When we think of Japan’s great unifiers, we often picture Oda Nobunaga, the bloodthirsty and ruthless visionary who began the work. Next to mind is probably Tokugawa Ieyasu, the patient schemer who finished the job and led to 250 years of peace.

But between them stood Toyotomi Hideyoshi: a peasant who rose from the dirt to become ruler of all Japan, only to see his dreams crumble into dust before his death.

Hideyoshi’s story feels almost mythic, the Japanese version of a Shakespearean rise and fall. Yet it’s real history, not legend.

Let’s dig in! Come, O Muse, and sing of the peasant with the face of a monkey, who rose to rule an empire and fell to his own ambition.

[Blame @azircon for putting this idea in my head. Go read about his visit to Osaka castle.]

From Peasant to Power

Born in 1537 in Owari Province, the man who would become Toyotomi Hideyoshi had no samurai blood, no land, and no surname. His father was a foot soldier, and Hideyoshi himself was known by a series of lowly names: Hiyoshi-maru, Kinoshita Tōkichirō, and, famously, saru (“monkey”) and, even more insulting, kozaru (“little monkey”). As a youth, he was mocked for his appearance: small, wiry, with a face that, people said, looked simian.

But Hideyoshi had something rarer than noble lineage: intelligence, charisma, and a preternatural understanding of people. He also had more than his fair share of luck, which put him in situations where he could use all these skills to their best advantage.

He found work under Oda Nobunaga, who was himself an unconventional lord, willing to promote men of talent regardless of birth. Hideyoshi thrived under him. Where others saw a monkey, Nobunaga saw a man of energy and cunning. Nobunaga himself was, at the time, considered a madman. Most of Japan laughed at him and called him “The Fool of Owari”. They wouldn’t laugh for long.

But I digress. Back to Monkey Face.

His early successes were not on the battlefield but in logistics — moving troops, managing supplies, even fortifying castles overnight. In the Sengoku era, where campaigns often collapsed from hunger or confusion, these skills were gold. Nobunaga began to trust him with increasingly important missions, and Hideyoshi never disappointed.

As good of a general as he was, he would prove himself an equally good negotiator. He very quickly became one of Nobunaga’s most trusted generals.

The Rise of a Peasant General

When Nobunaga died in 1582, betrayed by his general Akechi Mitsuhide, chaos erupted. Hideyoshi acted with stunning speed, marching his army back from western Japan to defeat Mitsuhide with astonishing speed. Mitsuhide’s rule lasted just eleven days before Hideyoshi took revenge.

This was the turning point. The “monkey-faced” foot soldier had avenged his master and positioned himself as the natural heir to Nobunaga’s unfinished work of unifying the realm.

Hideyoshi’s ascent from there was dizzying. Through diplomacy, cunning marriages, and calculated warfare, he subdued rival warlords and won control over most of Japan. By 1590, after the fall of the Hōjō clan in Odawara, the country was effectively his.

Even the great Ieyasu saw the writing on the wall and bent the knee. Relations were never good between the two men; at first, Ieyasu remained Hideyoshi’s direct rival, but a number of advisers, including Nobunaga’s own son, urged him to yield, to wait for the right moment. In the end, he did. Hideyoshi soon forced him to surrender his lands and relocate to the former Hōjō domain, far from the capital in Kyoto. There, in the backward swamp of Edo, Ieyasu would bide his time.

But I digress.

Despite Hideyoshi’s commanding control of the country, due to his peasant birth, he could not become shōgun. That title required imperial blood. So he accepted a different one: Kampaku, the imperial regent. He quickly “retired” and passed the title to his nephew, taking the title Taikō, “retired regent”. He ruled as Taikō until his death: shogun in all but name.

The irony was delicious: a man born beneath the lowest samurai had risen above them all to be the de facto ruler of Japan.

The Builder and the Dreamer

As ruler, Hideyoshi turned from warrior to nation-builder. He ordered the construction of magnificent castles, most famously Osaka Castle, a symbol of power and opulence meant to rival anything in Kyoto.

Enter the biggest irony of his rule. He introduced policies to freeze Japan’s social order: peasants were forbidden from carrying swords; samurai were forbidden from farming. These “sword hunts” were not just to prevent uprisings, they were a way to cement the class hierarchy and prevent another peasant from doing what he had done.

Hideyoshi also began the first systematic surveys of land and taxation. The chaotic patchwork of the Sengoku years gave way to a centralized administration. In many ways, he laid the groundwork for the Tokugawa peace that followed.

But ambition, once fed, is hard to tame.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
 — Henry IV, Part II (Act III, Scene 1)

The Madness of Greatness

By the mid–1590s, Hideyoshi was aging, and paranoia began to creep in. His adopted son had died, leaving him heirless until the birth of a new son, Hideyori, late in life. Suddenly, the man who had built his empire through trust and wit began executing those closest to him, fearing betrayal or disloyalty.

His loyal general and friend, Sen no Rikyū (the great tea master who refined wabi-sabi aesthetics) was ordered to commit seppuku. The reason remains debated, but it likely stemmed from jealousy and political anxiety.

It was a tragic sign: the brilliance that had lifted him was turning inward, devouring itself. And then came the ultimate folly: the invasions of Korea.

The Dream of China

In 1592, Hideyoshi launched an enormous invasion of Korea with the stated goal of conquering Ming China. He believed his armies, hardened by decades of war, could march through the peninsula, overthrow the Ming, and make himself ruler of the known world.

It was, in a way, the same kind of audacious dreaming that had made him great. But it was also madness.

At first, the Japanese forces stormed through Korea with shocking speed, capturing Seoul and Pyongyang. But they were overextended, undersupplied, and faced fierce resistance from Korean guerrillas and the powerful Chinese army. The war bogged down into a nightmare of attrition.

Not willing to accept a defeat, a second invasion was ordered. The second invasion in 1597 went no better. Thousands died; the land was ravaged. Hideyoshi himself, now frail and sick, raged and dreamed from Osaka, imagining himself a world conqueror as his empire frayed.

When he died in 1598, the armies withdrew. His dream of conquering China died with him.

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
 — Macbeth (Act V, Scene V)

Legacy of the Monkey

Hideyoshi’s death left Japan once again uncertain. His young son Hideyori was too weak to rule, and his appointed council of regents soon fractured. Within two years, Tokugawa Ieyasu seized power, crushed the Toyotomi loyalists, and established a shogunate that would last over 250 years.

If you read (or watched) Shōgun, then you’re probably familiar with this part of the story.

In a sense, Hideyoshi’s brilliance contained the seed of his downfall. His centralization made the peace that would follow possible, but not for his own bloodline.

His story might have ended in madness, but it is still captivating. The peasant who outwitted lords, who dreamed castles out of the earth, who made himself master of Japan through sheer intelligence and willpower. Hideyoshi stands as a symbol of boundless ambition, both its glory and its curse.

If you read @azircon’s post linked above, you’ll know that today’s “Osaka Castle” is more museum than fortress, built in the 20th century and modeled more after Edo Castle (Ieyasu’s) than Hideyoshi’s. That’s another irony of Hideyoshi’s life: modern visitors climb through exhibits of armor and weapons, unaware that the structure they stand in isn’t his at all.

On one hand, that’s a shame. But it doesn’t stop the amazing story of the only man in Japanese history ever to climb so far from so low, or to fall so spectacularly from so high.

There is a hint of similarity. Look up Kiyomori, who also rose from humble origins — though not quite as low — took control of Japan, and died in madness. But that’s a story for another time. I’ve written about him before several times, but this is the only one I can find at the moment, a brief summery of his story in a post on would-be rulers of Japan.

❦

David is an American teacher and translator lost in Japan, trying to capture the beauty of this country one photo at a time and searching for the perfect haiku. He blogs here and at laspina.org. Write him on Bluesky. 【Support @dbooster with Hive SBI】