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Hunting and Samurai Authority in Korea during the Imjin War of 1592–1598

Clements, Rebekah (2026). “Hunting and Samurai Authority in Korea during the Imjin War of 1592–1598”, Japan Review 41, pp. 31–56.

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DOI: doi.org/10.69307/japanreview.2026.CLEMENTS

Our assessment This concise study reveals how Japanese samurai tried to project authority in Korea through hunting rituals that did not resonate with the local population, offering a sharp cultural lens on the Imjin War.

The standard narrative of the Imjin War focuses on troop movements, siege lines, and the strategic blunders of Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s campaign. It treats the conflict as a military failure of logistics and diplomacy, often overlooking the cultural logic that drove Japanese conduct on the ground. This approach misses how the invaders tried to impose their own worldview on a conquered land, assuming that their symbols of power would translate seamlessly across the sea.

Clements reframes the invasion by showing how Japanese samurai used hunting rituals to project authority in Korea, only to find those same acts read with disdain by the local population. The central argument rests on the concept of “semiotic vocabulary”—the specific set of symbols and actions a society uses to communicate power. In Japan, falconry and the hunt were high-status displays of rulership; in Joseon Korea, they were low-status or even despised activities associated with the uncivilized. The paper suggests that the Japanese failure to conquer Korea was not just military, but a failure of translation: the invaders spoke a language of power that carried no legitimacy in Korea and was often actively rejected.

The evidence for this claim comes from a granular reading of the Omodaka Diary, a daily record kept by a retainer of the Shimazu clan during the second invasion in 1597. The diary is unusual for its focus on sociocultural practices rather than battle tactics; of the 112 days it records, 54 entries detail hunting, falconry, or the taking of trophies. Clements uses these entries to reconstruct a specific “semiotic vocabulary of rulership” where the capture of animals and humans served the same function. For instance, the diary records “hunting officials” (jōkan gari), a term used to describe expeditions targeting hidden Korean officials and commoners. These were not random acts of violence but structured rituals where the capture of a human official or the presentation of a raptor to a daimyō like Konishi Yukinaga reinforced internal military hierarchies.

The work strengthens its argument by contrasting these Japanese records with the Joseon wangjo sillok (Veritable Records of the Joseon Dynasty). While the Japanese saw the exchange of raptors and human body parts as legitimate displays of authority, Korean sources mentioned falconry with disdain and read the mutilations as barbarism. The practice of cropping noses from living civilians, which the Japanese sent to Hideyoshi for his Mimizuka (Ear Mound) in Kyoto, is shown to be an extension of their hunting logic, where human prey was treated like game. Yet, Korean records describe these acts not as lawful punishment but as revengeful intimidation, violating Confucian ideals of benevolence. The article notes that while some Korean commoners in Haenam attempted to collaborate by presenting a falconry dog and captured officials to Shimazu forces, the ruling yangban class may well have viewed the entire Japanese affinity for hunting as a mark of their uncivilized nature.

This study leaves aside detailed tactical analysis of battles, focusing instead on the cultural and symbolic dimensions of military conduct. It assumes the reader knows the basic timeline of the 1592–1598 invasions and explains that Joseon Korea was a Confucian state where the civil administration held supremacy over the military. It is most useful for readers who want to understand why the Japanese occupation felt so alien to the Koreans, or for those who have read our articles on the Nanban trade and wish to see how cultural values shaped conflict. The text is short, at just 26 pages, making it a quick but dense read that requires no prior expertise in Japanese or Korean historiography.

For our readers, this paper offers a sharp lens on the Imjin War, turning a familiar military campaign into a case study in cultural misunderstanding. It complements our coverage of the Nanban period by showing how the same warrior culture that fascinated Portuguese missionaries in Japan appeared barbaric in Korea. The work is available as a concise article, perfect for an evening read that challenges the standard view of the war’s failure.

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Reviewed by Nanban.pt editorial, 2026-10-05.

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