The Tsushima Expedition, the Gyeongguk Daejeon, and the Price Tag of Bureaucracy
People love dynasties. Names, crowns, palace intrigue—the stuff that fits neatly into a drama poster.
History, though, is rarely moved by a king’s charisma alone. It moves when an organization starts running: ledgers instead of love letters, rosters instead of royal speeches, taxes and forms and protocols—those unglamorous gears that let a society turn violence into logistics.
That’s why, whenever I think about early Joseon, I keep coming back to a single scene:
In 1419, a newly founded kingdom launches a naval expedition across the sea to Tsushima (often called the Gihae Eastern Expedition), traditionally associated with commander Yi Jongmu. And it’s not a token raid—it’s a serious mobilization involving hundreds of ships and a massive force.
You can debate the fine print of outcomes. But the real question is sharper than any sword:
How does a “new” state already know how to move people, ships, supplies, and authority in one direction—on command?
Because a state isn’t just land. A state is a machine that can coordinate humans at scale.
1) Centralization isn’t a slogan—it’s a technology
In premodern societies, “centralization” doesn’t simply mean “the king got stronger.”
It means something much colder and more precise:
Appointments: who becomes an official, by what rules
Revenue: who pays how much, and how reliably
Conscription & mobilization: who goes where, when, and under whose authority
Command & inspection: who is responsible, and who is watching the responsible people
Courts & procedure: where disputes end, and what “ending” even means
When these systems lock together, a country stops being a big family and becomes a big device. And Joseon, from early on, was obsessed with building the device.
That obsession is the hidden reason the Tsushima expedition matters. It’s not just a military episode—it’s a proof-of-administration.
Launching ships is easy. Launching ships on schedule, with supplies, chain-of-command, reporting, and accountability—that is the signature of a state.
2) The Gyeongguk Daejeon: the most terrifying invention is “standardization”
Swords stab bodies. Rules stab generations.
Joseon’s famous legal code, the Gyeongguk Daejeon, is widely described as being promulgated in 1485 under King Seongjong, as a consolidated blueprint for governance.
The year matters less than the effect. A code like this does two dangerous things at once:
(A) It binds power
It turns government into something that works through a borrowed legitimacy:
not “the ruler does whatever he wants,” but “the ruler governs through a recognized system.”
(B) It standardizes the field
Local officials change. Personalities change. Even factions change.
But if the documents don’t change—if the procedures and categories stay stable—administration becomes durable. And the state begins to run on institutional inertia, not personal virtue.
That’s the moment the kingdom stops feeling like a heroic epic and starts behaving like a filing cabinet with an army.
And yes—there’s a price tag.
Standardization always creates an “outside.” The more refined the document-state becomes, the more violently it can treat the people it can’t—or won’t—fit into its boxes.
A functioning state is not automatically a gentle one.
3) “Joseon was advanced” is easier to defend if you change the comparison
Saying “Joseon was the most advanced in the world” invites an endless bar fight.
A stronger, more useful claim is this:
Joseon’s comparative strength lay in a dense bureaucratic design—legal codification, administrative standardization, and institutional oversight—built early and reinforced systematically.
This is not a brag; it’s a description of a particular state technology. And it’s a far more interesting lens than simply ranking civilizations like smartphones.
Instead of “who was ahead,” ask:
What kind of government engine did Joseon build—and why did it fit its geopolitical environment?
4) Japan wasn’t “late on law.” The texture of law was different.
Comparative history often fails because it turns the other side into a cartoon.
Tokugawa Japan, for instance, had highly consequential legal frameworks. After the fall of Ōsaka Castle, the Tokugawa regime promulgated the Laws for the Military Houses (Buke Shohatto) in 1615 as a legal basis for controlling daimyo.
Later, Tokugawa governance also produced formal administrative-judicial guidance such as the Kujikata Osadamegaki (compiled in the eighteenth century), often discussed as part of the shogunate’s evolving legal administration.
So the contrast isn’t “Joseon had written law, Japan didn’t.” That’s false and lazy.
A better contrast is:
Joseon leaned heavily toward a centralized, codified, standardized governance blueprint (a “big machine” model).
Tokugawa Japan developed legal and regulatory systems that fit a different political architecture—where power was structured through the shogunate–domain (bakuhan) order, and legal control often targeted the management of warrior elites and domains.
Comparisons become interesting when you stop trying to win and start trying to explain design choices.
5) Conclusion: Joseon’s real story is speed—and speed has a cost
Joseon is compelling not because it was perfect, but because it became a state fast:
it built standard procedures quickly
recruited and categorized officials quickly
stabilized revenue routes quickly
developed mobilization capacity quickly—enough to mount overseas operations early on
That speed was not aesthetic. It was survival logic in a competitive East Asian environment.
And it points to a harsher truth:
The true face of a state is rarely a royal portrait.
It is the thickness of its paperwork, the density of its rules, and the velocity of its mobilization.
Joseon grasped that early—and showed it clearly.
Modding Ideas: Civilization & Paradox
You can absolutely convert this theme into game mechanics—because your real topic isn’t “war,” it’s administration-as-power.
1) Civilization-style: Wonder + system that players can feel
Wonder: “Gyeongguk Daejeon (Code of the Realm)”
Era: Late Medieval → Renaissance
Build condition: Adjacent to Government Plaza (or City Center)
Production cost: ~800–1100 (tune for balance)
Effects (strong but not broken):
+1 Government policy slot (choose Administrative or Diplomatic)
Governor upkeep −15% (imperial efficiency)
Great Writer points +2 per turn (document-state flavor)
All cities +2 Loyalty (order through standardization)
Bonus system: “Royal Inspectorate” project unlock
Run once per city to reduce unrest/corruption (modded stat) or boost spy defense
Theme: The state becomes a machine—and suddenly the player plays like a bureaucrat.
2) Paradox-style: this is even better as an event chain
EU4-like Decision: “Promulgate the National Code”
Requirements: Stability ≥ +1, sufficient admin tech, bureaucratic reform
Rewards: yearly corruption −0.05, admin efficiency +2%, autonomy decay +10%
Trade-off: opens faction struggle events (nobility/scholars pushback)
Event chain: “War Council Expansion”
The longer the war, the stronger the war office becomes:
short-term military efficiency rises
long-term civilian administration weakens
players face a real dilemma: win now, or keep the state coherent?
It turns “state capacity” into a living, risky resource—exactly where Paradox games shine.
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