the samurai. Exacting as it is, samurai loyalty can be fairly compared to the U.S. military principle that one “salutes the rank, not the man,” requiring all prejudices, personal desires, and, at times, individual rights (several of which, we voluntarily relinquish as military members), set aside in favor of the greater mission. [FN23]

Self-Control (Jisei, 自制)—The virtue of self-control was designed to achieve stoicism. In public, the samurai was to show “no signs of joy or anger,” and “the most natural affections were kept under control.” But this did not mean a samurai lacked emotion; to the contrary, self-control was practiced because, in the presence of emotion, it promoted composure of mind and calmness of behavior. The narrow purpose of self-control was a regulatory one—to provide a stable temperament—so that rectitude could be achieved without risk of fallacious conduct or undue alacrity. [FN24]

Honor (Meiyo, 名誉)—Honor is the virtue we instinctively view as synonymous with the ways of the samurai, and for good reason—it is often the most prominently displayed. If rectitude is the alpha, honor is its omega. Honor is a results-oriented culmination of the actionable virtues—a stone of records chronicling our deeds. We do not perform “honorable acts,” rather we perform acts of true kindness, loyalty, courage, and self-control; we are benevolent, and we are honest with ourselves and others. If these acts should originate from rectitude—true and righteous conduct—we are imbued with a cloak of honor, which follows us wherever we go. Honor is a watchful guardian; it follows closely behind us, awakening our moral consciousness when we are close to misbehaving. Should we misbehave, despite the early warning that we feel within as a nagging sense of impending shame, the fickle cloak is quick to leave our side so that we may be exposed for what we really are. Indeed, we see this phenomenon regularly in American social and political theatre, where wrongful conduct is swiftly met with the hostility of souring public opinion—a public awakened to the fact that our idols have been clothed in mendacity. [FN25]

IV. PUTTING BUSHIDO INTO PRACTICE: A MENTAL FRAMEWORK

“What is important is to try to develop insight and wisdom rather than mere knowledge, respect someone’s character rather than his learning, and nurture men of character rather than mere talents.” —Nitobe Inazō

To fully appreciate these eight virtues, it is important to understand the context of their creation. Surprisingly, bushidō was developed by the samurai during a time of prolonged peace—not war. These were men trying to understand and justify their existence at the top of governmental hierarchy despite having no major wars to fight. It was often asked amongst their philosophical scholars: why should we retain our high position, for example to eat freely of food we have not grown for ourselves, when our primary function is now obsolete? [FN26] The answer was to endeavor to become refined citizens of ethics and etiquette—exemplary leaders of the people—and, thus, the samurai became acclaimed poets, philosophers, calligraphers, astrologers, statesmen, and academics in addition to maintaining their military preparedness. Members in the National Guard and reserve components will appreciate this complex duality between soldier and citizen, but in reality every service member serves in these two roles and our modern military fully recognizes and emphasizes their mutual importance.

Indeed, the utility of bushidō in military life is instantly recognizable (recall the synergies I referenced above). We are a military with a deep foundation in Just War Doctrine, which states that war must be morally justifiable through jus ad bellum (the “right to go to war”) and jus in bello (the “right conduct in war”). Is it surprising, then, to find that we also continue to hold ourselves, like the samurai, to unusually high standards of social etiquette and moral behavior? Consider the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) and the “exemplary conduct” laws enshrined in 10 U.S.C. §§ 7233, 8167, and 9233. For example, while the rest of the country has all but abandoned legal penalties for adultery, [FN27] the military criminalizes extramarital sexual conduct in order to maintain good order and discipline and to sustain its public reputation (reflecting the “service-discrediting” element of the crime of adultery). [FN28] Likewise, the military maintains a crime for stolen valor,3 [FN29] and even one for indecent language [FN30]—the latter being, in particular, a rather curious restriction in a culture steeped in the canons of free speech. As I mentioned in addressing the tenet of honor, a cloak of good reputation attaches to the person engaged in rightful conduct—a concern at the forefront of our military—but that reputation is bestowed upon us rather than created by us. Unsurprisingly, the UCMJ places a heavy focus, then, on our public very same approach taken by the samurai, who could view two martial swordsmen, each with an objectively identical track record of success at arms, and yet distinguish between them as unscrupulous vagabonds or estimable samurai.

The secret to my own transformational success is not hidden behind three steps, six rules, or twelve insights. It came chiefly upon a mindful approach in how I pursued such things—that’s it. You’ve missed the point if you focus too long on the precise language of any of the eight tenets; they are designed to encourage a fluid way of behavior, not a rigid mode of action. Bushidō, in fact, was only distilled into a written code towards the end of samurai rule; before that point, bushidō was simply a way of life, and that's what gave samurai their moral durability. Recall, here, Durant’s distinction between habits and action—it rings true. There is no shortage of supremely talented people who have been successful in their moment-to-moment actions, only to later be wholly derailed by their bad habits. By focusing on an action-oriented concept of excellence—being “excellent in all that we do”—we run the very real risk of building our moral foundation on quicksand. For me, I’ve focused instead on the broader qualities of being kind, honest, a courageous risk-taker when appropriate, stoic when necessary, and keeping myself ethically oriented through an ever-present concern for duty and honor; in this, I have emphasized purpose over perfection. Indeed, when asked by the young students I mentor how I achieved what I did, I tell them: “hard work—but not with a focus on what I’ve done, but in how I’ve done it.”

A documentary I watched recently on the neuropsychology of the brain suggested that we talk to ourselves (out loud or internally) a few hundred times in the span of a few minutes. [FN31] That’s a powerful realization. What constitutes that dialogue? If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably reacted to adversity, rather frequently, either by sheer instinct or while relying on useless tropes that you’ve been told were trustworthy but probably weren’t—you may have told yourself “this is how I feel in my gut and so I’ll go with it,” or you might have said you “must be, or at least look, perfect” because “failing shows weakness.” Next time, try filtering those same thoughts through the eight tenets of bushidō instead. Ask yourself which option, regardless of outcome, would be the most benevolent, the most demonstrative of self-control or veracity, the most likely to satisfy the concept of loyalty, or would ultimately result in the retention of honor. You’ll find an added flexibility in making choices, all the while avoiding the pitfalls of excuse-making and dishonesty—and other bad coping mechanisms—inherent in leadership models that focus on observable results (“being excellent”) instead of behavioral habits (“being honorable”).

V. CONCLUSION

A few pages cannot do bushidō justice. Entire books have been written about it. I hope this article has, at least, tantalized your mind to broach the possibility that the best place for evolving our concept of good leadership might not exist in our own backyard, where—today—one would find a litany of recycled PowerPoint presentations, empty quotes, and dull mantras. We’ve nearly exhausted that geographical resource. Those who study ancient history know the Silk Road, a network of Afro-Eurasian trade roads connecting the old empires of the West and East, was responsible for a wave of syncretic philosophies as well as potent cultural, technological, and religious advancements. History, indeed, proves time and time again that some of mankind’s greatest moments come from the fusing of different viewpoints. Bushidō, a foundational code of the legendary samurai culture, is one of the most time-honored and respected frameworks on leadership ever created. I submit to you that we Westerners may do well to incorporate its teachings; certainly, it has been transformational in my own life, and I hope it might serve you just as well.

“If there is anything to do, there is certainly a best way to do it, and the best way is both the most economical and the most graceful.” —Inazō Nitobe

FOOTNOTES

FN1 See generally 4 JOHN W. HALL & JAMES L. MCCLAIN, THE CAMBRIDGE HISTORY OF JAPAN 1-9, 614 (1991).

FN2 INAZō NITOBE, BUSHIDO: THE SOUL OF JAPAN (1900) [hereinafter “Nitobe”].

3 YAMAMOTO TSUNETOMO, HAGAKURE: THE SECRET WISDOM OF THE SAMURAI (Alexander Bennett trans., Tuttle Publishing 2014) (1716); Yamaga Sokō, The Way of the Samurai, in SAMURAI WISDOM: LESSONS FROM JAPAN’S WARRIOR CULTURE 34-132 (Thomas Cleery ed., Tuttle Publishing 2011); MIYAMOTO MUSASHI, THE BOOK OF FIVE RINGS (William S. Wilson trans., Shambhala Publications 2012) (1643); Miyamoto Musashi, Dokkōdō, in MIYAMOTO MUSASHI: HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS 216-217 (Sherab Chodzin Kohn trans., 2006) (1645); DAIDōJI YūZAN, BUDō SHOSHIN-SHū (William S. Wilson trans., Ohara Publications 1984).

4 “Lead,” ONLINE ETYMOLOGY DICTIONARY (last visited July 2, 2019), https://www.etymonline.com/word/lead?ref=etymonline_crossreference

FN5 WILL DURANT, THE STORY OF PHILOSOPHY: THE LIVES AND OPINIONS OF THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS 87 (1929), cf. ARISTOTLE, NICOMACHEAN ETHICS (C.D.C. Reeve trans., Hackett Publishing 2014) (340 B.C.).

6 Leonard Wong and Stephen J. Gerras, Lying to Ourselves: Dishonesty in the Army Profession, STRATEGIC STUD. INST. (2015), https://ssi.armywarcollege.edu/pdffiles/pub1250.pdf.

FN7 As an interesting aside, there is a rather peculiar phenomenon in which, when faced with a storm, cattle tend to do what we humans do: run from it. Buffalo, conversely, wedge together and essentially march through the storm. It tends to be the case that more cattle die in the aftermath and, in fact, the buffalo spending a shorter time overall in the storm having marched through it rather than try to outmaneuver the unavoidable. We could stand to learn from the buffalo, I think. See SEBASTIAN FELIX BRAUN, BUFFALO INC.: AMERICAN INDIANS AND ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT 49 (Univ. of Oklahoma Press 2008)

FN8 See Job 2:1-13.

FN9 Daoism is also referred to as Taoism, but they are the same. These names differ only because of a fairly complicated phonetic distinction drawn between the two predominant Romanization systems—Wade-Giles and Hanyu Pinyin—used to convert Mandarin Chinese. The word “daoism” is now the more preferred spelling.

FN10 THE LAST SAMURAI (Warner Brothers 2003).

FN11 Nitobe, supra note 2, at 19.

FN12 This assertion requires, perhaps, some clarification. Philosophy professor Daniel Bell explained in a 2008 article for The Guardian that, “the Chinese won’t cheer for underdogs – in fact, it is impossible to translate the word ‘underdog’ in Chinese with the right nuances.” Daniel Bell, Cheering for Goliath, THE GUARDIAN (July 14, 2008). The best explanation, at least in brief, for this cultural phenomenon is to highlight the principal distinctions between Western individualism and Eastern collectivism. In America, for example, we are steeped in the continuous conflicts between majority and minority groups as played out repeatedly in modern political theatre—this is where the underdog story finds its birth, in the persona of the minority experience and the equalizing effect of the strongest occasionally losing in battle (think David and Goliath in the Judeo-Christian tradition). But, that concept is rather odd to a collectivist society by and large, who does not understand the nature of an “underdog” because they do not see an inherent conflict between majority and minority interests in the same way we do. Id. To be clear, I do not suggest the underdog story is bad per-se; rather, I emphasize that it necessarily imbibes a component of individual personification. Indeed, even the Bible has a strong antidote to its myriad stories on the underdog experience. In Galatians, for example, it is said: “[I]f anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself. But let each one test his own work, and then his reason to boast will be in himself alone and not his neighbor”—a cogent reminder, paralleling well with bushidō fealty, separating our works from our personas. Galatians 6:3-4 (emphasis added). Where else have we seen this group-over-individual distinction play out? In Maj. Dick Winter’s response at the end of Band of Brothers: “Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?” He replied: “No, but I served in a company of heroes.” BAND OF BROTHERS (HBO 2001).

FN13 The story of the forty-seven rōnin recounts an 18th-century historical event in which 47 samurai avenged their shamed master by killing his adversary despite knowing this act would require their own deaths by seppuku—death by their own suicidal disembowelment. It is a preeminent example of a samurai’s duty and loyalty to their master.

FN14 Nitobe, supra note 2, at 154.

FN15 According to Locke, man is “free … absolute lord of his own person and possessions, equal to the greatest and subject to nobody[.]” This is antithetical to the samurai psychology, whose mindset possesses clear underpinnings of Confucian collectivism. See JOHN LOCKE, THE SECOND TREATISE OF CIVIL GOVERNMENT, ch. IX, § 123, 187 (Lee Ward ed., Hackett Pub. Co. 2016) (1689); see also UICHOL KIM, INDIVIDUALISM AND COLLECTIVISM: A PSYCHOLOGICAL, CULTURAL, AND ECOLOGICAL ANALYSIS 25, 35-36 (1995).

FN16 See SUN TZU, THE ART OF WAR (Samuel B. Griffith trans., Oxford Univ. Press 1971) (500 B.C.)

FN17 Nitobe, supra note 2, at 14.

FN18 Id. at 18.

FN19 Id. at 21.

FN20 Id. at 28.

FN21 John 8:32.

FN22 Nitobe, supra note 2, at 37.

FN23 Id. at 50.

FN24 Id. at 66.

FN25 Id. at 44; see also, e.g., Craig Whitlock & Kevin Uhrmacher, Prostitutes, Vacations, and Cash: The Navy Officials ‘Fat Leonard’ Took Down, The Washington Post (Sept. 20, 2018), https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/investigations/seducing-the-seventh-fleet/?noredirect=on.

FN26 Confucian samurai Yamage Sokō asks rhetorically: “the samurai, however, eats without tilling, uses what he doesn’t make, and earns without engaging in trade. Why is that? … Someone who eats without having a job should be called an idler.” Sokō’s answer to this peacetime-samurai-dilemma was to ensure they: “fulfill[] the functions of sword and spear and bow … [but also] practice political, professional, social, familial, and spousal norms in the domestic sphere, with culture filing the heart while being prepared as a warrior.” In other words, samurai were to become exemplars of military and civil life. He goes on, “knights have to have both cultural and martial virtues and expertise … [w]ith this the path of knighthood is fulfilled; you earn your food, clothing and housing.” Yamaga Sokō, The Way of the Samurai, in SAMURAI WISDOM: LESSONS FROM JAPAN’S WARRIOR CULTURE 34-36 (Thomas Cleery ed., Tuttle Publishing 2011).

FN27 See, e.g., W. Va. Code § 61-8-3 (West Virginia’s adultery laws repealed in 2010); C.G.S.A. § 53a-81 (Connecticut's adultery laws repealed in 1991); Mo. Rev. Stat. 563.150 (Missouri’s adultery laws repealed in 1979); 17 M.R.S.A. Ch. 5 (Maine’s adultery laws repealed in 1976); Cal. Pen. Code, §§ 269a, 269b (California’s adultery laws repealed in 1975); K.R.S. § 436.070 (Kentucky’s adultery laws repealed in 1974); Griffin v. U.S., 336 U.S. 704, 713 (1949) (recognizing the repeal of the “federal adultery statute” in 1948).

FN28 MANUAL FOR COURTS-MARTIAL, UNITED STATES pt. IV, ? 99 (2019) [hereinafter MCM], cf. 10 U.S.C. § 934 (2019).

FN29 MCM, supra note 29, pt. IV, ? 40, cf. 10 U.S.C. § 906a (2019). Following a constitutional battle in the U.S. Supreme Court that sidelined earlier renditions, President Obama revived the reach of this crime beyond military tribunals in the Stolen Valor Act of 2013, 18 U.S.C § 704.

FN30 MCM, supra note 29, pt. IV, ? 105, cf. 10 U.S.C. § 934 (2019).

FN31 Another study suggests self-talk is a powerful way to help us orient and control our own behaviors. Unsurprisingly, when we fill our head with nonsensical noise, we tend to disturb our ability to perform. The reverse, then, is also true. See Oliver Gruber & D.Y. von Cramon, Domain-Specific Distribution of Working Memory Processes Along Human Prefrontal and Parietal Cortices: A Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging Study, in 297 NEUROSCIENCE LETTERS 29-32 (2001).