The Parallels between Sparta and Japan pre-Meiji Restoration

What happens twice in history is hardly ever a coincidence. As the German proverb goes, 'Einmal ist nie, zweimal ist immer.' All militaristic states have many things in common, but none are as similar as Japan pre-Meiji Restoration and Ancient Sparta. The climates and cultures of both societies are shockingly identical and have yielded similar beliefs, customs, and religions. The organization of the state, the disdain for opulence, the emphasis on aesthetics, their laconic poise, and the honor of death are only a few of the parallels between these two states that I will cover. How could civilizations nearly one-third of the Earth’s circumference apart be so identical? Perhaps such a question warrants exploration into the spirit of each state's citizens and the topography of both landmasses.

Anyone with an interest in the classics should hopefully study traditional Japan. I began with the former, as I believe most people do, so forgive my limited knowledge of traditional Japanese culture. However, I have read many of the fictional works of Japan’s acclaimed author Yukio Mishima. A talented writer, Mishima embodies the Greek spirit. Many of Mishima’s books, such as "The Sound of Waves," are based on tales from Ancient Greece. This novel, inspired by the story of Daphnis and Chloe, depicts the unease that love brings to an innocent soul. Mishima skillfully conveys the bravado of the protagonist, Shinji, who risks his life swimming through a typhoon to secure his and his crew’s boat—a notion of readiness to die that is very ancient Greek-esque. The greatest honour in both cultures was a beautiful death, represented by the Greek term 'Kalos Thanatos' and the traditional Japanese ritual of seppuku. But why this extreme reverence for death? In both cultures, there were always ideals worth dying for. For instance, consider Lycurgus’s great sacrifice. After successfully implementing his reforms in Sparta, he visited the oracle at Delphi to inquire about the longevity of his laws. The oracle confirmed they would secure Sparta’s happiness and excellence for centuries, indeed allowing Sparta to remain stable for five hundred years, through the reign of fourteen kings. Before his visit to the oracle, Lycurgus had made the kings, elders, and citizens pledge to honour his laws until his return. To ensure these laws were respected indefinitely, Lycurgus chose to starve himself after consulting the oracle and making sacrifices to the gods, thus cementing an unbreakable oath by the state to await their once-respected lawgiver’s return over centuries. The attitudes toward life and death in both cultures are vastly different from ours. In many articles I read, the prevailing idea was that this attitude toward death was nihilistic; however, such a term is imprecise. It reminds me of those who mistakenly label Nietzsche a nihilist. In Japanese culture, under the tenets of Bushido, one was reincarnated if they died properly, demonstrating honour, loyalty, frugality, and mastery until death. There was nothing honourable about death itself; it was only when one earned death that it could be seen as morally just. Similarly, the Spartans shared this attitude toward death. Plutarch, in "Lives," recounts a telling anecdote: when some Amphipolitans visited Brasidas’ mother, Argileonis, she inquired if his death had been noble, worthy of Sparta. As they lavished praise on him, claiming no one in Sparta could match him, she replied, "Don't say that, strangers. Noble and brave as Brasidas was, Sparta has many better men than he." This perspective is not nihilistic. Instead of fearing death, men—and seemingly women—in both cultures embraced it, but only when one could meet their end with ferocity and vigor. Odysseus also embodies this attitude in "The Odyssey"; at times, he wishes he had died in battle rather than clinging to life during his journey home. After spending seven years on the island of Ogygia in the arms of the goddess Calypso, with everything, including immortality, offered to him, he ultimately rejects her embrace to return home, even if it means facing death. Clinging to life or sheltering oneself from honour merely for a decrepit existence is alien to these valiant cultures. Yet, what more distinctly illustrates our divergence from these ancient cultures than our acceptance of the Covid lockdowns? We are the true nihilists, not these warrior cultures. To claim otherwise is ignorant.

The topography of both countries is also very similar. Both are covered with mountains and barrens, and the people are accustomed to natural wonders like earthquakes and volcanoes. Notably, both countries are surrounded by the sea. Does cultivating such terrain yield a more intelligent populace? No other time in history saw such a concentration of genius as in Ancient Athens, and currently, Japan ranks highest for average IQ worldwide. There is no denying that the landscapes of both countries are aesthetically beautiful as well. Is this why both nations understood the need for beauty and created such intricate details in everything they did, even in the armor of soldiers? Nietzsche believed that harsh climates cultivated the best minds, naturally bringing those in a culture closer to one another, with a great deal of problem-solving needed to transform an unyielding terrain into one that is bountiful.

I do not compare traditional Japan to Athens but rather to Sparta for one main reason: both Sparta and Japan historically focused on ground warfare. Athens' expansion and rule over Greece prior to the Peloponnesian War were largely due to their impressive naval fleet. However, if a warrior caste is to remain in power under such a military form, then a republic is necessary. For this reason, Athens was democratic, since now the oarsmen, who were considered lower class in society, had the right to vote, being part of the military. As people in traditional Japan used to say, “The samurai first, the farmer second, the craftsmen third, and the merchant last.” In Sparta, a similar structure existed; only a select few were granted full citizenship, and even then, matters concerning the state could not be voiced openly by citizens. When a council was held, the kings and elders would present the topics that were appropriate for the citizens to discuss, and if the citizens thought incorrectly, the higher bodies had every right to reverse their decision. The central preoccupation of both Sparta and Japan was hierarchy through physical might. However, I believe that popular culture has tainted the image we conjure of Sparta, for they did not lack in music and certain arts, and neither did traditional Japan. This has always been a misconstrued perspective on far-right military states—that historically they have been philistines and enemies to art. The truth is far from that. One only has to turn to Plutarch to rebut this misled image. Most of the time of the freemen was spent in leisure, enjoying dance, festivals, feasts, hunting, and conversation. There was nothing to match either the freedom of the freeman at Sparta or the slavery of the slave. The devotion of the intellect, as Plutarch documents, was more indicative of the spirit of Sparta than physical might. For the young men were often asked by the older men to offer explanations on questions like “Who are the good men in Sparta?” If unable to answer, they were deemed to be lousy citizens and to have a character that had no higher ambitions. However, such questions were always expected to be answered in as few words as possible. For instance, when Lycurgus's nephew was asked why his uncle had made only a few laws, he replied, “Men of few words need few laws.” The same is true for the Samurai who, under the beliefs of Zen Buddhism, Confucianism, and Shinto, believed that actions should always speak louder than words. Even when one was about to commit Seppuku, they kept a focused mind and said very few words, a poise that Mishima beautifully illustrates in “Runaway Horses” when Honda reads “The League of the Divine Wind.”

While still on the topic of the religions that formulated the Samurai ideal, we must discuss the parallels between loyalty to the state in Sparta and traditional Japan. It is well known that the emperor was seen as a god, a descendant of Amaterasu, associated with the Shinto religion. One would commit suicide for the royal family if it was asked of them. This loyalty to the leader is also seen in Spartan culture. When a Spartan athlete won the wrestling event at the Olympic Games, he turned down the monetary prize. When asked why he did so, he replied that he won a greater honour: that of charging into battle with the king. In Spartan culture, it was tradition that the king advanced into battle with a squadron of men who were victors of such contests. The topic of war also begets another parallel. Before battle commenced, it was customary to state your family name as both a sign of respect and a chance to boast one’s own status. We also see the importance of stating names in the "Iliad," which almost reads like part of the Old Testament with pages of names and family origins. No great families like this exist in our contemporary world, or at least we do not take as much pride in them—a custom that would do us good if rejuvenated.

When returning from a trip to Sparta, the ancient Greek philosopher Diogenes was asked where he was going. He replied, “From the men’s quarters to the women’s.” The Spartans, much like the Japanese Samurai, believed that what made a noble man was a balance of violence and the therapeutic ideals of wisdom and peace. A general disdain for opulence and wealth also manifested in both cultures; it was one’s courage that carried the most weight in society. For this reason, everything was kept within the state, as outside trade was not needed. As previously stated, a culture that can transform an unyielding terrain can produce almost anything it needs homogeneously. Perhaps it was globalization that undermined both cultures’ success—for the Spartans, a reliance on Persia; and for Japan, the Western world, although Japan today does an exceptional job of maintaining some cultural traditions. Nonetheless, the era of the warrior and military states seems to have run its course. But as we have seen, this spirit can spring from the earth worlds away. It is incredibly interesting to observe that this spirit also returned and was prevalent in the Axis powers during WWII. In my opinion, it is the spirit of a people that forms this kind of imposing state, and geographical influences play a smaller role.