The Methods of the Sima司馬法

Chapter One — Benevolence the Root仁本第一

Ten passages. The opening chapter, and the least like a military book of any chapter in the seven: it hardly says how to fight at all, only when one may fight and what one may not do while fighting. Two of its sentences are the best known in the work — “if by war you put an end to war, then even war is permissible,” and “though a state be large, to love war is surely to perish; though the realm be at peace, to forget war is surely to be in danger.” The second half sets out a procedure for going to war: the offending state is proclaimed to all the feudal lords, then to August Heaven and the Lord on High, to the sun, moon and stars, to the Earth Queen and the spirits of the four seas, the rivers and the hills, and last to the former kings — only then does the Prime Minister levy troops. War, in this book, is first of all a rite. Then comes a field discipline: do not wreck the earthworks, do not burn the houses, do not fell the trees, send the old and the young home unharmed, and if the enemy is wounded, give him medicine and send him back. The closing passage, the nine prohibitions, is almost word for word the “nine punitive expeditions” of the Rites of Zhou — the hardest single piece of evidence that this book belongs to the literature of military rites. The Han imperial bibliography enters the Methods of the Sima in 155 chapters not among the military writers but under the classics, in the section on rites.

In antiquity benevolence was taken as the root, and to govern by rightness was called uprightness. When uprightness fails to attain its object, there is expedience. Expedience issues from war; it does not issue from ordinary men. Therefore if by killing men you bring men peace, killing is permissible; if by attacking a state you love its people, attacking is permissible; if by war you put an end to war, then even war is permissible. And so benevolence is met with affection, rightness with delight, wisdom with reliance, courage with men who will give their bodies, good faith with trust. Within, you win their love, and so can hold what you have; without, you win awe, and so can fight. (The base text read “to govern by rightness, and governing by it is uprightness,” and “expedience issues from war, not from benevolence.” Both witnesses read as translated; the second of these makes no sense as it stands — expedience is exactly what benevolence does not yield — and both have been emended. See the colophon. For “courage with men who will give their bodies” the Siku text has “courage is met with squareness.” A book called Benevolence the Root opens by licensing killing and invasion, with the conditions written into the same sentence.)

The way of war: do not go against the season, and do not fall upon a people when they are sick — this is how you love your own people. Do not strike a state in mourning, do not take advantage of a famine — this is how you love the other people. Do not raise an army in deep winter or high summer — this is how you love both peoples at once. And so, though a state be large, to love war is surely to perish; though the realm be at peace, to forget war is surely to be in danger. (The last two clauses are the most quoted sentence in the book, and the frame of the whole of it: loving war and forgetting war are two diseases, and this book stands on neither side. The Siku text reads “love their people” in the third clause.)

When the realm has been pacified, the Son of Heaven has the victory music played, and holds the spring hunt and the autumn hunt; the feudal lords muster their ranks in spring and drill their troops in autumn. All of this is so that war shall not be forgotten. (The two hunts are the seasonal chases of the Rites of Zhou, and are also exercises. The Sibu congkan text reads “the realm has the victory music played.” The previous passage says that loving war destroys; this one gives the prescription for forgetting war — put the drill into the calendar.)

In antiquity: they did not pursue a routed enemy more than a hundred paces, and did not follow a withdrawing one more than three days’ march, and by this they made their observance of the rites plain; they did not press the helpless to the wall, and they pitied the wounded and the sick, and by this they made their rightness plain; they waited until the other side had formed its ranks and then beat the drum, and by this they made their good faith plain; they contended for right and not for gain, and by this they made their rightness plain; they were able to let the submissive go, and by this they made their courage plain; they knew how a thing ends as well as how it begins, and by this they made their wisdom plain. These six virtues, taught together in their seasons, are the way to give a people its bonds. Such was the government of antiquity. (Here is the gravest variant in the book. The six virtues ought to be rites, benevolence, good faith, rightness, courage and wisdom; but the base text and the Sibu congkan facsimile both say “made their rightness plain” twice, so that only five can be counted. The Siku text reads “made their benevolence plain” in the first of the two, which gives the full six and answers the chapter’s own title. This page emends only where both witnesses agree against the base text; here there is only one, so the base reading stands and the case is recorded. It is the one place where I believe the base text is wrong and have not changed it.)

The government of the former kings followed the way of heaven, disposed what was fitting to the earth, and gave office to the virtuous among the people; and so names were rectified and things put in order, states were founded and duties distinguished, and revenue was apportioned by rank. The feudal lords were glad and came in, those beyond the seas submitted, lawsuits died away and weapons lay down. Such is government by the virtue of a sage. (“Gave office to” is a verb here. The Siku text reads “the perfection of sagely virtue.”)

Next after these, worthy kings made rites, music, laws and measures; they instituted the five punishments and raised armour and arms, in order to punish the unrighteous. They toured the four quarters, assembled the feudal lords, and inquired where usage was not uniform. If any had failed in his charge, disordered the constant norms, turned his back on virtue and gone against the seasons of heaven, and endangered a lord who had done good service, then it was proclaimed to all the feudal lords and his guilt made manifest. Then proclamation was made to August Heaven and the Lord on High, to sun, moon and stars; prayer was offered to the Earth Queen, to the spirits of the four seas, to the mountains, rivers and burial mounds; and at last report was made to the former kings. Only after that did the Prime Minister levy troops from the feudal lords, saying: “Such a state has acted without the Way, and is to be punished. On such a day of such a month of such a year the army will reach that state and assemble for the Son of Heaven to carry out the punishment.” (For “toured the four quarters” the Siku text reads “toured and surveyed the regions,” which runs better; the base reading is kept. For “proclaimed to all” both witnesses have the graph that unambiguously means to all; the base text’s graph is the ordinary loan for it and is kept. The Sibu congkan text has a different graph for the burial mounds. The whole passage is a procedure — the lords first, then heaven and earth, then the ancestors, and only then the levy. It is what most sharply separates this book from the other six.)

The Prime Minister and the hundred officers published the order to the army, saying: “When you enter the territory of the guilty, do no violence to the spirits of the place; do not hunt; do not destroy earthworks; do not burn houses; do not fell trees; do not take livestock, grain or implements. When you meet the old and the young, escort them home and do them no harm. Even if you meet a man of fighting age, do not engage him unless he resists you. If an enemy has been wounded, give him medicine and send him home.” (“Earthworks” are dykes and channels. The Siku text has a different negative in “escort them home unharmed.” This is the earliest field discipline surviving in Chinese, seven prohibitions running one after another; and it ends by ordering medical care for the enemy’s wounded and their repatriation — more than two thousand years before the first Geneva Convention of 1864.)

When the guilty had been punished, the king and the feudal lords set that state in order, raised up its worthy men, established its clear-sighted men, and restored its proper offices. (Restoring the offices, not annexing the state, is the point. Conquest is not the object — this sentence is where the field discipline above comes to rest.)

There are six means by which a king or a hegemon governs the feudal lords: he defines their borders by territory; he keeps them level by ordinance; he draws them close by rites and good faith; he wins them over by talent and strength; he holds them together by men who can plan; he makes them submit by armour and arms. He unites them by sharing their troubles and their gains; he keeps them in concord by having the small serve the great. (Of the six, the first five require no soldiers; armour and arms come last. The last clause, “having the small serve the great, to keep them in concord,” stands in the Rites of Zhou as “having the small serve the great, to keep the states in concord” — and the sentence immediately after it there is “the nine punitive expeditions by which the states are set right,” which is exactly what comes next here as well.)

There are nine prohibitions proclaimed when the lords are assembled: him who oppresses the weak and encroaches on the few, reduce; him who injures the worthy and harms the people, punish by arms; him who is cruel within and overbearing without, depose; him whose fields lie waste and whose people scatter, pare down his lands; him who relies on his fastnesses and will not submit, invade; him who murders his kin, bring to formal justice; him who drives out or kills his ruler, destroy; him who breaks the ordinances and slights the government, cut off from his neighbours; him who is licentious within and without and behaves as the beasts do, wipe out. (These nine are almost word for word the “nine punitive expeditions” of the Rites of Zhou, in the office of the Grand Minister of War. The Methods of the Sima is a book of military rites, and this is the hardest internal evidence for it.)

Chapter Two — The Duty of the Son of Heaven天子之義第二

Fifteen passages, the longest chapter and the one with the most historical matter in it. The title says “the duty of the Son of Heaven,” but the subject is instruction and demeanour: no one may be used who has not first been taught; rank, virtue, skill and courage each keep within their bounds and do not encroach on one another, “and so strength is exerted as one and intentions agree.” The middle of the chapter is a run of four comparisons across the three dynasties — where Yu, Xia, Yin and Zhou swore their armies in, how far each went in drawing the blade, where each gave rewards and where it carried out executions; what each called its war chariot, what colour each flew, and whether its standard bore the sun and moon, a tiger or a dragon. These are pages no student of early Chinese military institutions can go round, and they are the reason the Han bibliography filed this book under rites. The hinge of the chapter is a sentence given twice: the demeanour of the court does not enter the army, and the demeanour of the army does not enter the court — and if they are exchanged, “the army’s demeanour in the state ruins the people’s virtue, the court’s demeanour in the army weakens it.” The last passages turn unexpectedly gentle: a great victory is not rewarded and a great defeat is not punished, because in either case both ranks take the blame on themselves — “deference at its height.”

The duty of the Son of Heaven is to take his model, purely, from heaven and earth, and to look to the sages before him. The duty of knight and commoner is to serve their father and mother and to take their correction from lord and elder. Therefore, even under an enlightened ruler, a man who has not first been taught cannot be used. (“Purely” is “with nothing mixed in.” The graph used here for “model” is the archaic form of the word for law; this book uses the archaic and the ordinary form within a single sentence, and so do both old witnesses, so neither has been regularised — see the colophon. Heaven and earth above, father and mother below, lord and elder between; and then the conclusion the whole chapter grows from — untaught, he cannot be used.)

In antiquity, in teaching the people, they first established the orders of high and low so that these should not encroach on one another; virtue and rightness did not overstep one another; talent and skill did not eclipse one another; courage and strength did not trespass on one another. And so strength was exerted as one and intentions agreed. (The Siku text reads “and so their quarters were one and intentions agreed.” The three “did not” clauses are the agenda; the next passage answers them one by one.)

In antiquity the demeanour of the court did not enter the army and the demeanour of the army did not enter the court, and so virtue and rightness did not overstep one another. Those above prized the man who did not boast of his deeds; the man who does not boast is the instrument of those above him. If he does not boast he wants nothing; wanting nothing, he does not contend. Cases heard in the state get at the facts; cases heard in the army get at what the moment requires — and so talent and skill did not eclipse one another. To obey orders earned a knight the highest reward, to break them the severest punishment — and so courage and strength did not trespass on one another. (The three headings opened in the previous passage are answered here in order: virtue and rightness, talent and skill, courage and strength.)

Once the teaching had been given to the people, they were chosen with care and then employed. When affairs are ordered to the last degree, the hundred offices suffice; when instruction is pared to the last degree, the people rise to goodness; when habit has been formed, the people make the custom their own body. This is instruction at its height. (“Make the custom their own body” — the third clause is the deepest of the three, and the most literal rendering is the best one.)

In antiquity they did not pursue far and did not press a withdrawal closely. Not pursuing far, they were hard to decoy; not pressing closely, they were hard to trap. They made the rites their firmness and benevolence their victory; and when they had won, their teaching could still be applied afterwards — which is why the gentleman valued it. (The Siku text has, for “a withdrawal,” the same word used in chapter one for “a withdrawing enemy.” This passage supplies a very practical reason for the hundred paces of chapter one: not only to observe the rites, but to avoid the ambush.)

The house of Yu gave its warning inside the state, wishing the people to take the command into themselves. The house of Xia swore its oath within the camp, wishing the people to settle their minds beforehand. The Yin swore outside the gate of the camp, wishing the people to fix their intention before acting. The Zhou swore when the blades were about to cross, to drive the people’s will to its pitch. The house of Xia rectified its own virtue and did not yet use the edge of the weapon, and so its weapons were unmixed. The Yin stood on rightness, and began to use the edge. The Zhou stood on strength, and used the edge to the full. Xia gave rewards at court, prizing the good; Yin carried out executions in the market, to overawe the bad; Zhou rewarded at court and executed in the market, to encourage the gentleman and put fear into the small man. In making their virtue manifest the three kings were doing one and the same thing. (The oaths are those of the Book of Documents — the oaths at Gan, at Tang, at Muye. The Siku text reads “wishing the people to fix their intention and await the event.” The place of the oath moves steadily inwards, from the capital to the camp gate to the moment of contact: the later the age, the nearer the blade one must go to raise the spirit.)

If weapons are not mixed, they are not effective. Long weapons are for covering, short ones for holding. Too long, and a weapon is hard to wield; too short, and it does not reach. Too light, and it is keen — and keenness leads to disorder; too heavy, and it is blunt — and bluntness does not do the work. (This turns the preceding passage over: there “unmixed weapons” were a virtue of the house of Xia; here they are a defect of equipment. It is the only passage in the book on weapons as such.)

As for war chariots: the house of Xia called its chariot the Hook Chariot, putting correctness first; the Yin called theirs the Yin Chariot, putting speed first; the Zhou called theirs the Great Chariot, putting excellence first. (The Great Chariot appears in the Book of Songs: “Ten great chariots go first to open the way.” Each dynasty names its chariot for one quality — correct, swift, good.)

As for the bannered flag: the house of Xia had a black head to it, which is what man holds to; the Yin had white, which is the rightness of heaven; the Zhou had yellow, which is the way of earth. (The flag here is the kind hung with bells. The Siku text has, for “what man holds to,” a graph meaning power or circumstance. That Xia honoured black, Yin white and Zhou red is the usual account; yellow for Zhou here goes with the doctrine that Zhou reigned by the virtue of earth.)

As for the standard: the house of Xia bore the sun and moon on it, honouring brightness; the Yin bore a tiger, which is “white and martial”; the Zhou bore a dragon, honouring pattern. (The base text and the Sibu congkan facsimile both give “white and martial” for the middle clause, which is hard to construe; the Siku text reads “honouring awe,” exactly matching “honouring brightness” and “honouring pattern” on either side. This page emends only where both witnesses agree, so the base reading stands. If “white and martial” is to be defended, it must be by white as the colour of the west and the tiger as the beast of the west, war being the western business. Both readings are left with the reader.)

If an army makes too much of severity the people are cowed; if it makes too little of it they are of no use. When those above employ the people beyond what is right for them, when the common people do not get their proper order, when skills find no use, when the oxen and horses are asked for more than they can give, and the officers ride over them into the bargain — this is called too much severity, and too much severity cows the people. When those above do not honour virtue but employ deceit, do not honour the Way but employ brute force, do not value obedience but value disobedience, do not value good conduct but value violence — and are themselves ridden over by their officers — this is called too little severity, and too little severity makes the people useless. In the army unhurriedness is the ruling thing. Unhurried, the people’s strength is sufficient; and then, even when the blades have crossed, the foot do not run, the chariots do not gallop, the pursuit of the routed does not break the ranks — and so there is no disorder. The firmness of an army lies in not losing the discipline of its ranks, in not using up the strength of men and horses, and in letting neither slowness nor speed exceed the command. (“Unhurried” is the single most important word in the book’s account of handling troops. The Sibu congkan text has a different graph in “exceed the command.” Two opposite diseases, too much severity and too little, and one medicine for both.)

In antiquity the demeanour of the court did not enter the army and the demeanour of the army did not enter the court. The army’s demeanour in the state ruins the people’s virtue; the court’s demeanour in the army weakens it. Therefore in the state one speaks with refinement and in a mild tone; at court one is respectful and yielding; one cultivates oneself in order to wait upon others; one does not come unsummoned and does not speak unasked; one is slow to advance and quick to withdraw. In the army one stands upright and unbending; in the ranks one is decisive; the armoured man does not bow; on a war chariot one does not make the salute at the rail; on the walls one does not go at the ceremonial trot; in danger one does not defer by age. Therefore rites and law are the outside and the inside of one thing, and civil and military are its left hand and its right. (The Siku text has a different graph in “in the ranks one is decisive.” The last two clauses are the verdict of the chapter: not two things, but two faces of one.)

In antiquity the worthy kings made the people’s virtue plain and drew out the whole of their goodness, so that no virtue was left waste and no one of the people was slighted; rewards had no occasion to arise, and punishments no occasion to be tried. The house of Yu neither rewarded nor punished, and its people could be used: virtue at its height. Xia rewarded but did not punish: instruction at its height. Yin punished but did not reward: awe at its height. Zhou used both reward and punishment: virtue in decline. Rewards were not held over beyond their season, so that the people should quickly learn the profit of doing good; punishments were not carried out away from the ranks, so that the people should quickly see the harm of doing ill. After a great victory there was no reward, and neither rank boasted of the merit: those above, not boasting, were not made proud; those below, not boasting, did not press their claims. When neither rank boasts to this degree, that is deference at its height. After a great defeat there was no execution, and both ranks took the fault upon themselves: those above, taking the fault on themselves, were sure to repent of it; those below, taking the fault on themselves, were sure to keep clear of it. When both ranks share the blame to this degree, that too is deference at its height. (“Not carried out away from the ranks” means punishment on the spot, without dragging the man out of the line. The Sibu congkan scribe writes a near-identical graph for “oneself” three times over. “A great victory is not rewarded, a great defeat is not punished” is at once the least military and the most military passage in the book: it is not managing this battle but the next one.)

In antiquity the garrison troops were not called up again for three years, because the hardship of the people had been seen. When those above and those below answer one another like this, that is concord at its height. (The Sibu congkan text reads “garrison army”; the Siku text has a different graph for “called up.”)

When the aim has been attained, the victory song is sung, to show gladness; the war is laid down and the Numinous Terrace raised, in answer to the people’s labour, to show rest. (The Numinous Terrace is King Wen’s, in the Book of Songs, a place where he took his pleasure with the people. The chapter ends on two actions only: a song and a building.)

Chapter Three — Determining Rank定爵第三

Fifteen passages. The hardest chapter in the book to read, and the least like prose: it has almost no sentences, only names. “Accord with heaven, make wealth abundant, gladden the multitude, take the advantage of the ground, put weapons first — these are called the five considerations.” “Not submitting, not trusting, not in concord, slack, doubtful, weary, cowed, at cross purposes, shrunken, worn out, unruly, collapsing, sluggish — these are called the afflictions of war.” It is a run of terms first named and then defined, the nearest thing to a glossary in early Chinese military writing, and that is exactly why it is hard: every commentator since the Ming has admitted that the chapter has lost slips and has them out of order, and where it cannot be construed the commentators can do no more than set out the possibilities. This page does not force such places, and does not emend them. Two things are worth carrying away: “the general is the body, the soldiers are the limbs, the squads are the fingers and toes” — an army seen as one body; and the second half of the way to destroy an evil omen, “feed his excess, take away what he loves, I from without and he from within,” which says everything about subversion in ten characters. The title is simply the first two words of the chapter, as all the titles in this book are.

In war: fix the order of rank; make merit and fault plain; gather in the wandering knights; publish the instructions and orders; question the multitude; seek out their skills; measure your deliberations and exhaust the possibilities; sort out what is doubtful and probe what is suspect; husband strength and look for ingenuity; act along the movement of men’s hearts. (Every one of the ten is a thing done before the fighting starts — nothing here is about contact. The whole chapter is like this.)

In war: make the multitude firm; observe the ground’s advantage; put disorder in order; control advance and halt; make men submit to what is right; bring them to a sense of shame; keep the code brief; keep punishments few. Small offences are nevertheless put to death; when the small offences are mastered, the great ones cease of themselves. (“Keep punishments few” and “small offences are put to death” look contradictory and are not: few punishments, and every one of the few carried out.)

Accord with heaven, make wealth abundant, gladden the multitude, take the advantage of the ground, put weapons first: these are called the five considerations. To accord with heaven is to keep to the season; to make wealth abundant is to take it from the enemy; to gladden the multitude is to encourage them to comply; to take the advantage of the ground is to hold the defiles and the difficult places; to put weapons first is that bow and arrow are for repelling, pole-arm and spear for holding, dagger-axe and halberd for support. Each of the five weapons has its use: the long protect the short, the short come to the rescue of the long. Fight by turns and you last; fight all at once and you are strong. See what the enemy has and match it — this is called equalling him.

The commander stands firm and urges compliance, and moves only when he has seen the enemy. The general’s mind is a mind; the mind of the multitude is a mind; horses, oxen, chariots and weapons, rested and fed, are strength. Training lies in doing it beforehand; battle lies in restraint. The general is the body, the soldiers are the limbs, the squads are the fingers and toes. (The last sentence is the best image in the book: an army is one body, and the general is not its owner but the body itself.)

In war, the thing is wisdom; in close fighting, courage; in formation, skill. Use what you wish to use, do what you are able to do, discard what you do not wish and cannot do — and with the enemy do the reverse. (The Siku text reads “in war the thing is expedience.” “With the enemy do the reverse” — make him use what he does not wish to use and attempt what he cannot do. One clause turns the whole passage inside out, and it is the sharpest thing in the chapter.)

In war there is what comes of heaven, what comes of wealth, and what comes of good management. Not to let the day slip, to have a favourable augury and to move under cover — this is called having heaven. For the multitude to have stores, and for advantages to grow out of what they have — this is called having wealth. For the men to be practised in formation and the equipment to be serviceable, and for supplies to have been got in beforehand — this is called having good management. For every man to exert himself up to his charge — this is called a willing people. A great army depends on firmness; great strength on close ordering; to be equal to affairs with a light hand, and to meet the unexpected on sight — this is called being prepared in advance. Light chariots and light infantry, with bow and arrow firm in defence — this is called a great army. Close, still, with strength held inside — this is called a firm formation. To advance and withdraw on that footing — this is called great strength. When those above have leisure to train the men — this is called a close-ordered formation. When everything has its charge — this is called being equal to affairs. To distinguish things on that footing — this is called simple management. (“Close ordering” here means density, not vexation. The passage first names six things and then defines each of them backwards, alternating “A, B, C — this is called X” with “X: A, B, C,” a form rarely met with in pre-Qin prose. The Siku text repeats “equal to affairs” where the base text has “distinguish things.”)

Weigh the numbers, take account of the ground, take account of the enemy, and order the formation. Attack, battle, defence, advance, withdrawal, halt, front and rear in order, chariots and foot supporting one another — these are called the triad of war. Not submitting, not trusting, not in concord; slack, doubtful, weary, cowed, at cross purposes, shrunken, worn out, unruly, collapsing, sluggish — these are called the afflictions of war. Arrogance upon arrogance, fear upon fear, groaning and idleness, apprehension and dread, regret at every turn — these are called ruin and breakage. Great and small, hard and soft, threes and fives, many and few, all things that come in pairs — these are called the balances of war. (The Sibu congkan text writes two near-identical graphs for “at cross purposes”; both witnesses write a variant for “idleness,” and both read “these are called the triad of war” where the base text has a synonym. The Siku text reads “shrunken and vexed” for “shrunken, worn out.” Thirteen words exhaust everything that can go wrong with an army — the longest such list in early Chinese military writing.)

In war: use spies at a distance, observation close at hand; go by the season, go by resources; prize good faith and hate doubt. Raise troops in righteousness, act in season, treat men with kindness. On sight of the enemy, be still; on sight of disorder, be unhurried; on sight of danger and difficulty, do not forget your own men. In the state be kind and trustworthy; in the army be broad and martial; at the point of the blade be decisive and quick. In the state be harmonious; in the army keep to the law; at the point of the blade be clear-sighted. In the state show goodwill; in the army show squareness; at the point of the blade show good faith. (Three sets of three: in the state, in the army, at the point of the blade — one man in three shapes, and in all three he keeps faith.)

In formation: on the march keep loose, in battle keep close, and let the weapons be mixed. If the men are well taught, stillness will bring order, and both awe and advantage will be plain. If men keep faith with one another in what is right they will exert themselves; if deliberation yields results they will submit. When they hit the mark at every moment and obey, their order will be in hand. When things are made plain the eye becomes clear; when deliberation is settled the heart becomes strong. Advance and withdraw without hesitation; on sight of the enemy, form no new plan. Let the man to be executed be executed; do not ask his name, and do not change his flag. (“Mixed weapons” follows chapter two, “if weapons are not mixed they are not effective.” The Siku text reads “do not misreport his name.” The last clause is the coldest in the book: where military law is being carried out, no names and no changed colours — a change of colours would set the men doubting.)

In all undertakings, what is well done lasts; what follows the ancients goes through; when the oath is made plain, men grow strong and the evil omen is destroyed. There are two ways to destroy an evil omen. The first is called rightness: cover him with good faith, stand over him with strength, lay the foundation, unify the shape of the realm, and there is no one who is not glad — this is called using his own men along with yours. The second is called expedience: feed his excess, take away what he loves; I work from without, and let it work from within. (“Feed his excess” is to help him overflow so that he topples. The ten characters of the last clause say everything about subversion; and the way of rightness stands opposite them. This book gives both.)

First, men; second, uprightness; third, speech; fourth, skill; fifth, fire; sixth, water; seventh, weapons — these are called the seven instruments of government. Honour, gain, shame, death — these are called the four things that hold men. Awe accumulated in the countenance does no more than change men’s minds: all of it is this same way. Only benevolence has kindred; benevolence without good faith turns back and ruins the man himself. Men as men, uprightness as uprightness, speech as speech, fire as fire. (The four reduplicated words at the end have never been satisfactorily explained: on one reading each thing is to be used as what it is; on another, the first pair is a corruption of “employ men.” This page neither emends nor forces a meaning — the chapter’s lost and disordered slips are admitted by every old commentator, and where a passage will not construe, the possibilities are left standing.)

The way of war: when the spirit of the men has been roused, publish the orders on the strength of it; let them see it in your face and lead them by your words; warn them while they are afraid and set them to work while they want something; move into the enemy’s ground and make its features serve you; assign the tasks by office — this is called the method of war.

The shape a body of men takes comes from what the multitude asks for. Try to put it into effect by naming it, and be sure to carry it well. If it ought to go forward and does not, take it in hand yourself and lead it; if it goes forward and does go, keep them at it so that they do not forget. Three times, and it has become an article. What is fitting for men to live by is what is called law. (The Siku text reads “the conduct of men” for “the shape a body of men takes.” The last sentence is the best in the chapter: law is not laid on men from outside — it is how men ought to live.)

The way to govern disorder has seven articles: first, benevolence; second, good faith; third, straightness; fourth, unity; fifth, rightness; sixth, adaptability; seventh, honour. Establishing the code has seven: first, receiving the charge; second, the code itself; third, setting it up; fourth, speed; fifth, regulating the uniforms; sixth, grading the colours; seventh, that the hundred officers should properly wear nothing beyond their station. In an army, to keep the code in one’s own hands is called sole authority; to stand in awe of the law together with those below is called lawfulness. In the army give no ear to small talk and in battle do not scramble for small gains; to have results every day and act in the smallest things — this is called the Way. (“Nothing beyond their station” is dress above one’s rank. The base text omits the word “properly,” which both witnesses have; it has been supplied, and it is the only character added on this page. The sentence about sole authority and lawfulness uses the archaic and the ordinary graph for “law” side by side, as do both old witnesses; it is not a corruption, and has not been regularised. The Siku text reads “seventh, sole authority” for “seventh, honour.”)

In war, if uprightness will not work, then act by sole authority; if they do not submit, use the law; if they do not trust one another, make them one. If they are slack, stir them; if they are doubtful, change your course; if the men do not trust those above, then carry out what has been ordered and do not go back on it. Such was the government of antiquity. (The Sibu congkan text reads “if uprightness does not tally.” The last clause has never been agreed on; one old reading is “carry out the order that need not be made credible again.” The chapter ends as it began, in articles — from first to last there is not one story and not one name in it.)

Chapter Four — Strict Positioning嚴位第四

Twenty-one passages, the most of any chapter and the shortest each — one of them runs to seven Chinese characters, another to ten. The subject is the moment of contact: position, drum-beat, dress, exhaustion, fear. The second passage is the most practical thing in the book, and it is entirely about how to handle men who are afraid — close the ranks, have them sit, have them kneel, have them lie down, have them advance on their knees — ending: if the fear is too great, do not execute anyone; show them a kind face, tell them there is a way to live, and go along the line looking into each man’s duty. Several other passages are the clearest-headed in the book. “The alert of a whole army lasts no more than three days, the watch of a company no more than half a day, the restraint of one man no more than a single rest” — tension has a limit. “Once firm, do not add; when you press forward, do not use everything up; to use everything up is dangerous.” “The multitude does not think itself many, or it has not got the Way.” The title is the first three words of the chapter.

The way of war: let the positions be strict; let the government be awe-inspiring; let strength have slack in it; let the breath be at ease; let the mind be one. (“Slack” here is room left over — strength not used to the full. The chapter takes its title from the first three words. Five wants, and they set the key of everything that follows.)

The way of war: grade duty by rightness; set up the squads; fix the ranks; make the lines true across and along; examine name against reality. Standing, they advance stooping; sitting, they advance on the knee. If they are afraid, close the ranks; if the position is dangerous, have them sit. Those far off, if they can see, are not afraid; those near, if they do not look about, do not scatter. Lower the position, lower the flanks, have the armoured men sit, swear them in and walk them forward slowly. When the position has reached the foot and the armour, reckon it by light and heavy; startle the horses and let foot and armour raise a shout; if they are afraid, close the ranks again. If they kneel and sit and then lie down, have them advance on their knees while you swear them in gently. If they get up shouting and the drum takes them forward, stop them with the hand-bell. With the gag in the mouth they are sworn in and eat their dry rations, and advance seated, on their knees. Carry out the executions and forbid them to look behind; go before them shouting. But if the fear is too great, do not execute: show them a kind face, tell them there is a way to live, and go along the line looking into each man’s duty. (The base text reads “manage the gag,” which is not Chinese; both witnesses have “hold the gag in the mouth” — the gag is a short stick held crosswise between the teeth to stop talking — and it is emended here. The bell is the large clapper-bell that cancels the drum. The whole passage is about bringing a frightened body of men lower and lower — close, sit, kneel, lie, crawl — and then the last clause takes the whole thing back: if the fear is too great, killing will not help.)

The men of the three armies are on the alert for half a day; the prohibitions on them never stop; they may not be sent off in shifts to eat. While they are still uncertain, they can be taught and they can be made to submit. (To set the rules while men’s minds are unsettled — the most usable sentence in the book on training.)

In war: strength makes you last, spirit makes you win; firmness makes you last, taking risks makes you win. The original mind is what makes you firm, fresh spirit is what makes you win; armour is for lasting, weapons are for winning. (Three pairs of “last” and “win” split defence and offence into two kinds of capital: strength, firmness, armour and the original mind on one side; spirit, risk, weapons and fresh spirit on the other.)

Chariots are made firm by close order, foot by sitting, armour by weight; weapons win by lightness. When a man has the mind to win, he sees nothing but the enemy; when a man has the mind to fear, he sees nothing but what he fears. The two minds settle by turns; the two advantages come to the same thing; each of the two has its office, and it is for judgment alone to see which. (The Siku text reads “an army is made firm by close order.” “He sees nothing but the enemy,” “he sees nothing but what he fears” are the two truest sentences in the book about soldiers: the winning mind and the fearing mind are not two kinds of man but one man at two hours of the day.)

In war: to use the light for light work is dangerous; to use the heavy for heavy work gets nothing done; to use the light for heavy work is defeat; to use the heavy for light work is how one fights. So in war light and heavy serve one another. In camp be careful of armour and weapons, on the march of the formation and the ranks, in battle of advance and halt. (The Siku text has, in place of “on the march of the formation and the ranks,” a shorter “be careful of the ranks.” Three cares, one for each of camp, march and battle.)

In war: be careful and you are content; lead from the front and they submit. If those above fuss, the men are light; if those above are unhurried, the men are weighty. Beat the drum urgently and they are light; beat it slowly and they are weighty. Dress close and plain and they are light; dress fine and they are weighty. (Three pairs of light and heavy: one in the mind, one in the drum-beat, one in the clothes — inside and outside, all of them adjustable.)

When horses and chariots are sound and armour and weapons keen, even the light becomes heavy. If those above merely fall in with the rest, nothing is gained; if those above are wholly high-handed, many die; if those above cling to life, doubt is everywhere below; if those above are bent on dying, still they do not win. (Four faults of a commander. The first and the last deserve attention: clinging to life will not do, and neither will being set on death.)

Men die for five reasons: they die for love, they die for anger, they die for awe, they die for rightness, they die for gain. (Five words, five states of mind, and not one word more.)

The way of war: training binds men so that they hold death light; the Way binds men so that they die in the right. (Training and the Way side by side: one makes a man unafraid to die, the other gives his death a name.)

In war: it may be victory or not, it may be from heaven or from man. (Ten characters — the shortest passage in the book. The outcome in the first clause, the cause in the second, and no verdict on either. This book never guarantees a result.)

In war: the alert of the three armies lasts no more than three days; the watch of one company no more than half a day; the restraint of one man no more than a single rest. (The Siku text reads “no more than an instant.” Three armies, one company, one man, and the span shortens at each step — tension has a limit. The clearest-headed sentence in the book about what men can bear.)

The greatest use the root; next after them use the branch. Grasp the outline and hold to the fine detail; whether root or branch, it is judgment that decides — and this is war. (The root is benevolence and instruction, the branch is stratagem, following from the first chapter. Both ends of the book are settled in one line.)

As to victory: the three armies win by being one man. (Seven characters. The same thing as “the general is the body, the soldiers are the limbs” in chapter three, said another way.)

As to the drum: there is a drum for the flags, a drum for the chariots, a drum for the horses, a drum for the foot, a drum for the weapons, a drum for the head, a drum for the feet, and a drum for all together. (Seven drums are in fact listed — flags, chariots, horses, foot, weapons, head, feet — and the Siku text reads “the seven drums all together,” one character that makes the sentence plain. This page emends only where both witnesses agree, so the base reading stands and the case is recorded. A “drum for the head” and a “drum for the feet” are drum-signals for raising the head and lifting the foot; each has its beat.)

In war: once firm, do not add; when you press forward, do not use everything up — to use everything up is always dangerous. (Three clauses saying one thing: leave a margin. It answers the first passage of the chapter, “let strength have slack in it.”)

In war: the hard thing is not the formation but getting men to the point where they can be formed; the hard thing is not getting them to the point where they can be formed but getting them to the point where they can be used; the hard thing is not knowing but doing. Men in each place have their own nature, and nature differs from region to region; teaching makes custom, and custom differs from region to region; it takes the Way to transform custom. (Three steps, and then, unexpectedly, local character — the only place in the book that speaks of regional difference, and it puts the Way above custom.)

Whether many or few: having won, act as though you had not. The weapons do not proclaim their keenness, the armour its strength, the chariots their soundness, the horses their quality; and the multitude does not think itself many — or it has not got the Way. (The Sibu congkan scribe miswrites the word for “or not”; the Siku text has a different opening. Five “do not proclaim” in a row make the finest parallel in the book: having won, nothing may be boasted of.)

In war: if you win, share the credit with the multitude; if you are going to fight again, make rewards and punishments heavier; if you are beaten, take the fault on yourself; and if you fight again, swear them in and go in front, and do not use the earlier method again. Win or lose, do not go back on it — this is called the right rule. (The Siku text reads “swear himself and go in front,” and has “win or lose” with a different second graph; the Sibu congkan scribe writes a near-identical graph for “oneself.” “Do not use the earlier method again” is Sunzi’s “a victory is not repeated.”)

With the people: rescue them by benevolence, make them fight by rightness, decide by wisdom, close with the enemy by courage, make them single-minded by good faith, urge them on by gain, bring them through by achievement. So let the mind hit the mark of benevolence and conduct the mark of rightness. To be equal to affairs is wisdom; to be equal to great affairs is courage; to be equal to long affairs is good faith. Yield, and there is concord; the men settle among themselves. Treat them as your own children and do not stand on precedent; let them vie in worth and be willing to act for others, and the men are glad at heart and give their strength. (The last four clauses have never been agreed on, and the witnesses differ over them as well: the Sibu congkan text has a different graph in “the men settle among themselves,” and the Siku text in “treat them as your own children.” This page does not emend, and the translation follows the usual reading.)

In war: strike what is weak and still, avoid what is strong and still; strike what is worn and tired, avoid what is at ease and unspent; strike what is in great fear, avoid what is only a little wary. Such was the government of antiquity. (The Siku text has a variant for “at ease and unspent.” Each of the three pairs turns on a single word — still, tired, afraid — and the same word, at a different degree, reverses the order. “Such was the government of antiquity” is this book’s way of closing a chapter, and it comes four times in the five.)

Chapter Five — Employing Numbers用眾第五

Seven passages, 265 characters: the shortest chapter, and the one most like the Art of War — from beginning to end it is about numbers, ground, reading the enemy and pursuit, and it does not once mention benevolence. “When you bring many against few, encircle them at a distance and leave a gap” is Sunzi’s “leave a way out to a surrounded army.” “Use many and few to see how he shifts; advance and withdraw to see how firm he is,” and six such tests running, followed by eight things to do about what you have seen — the only stretch of pure tactics in the book. The last passage is the hardest in it: cut off letters from home, pick out the best men and re-sort the weapons, throw away the baggage and cut the rations. “Letters from home are cut off: this is called cutting off the thought of looking back.” And there the book ends, on the same four words that close three other chapters — such was the government of antiquity — the first sentence of the first chapter having been “in antiquity benevolence was taken as the root.”

The way of war: with few, firmness; with many, order. Few profit by intricacy, many by regularity. With many, advance and halt; with few, advance and withdraw. When you bring many against few, encircle them at a distance and leave a gap. If the enemy divides and strikes by turns, then meet the many with few. If the multitude are uncertain, act on your own judgment. If you have the advantage, lower the flags, go to meet him and drive him back. If the enemy is many, hold together and accept the encirclement; if he is few, or if he is afraid, avoid him and open a way for him. (“Leave a gap” is to surround on three sides and leave one open, as in Sunzi. “Lower the flags” is to take down the colours so that the enemy cannot read your strength. For “hold together” both witnesses have a graph meaning “take the measure of his numbers”; the base text makes sense and is kept.)

In war: keep the wind behind you and the high ground behind you; the heights on your right and the difficult ground on your left; pass quickly over the marsh and quickly over the broken ground; when you halt twice in the same place, choose ground that falls away on all sides like the back of a turtle. (The marsh is the water-and-reed country; the “broken ground” is ground that has given way (one edition writes the graph differently). The turtle’s back is ground raised in the middle so that water runs off it. The whole passage is terrain, and may be read beside the “Marches” chapter of the Art of War.)

In war: deploy, and watch what he does; watch the enemy, and then act. If you are to wait, go along with him and do not beat the drum; wait for his men to move. If you are to attack, encamp and watch for him. (“Go along with him” is not to provoke him. Whether you wait or attack, you look first.)

In war: use many and few to see how he shifts; advance and withdraw to see how firm he is; endanger him and see whether he is afraid; be still and see whether he grows slack; move and see whether he is uncertain; raid him and see whether he is in order. Then: strike where he is uncertain; press him where he is caught short; drive him to where he has no case; raid him where he has laid his plans; take him where he cannot get out of the way; block his design; take away his calculation; and come down on him while he is afraid. (Six acts of looking, then eight of striking. The Siku text has a different graph in “while he is afraid.” This is the passage in the book that comes nearest to the Art of War.)

In pursuit of a routed enemy, do not stop. If the enemy halts somewhere on the road, think again. (The base text has “halts, not the road,” which is not Chinese; both witnesses read “halts on the road,” and it is emended here. Press on without pause, and be suspicious of a halt: fourteen characters, one loosening and one tightening.)

When you are close to an enemy’s capital there must be a road in; and if you withdraw, you must have thought out the way back. (The Siku text writes the word for “back” differently. Thirteen characters that say everything about going deep alone.)

In war: to be first is to wear yourself out, to be second is to be cowed; to rest is to grow slack, not to rest is also to wear yourself out, and to rest too long is to come back to being cowed. Letters from home are cut off: this is called cutting off the thought of looking back. The best men are picked out and the weapons re-sorted: this is called adding to men’s strength. The baggage is thrown away and the rations cut: this is called opening men’s minds. Such was the government of antiquity. (“Letters from home” is correspondence with one’s family; the baggage is what the men must carry. The three measures grow harder in turn — no letters, a thinning of men and gear, no baggage and short rations — until there is only one way left to go. The book closes on “such was the government of antiquity,” and its first sentence was “in antiquity benevolence was taken as the root.”)