Binglüe — Military Strategy兵略訓

In ancient times those who used arms did not do so because they found profit in broad lands or coveted the plunder of metal and jade. They meant to preserve what was perishing and to continue what was cut off, to settle the disorder of all under heaven and to remove the harm done to the myriad people. Every creature that has blood and breath holds teeth in its mouth and wears horns, has claws in front and spurs behind. What has horns butts, what has teeth bites, what has poison stings, what has hooves kicks. To play with one another in joy and to harm one another in anger is the nature given by heaven. Man has the feelings of clothing and food, but things cannot make them full. So when men live in crowds and dwell mixed together, and shares are not even and wants are not filled, they quarrel; and when they quarrel, the strong threaten the weak and the brave encroach on the timid. Man has no strength of sinew and bone, no sharpness of claw and tooth, and so he cut hides to make armor and melted iron to make blades. Greedy, benighted and ravenous men despoiled all under heaven, and the myriad people were shaken and could not rest in their places. Sages rose up in anger and struck at the strong and violent, settled the disordered age, leveled what was steep and swept away what was foul, made the muddy clear and the endangered safe. So they could not but cut it off in the middle. Far off indeed is the source from which arms have come! The Yellow Emperor once fought Yandi, and Zhuanxu once contended with Gonggong. So the Yellow Emperor fought in the field of Zhuolu, Yao fought on the shore of the Dan River, Shun attacked Youmiao, and Qi attacked Youhu. Even from the time of the five emperors it could not be laid to rest. How much less in a fallen age!

Arms are the means by which violence is forbidden and disorder is struck down. Yandi made the calamity of fire, and so the Yellow Emperor took him; Gonggong made the harm of water, and so Zhuanxu cut him down. If men are taught with the Way and led with virtue and still do not listen, then they are faced with awe and force; if they are faced with awe and force and still do not follow, then they are held in check with weapons and armor. So when the sage uses arms it is like combing hair or weeding sprouts: what is taken away is little and what is benefited is much. To kill guiltless people and nourish a ruler without right, no harm is greater than this. To exhaust the wealth of all under heaven and fill the desire of one man, no calamity runs deeper than this. Had Jie of Xia and Zhou of Yin met their trouble as soon as they harmed the people, they would not have come to the roasting pillar. Had Duke Li of Jin and King Kang of Song died and lost their states as soon as they did one unrighteous deed, they would not have come to seizing and plundering and violence. These four rulers all had small faults, and no one struck them down, and so they came to robbing all under heaven and harming the hundred families, giving free rein to the wickedness of one man and feeding the calamity of the lands within the seas. This is what the great order of men does not allow. A ruler is set up in order to forbid violence and strike down disorder. Now if a man rides on the strength of the myriad people and turns instead into their despoiler, this is giving wings to a tiger. Why should he not be removed? One who keeps fish in a pond must rid it of the otter, one who raises birds and beasts must rid them of the jackal and the wolf. How much more in governing men!

So the arms of a hegemon or a king weigh matters with discussion, plan them with counsel, and uphold them with right. They are not meant to make what stands perish, but to make what is perishing stand. So when they hear that the ruler of an enemy state has added cruelty to his people, they raise arms and come to his borders, rebuke him for his unrighteousness, and prick him for his excesses. When the army reaches his outskirts, the commander orders the host, "Do not cut down trees, do not dig up graves, do not burn the five grains, do not set fire to stores, do not take the people captive, do not seize the six kinds of livestock." Then he sends out the call and issues the order, "The ruler of this state is haughty toward heaven and scornful of the spirits. In deciding cases he has punished the guiltless and killed those without crime. This is why heaven cuts him down and why the people hold him an enemy. The army has come to abolish unrighteousness and to restore virtue. Whoever turns against the way of heaven and leads the robbers of the people, his body shall die and his kin shall be wiped out. He who obeys with his household shall be given a household as his stipend; he who obeys with his hamlet shall be rewarded with the hamlet; he who obeys with his village shall be enfeoffed with the village; he who obeys with his county shall be made a marquis over the county." When the state is beaten, it does not reach its people: its ruler is deposed and its government changed. They honor its outstanding officers and bring forward its worthy and good, raise up its orphans and its widows, relieve its poor and destitute, open its prisons and reward those who have merit. So the hundred families open their gates and wait for them, and wash rice and store it up, fearing only that they will not come. This is how Tang and Wu came to be kings and how Duke Huan of Qi accomplished his hegemony. So when a ruler acts without the Way, the people long for the army as in drought they look for rain, as in thirst they seek drink. Who then would cross weapons and meet blades with them? So when a righteous army arrives, it comes to stopping without a battle.

In a later age, though a ruler be without the Way, there is none who does not dig ditches and trenches and cling to the battlements to hold them; and the attacker is not forbidding violence and removing harm, but wishes to encroach on land and widen his soil. For this reason, though they come to fallen corpses and flowing blood and hold out against one another day after day, the merit of a hegemon or a king does not appear in their age, because they act for themselves. One who fights for land cannot accomplish his kingship; one who fights for himself cannot establish his merit. He who takes up an enterprise for others is helped by the multitude; he who takes up an enterprise for himself is left by the multitude. What the multitude helps, though weak, must become strong; what the multitude leaves, though great, must perish. An army that loses the Way is weak and one that gains it is strong; a general who loses the Way is clumsy and one who gains it is skilled; a state that gains the Way stands and one that loses it perishes. What is called the Way has a round body and a square rule, turns its back on yin and holds yang in its arms, is soft on the left and hard on the right, treads the dark and wears the bright on its head. Changing without constancy, it gains the source of the one and answers what has no direction. This is called spirit illumination.

What is round is heaven; what is square is earth. Heaven is round and without end, and so it cannot be seen; earth is square and without border, and so none can peer in at its gate. Heaven shapes and rears without form or image; earth gives birth and raises without measure or reckoning. Murky and murky, deep and deep, who knows what they hide? All things have a sign; only the Way has no sign. It has no sign because it has no constant form or force. It turns like a wheel without end, taking the pattern of the courses of the sun and the moon. It is like spring and autumn giving way to each other, like the sun and the moon having day and night: it ends and begins again, it brightens and darkens again, and none can grasp its thread. It masters form and yet has no form, and so merit can be accomplished; it makes things things and is not itself a thing, and so it conquers and does not bend. Form is the utmost of arms, and to come to having no form may be called the very utmost. For this reason a great army takes no wound and passes through to the ghosts and the spirits, and though the five weapons are not whetted, none under heaven dares stand against it. The standing drum does not leave the armory, yet there is no feudal lord who does not tremble and lose heart where he sits. So one who fights in the ancestral temple becomes an emperor, and one who transforms like a spirit becomes a king. What is called fighting in the ancestral temple takes the way of heaven as its rule; transforming like a spirit takes the four seasons as its rule. He cultivates government within his borders, and far places long for his virtue; he masters victory before the battle, and the feudal lords submit to his awe. It is because the government within is well ordered.

In old times one who had gained the Way took heaven and earth as his rule when he was still, and followed the sun and the moon when he moved. His joy and anger accorded with the four seasons, his calling out matched the thunder, the sound of his breath did not go against the eight winds, and his bending and stretching did not leave the five measures. Down to shell and scale and up to fur and feather, like branches spreading and leaves strung along a stem, the myriad things and the hundred kinds, from root to tip, were none of them without order. For this reason it enters what is small and is not cramped, and dwells in what is great and is not loose; it soaks into metal and stone and moistens grass and trees. Within the universe and the six directions, even at the shaken tip of a hair, there is nothing that does not fall into order with it. The soaking and steeping of the Way is thick and fine and minute, and there is nowhere it is not; and so its weighing toward victory is manifold. In shooting, if the measure of the aim is not gained, the target is not struck; and even a fine horse that does not use one joint will not reach a thousand li. When men fight and do not win, it is not the doing of the day the drum was beaten: their daily conduct has long been without form. So with an army that has gained the Way, the chariots do not take away their chocks, the horsemen do not put on saddles, the drums do not shake the dust, the flags are not unrolled, the armor does not leave the arrows, the blades do not taste blood, the court does not change its places, the merchant does not leave his shop, and the farmer does not leave his field. It calls upon right and rebukes, and a great state must come to court and a small walled town must come down. It follows what the people want and rides on the people's strength, and for them it removes the cruel and roots out the robber. So those whose profit is the same will die for one another, those whose feeling is the same will accomplish one another, those whose wants are the same will help one another. Move in accord with the Way, and all under heaven turns toward you; plan in accord with the people, and all under heaven fights for you. When hunters chase game, chariots race and men run, each spending his strength to the full, and with no awe of punishment they drive the game off and block it and head it off for one another, because what profits them is the same. When men cross the river in the same boat and suddenly meet wind and waves, the sons of a hundred clans take hold quickly and ply the oars as the left hand works with the right, and they count it no favor to one another, because their trouble is the same. So when an enlightened king uses arms, he removes harm for all under heaven and shares the profit of it with the myriad people. The people being of use to him is like a son acting for his father, a younger brother for his elder. Where his awe is laid on, it is like a mountain crumbling and a dyke bursting. What enemy would dare stand against it? So one who uses arms well uses what men do of themselves; one who cannot use arms uses what they do for him. Use what men do of themselves, and there is nothing under heaven that cannot be used; use what they do for you, and what is gained is little. There are three grades in the use of arms. To govern the state and the household, to order what is within the borders, to practice benevolence and right, to spread virtue and kindness, to set up upright laws and block the crooked ways, so that the host of ministers cleave to their lord and the hundred families are in harmony and gathered together, above and below of one mind and ruler and minister of one strength, so that the feudal lords submit to his awe and the four quarters cherish his virtue; to cultivate government above the temple hall and break the enemy's charge a thousand li away, to fold the hands and bow and point, and all under heaven answers in turn: this is the highest use of arms. Land broad and people many, the ruler worthy and the general loyal, the state rich and the army strong, covenants trusted and orders clear, so that when two armies stand against each other with drums and gongs within sight, the enemy flees and is lost before weapons are crossed and blades meet: this is the next use of arms. To know what is fitting in the land, to be practiced in the advantage of narrows and defiles, to be clear about the changes of the odd and the straight, to look into the numbers of marching and array, of loosing the ranks and drawing them back, and then to grasp the drumstick by its cord and beat the drum, so that white blades meet and flying arrows follow one another, men wade through blood and gather up entrails, cart off the dead and hold up the wounded, blood runs a thousand li and bared bones fill the ground, and only then victory is decided: this is the lowest use of arms.

Now all under heaven knows how to order the tip of the thing, and none knows to work at cultivating its root. This is to let go of the root and plant the branch. Many things help arms toward victory, but few make victory certain. Armor firm and weapons sharp, chariots solid and horses good, stores full and soldiers thick in number: these are the great capital of an army, and victory is not in them. To be clear about the courses of the stars and the sun and the moon, about the numbers of punishment and virtue and of odd reckonings, about the convenience of having a thing at one's back or before one, on the left or on the right: these are aids in battle, and wholeness is not in them. What makes a good general certain of victory is that he always has a wisdom that cannot be traced to its source and a way that cannot be spoken, hard to share with the multitude. To be careful in judgment, to move and rest in season, to sort out officers and soldiers, to keep weapons and armor in order, to set the ranks and files straight, to link the tens and the hundreds, to make drums and flags clear: this is the office of the commandant. To know what is steep and what is easy before and behind, to see the enemy and know what is hard and what is easy, to send out scouts and forget nothing: this is the office of the scout. To make the roads quick, to order the movement of the baggage carts, to level the labor levies, to gather the army where it camps, to open wells and hearths: this is the office of the master of works. To gather and store in the rear, to shift camp without leaving anything behind, to have no cart to spare and no baggage left: this is the office of the wagon master. These five offices are to a general what thighs and arms and hands and feet are to a body. He must choose the men for them and make their talents skilled, let each office be equal to its charge and each man able in his work. He tells them by his government and spreads it by his orders, so that they are like a tiger or a leopard that has claws and teeth, like a flying bird that has its six pinions, and there is none of them that is not of use. Yet all these are tools that help toward victory; they are not what makes victory certain.

The victory or defeat of arms is rooted in government. When government prevails over its people and those below cleave to those above, the army is strong; when the people prevail over their government and those below turn against those above, the army is weak. So when virtue and right are enough to cherish the people of all under heaven, when work and undertaking are enough to meet what is urgent in all under heaven, when the choosing of officers is enough to win the hearts of worthy men, when plan and forethought are enough to know which force is strong and which is weak, this is the root of certain victory. Land broad and people many are not enough to make strength; firm armor and sharp weapons are not enough to make victory; high walls and deep moats are not enough to make firmness; stern orders and thick punishments are not enough to make awe. He whose government makes a state stand, though it be small, will surely stand; he whose government makes it perish, though it be great, will surely perish. In old days the land of the men of Chu rolled up the Yuan and the Xiang in the south, circled the Ying and the Si in the north, wrapped Ba and Shu in the west and enfolded Tan and Huai in the east. It took the Ying and the Ru for its ditches and the Jiang and the Han for its moat, walled itself about with the forest of Deng and drew itself out along Fangcheng. Its mountains were high enough to touch the clouds, its streams so deep that no shadow lay in them, the land was of advantage and its shape convenient, and its soldiers and people were brave. They made armor and helmets of dragon hide and rhinoceros, and long lances and short pikes made an even front rank, massed crossbows backed them, and chariots set aslant guarded their flanks. They were quick as an awl-headed arrow, joined like thunder and lightning, and broke away like wind and rain. Yet their army came to danger at Chuisha and their host was broken at Boju. Chu was strong: measure its land and count its host, and it took half of all under heaven. But King Huai feared the Lord of Mengchang in the north, turned his back on the guarding of the altars of soil and grain, and entrusted himself to the strong Qin, and his army was broken and his land pared away, and he died without returning. The Second Emperor had the position of a Son of Heaven and the riches of all under heaven. Wherever men's footsteps reached and boats and oars passed, there was nothing that was not a commandery or a county. Yet he let loose the desires of his ears and eyes and ran the changes of extravagance to their end, and did not look to the hunger and cold, the want and lack of the hundred families. He raised the team of ten thousand chariots and built the palace of Epang, sent out the garrison levy from the left of the wards and took in more than half the harvest in taxes. Of the hundred families who were seized and punished, and who dragged the carts and died at the head of the road, in a single morning the number could not be told, though it ran to thousands upon ten thousands. All under heaven was parched as though scorched and tilted as though in bitter pain; above and below could not rest with one another, and officers and people could not lean on one another. The garrison soldier Chen Sheng rose at Daze, rolled up his sleeve and bared his right arm and called himself Great Chu, and all under heaven answered in turn. At that time they had no firm armor or sharp weapons, no stiff crossbows or strong rams. They cut thorn and jujube wood for shafts and ground awls and chisels for blades, sharpened bamboo and swung hoes to face long halberds and strong crossbows; and they attacked walled towns and took land, and there was none that did not come down in surrender. All under heaven boiled like gruel for them and stirred like ants, was swept away like cloud and rolled up like a mat, for some thousands of li around. Their position and rank were of the lowest and their gear was of no advantage, yet one man called out and all under heaven answered, because the grudge stored up lay with the people. When King Wu attacked Zhou, he faced east and met the year star; he came to the Si and the waters rose, he came to Gongtou and the ground gave way, and a comet came out and handed the men of Yin its handle. At the time of the battle ten suns were in disorder above and wind and rain beat in the midst of them. Yet there was no reward before them for treading into danger and no punishment behind them for fleeing and turning back, and the white blades were not all drawn before all under heaven was won.

For this reason one who defends well has nothing to ward off, and one who fights well has nothing to fight. He is clear about the way of forbidding and releasing, of opening and blocking; he rides on the time and the force, follows what the people want, and takes all under heaven. So one who governs well stores up his virtue, and one who uses arms well stores up his anger. When virtue is stored up, the people can be used; when anger is stored up, awe can be set up. So when what civil rule adds is shallow, what its force overcomes is small; when what virtue bestows is broad, what awe controls is wide; and when what awe controls is wide, one's own side is strong and the enemy weak. So one who uses arms well weakens the enemy first and fights afterward, and so he spends less than half and his merit is doubled of itself. Tang, with land seventy li square, became king because he cultivated virtue; Zhi Bo, with land of a thousand li, perished because he pushed force to its end. So a state of a thousand chariots that practices civil rule and virtue becomes king, and a state of ten thousand chariots that loves to use arms perishes. So a whole army wins first and fights afterward, while a beaten army fights first and then seeks to win. Where virtue is equal, the many overcome the few; where strength is matched, the wise overcome the foolish; where wisdom is the same, he who has reckoning takes captive him who has none. Whoever uses arms must first fight in the ancestral temple by himself. Which ruler is worthier? Which general is abler? Whose people cleave to their lord? Which state is better ordered? Whose stores are greater? Whose soldiers are choicer? Whose armor and weapons are sharper? Whose gear and equipment are handier? So he works the counting rods above the temple hall and decides victory a thousand li away.

What has form and boundary, all under heaven contends to look at; what has chapters and books, the men of the age hand down and study. All of these conquer by form. One who is good at form does not take it for his rule. The Way is prized because its having no form is prized. Having no form, it cannot be held in check or pressed, it cannot be measured, it cannot be tricked by cleverness, it cannot be reckoned with the compass. If wisdom is seen, men plan against it; if form is seen, men make their merit out of it; if numbers are seen, men lie in wait for it; if gear is seen, men make ready against it. Movements and turnings, crooking and straightening, bending and stretching, whatever can be tricked by cleverness, are none of them good. The movement of one who is good comes out like a spirit and walks like a ghost, shines like a star and gives chase in the dark; in advancing and withdrawing, in bending and stretching, no sign of it is seen; it is like the luan bird rising and the qilin shaking itself, the phoenix in flight and the dragon mounting up. It sets out like an autumn wind and is quick as a startled dragon. It strikes the dead with the living, rides on the failing with the flourishing, covers the slow with the swift, and masters the hungry with the full. It is like putting out fire with water, like pouring boiling water on snow. Where could it go and not succeed? Where could it go and not get through and be used? Within, it empties the spirit; without, it makes the will still. It moves in what has no form and comes out where it is not looked for. It goes as a gust goes and comes as a flash comes, and none knows where it is going; it comes out like a branch and enters like a crack, and none knows where it is gathering. It is sudden as thunder and swift as wind and rain, as though it came out of the ground or came down from heaven. It goes out alone and comes in alone, and none can answer it or fend it off. It is quick as an arrowhead. What can be matched against it for victory? Now dark, now bright, who knows the first thread of it? Before its setting out is seen, it has already arrived.

So one who uses arms well, when he sees the enemy empty, rides on it and does not give it back, pursues and does not let go, presses and does not leave off. He strikes them while they hesitate and rides down their slowness. Quick thunder leaves no time to stop the ears, quick lightning no leisure to cover the eyes. Using arms well is like a sound and its echo, like a gong and a drum: with grit in the eye there is no time to rub it, and there is no time to breathe out and in. At such a time a man looks up and does not see heaven, looks down and does not see earth; his hand cannot swing the dagger-axe and his weapons cannot all be drawn, while the striking is like thunder, the closing in like wind, the burning like fire, the riding down like a wave. When the enemy is still, he does not know what he is guarding; when he moves, he does not know what he is doing. So when the drum sounds and the flags are waved, there is none standing against him who is not brought down and broken. Who under heaven would dare whet his awe and set his will against him and stand before him? So one who rides men down wins, one who waits on men loses, and one who serves as the handle in another's hand dies. An army that is still is firm; one that is wholly one has awe; one that divides with decision is brave; one whose heart doubts turns back; one whose strength is divided is weak. So if a man can divide another's army and set doubt in another's heart, even a grain's weight is more than enough; if he cannot divide another's army and set doubt in another's heart, many times the number is not enough. So the soldiers of Zhou had a million hearts, while the soldiers of King Wu were three thousand men all wholly one. So a thousand men of one mind give the strength of a thousand men, and ten thousand men of different minds do not give the use of one man. Only when general and soldiers, officers and people move and rest as one body can they answer the enemy and join battle. So they set out after the reckoning is fixed and move after the division is decided. The general has no plan he doubts and the soldiers have no second heart; there is no slackness in their bearing and no empty word in their mouths, and nothing in their business is done by trial. They answer the enemy keenly and they set out and move quickly.

So the general takes the people for his body, and the people take the general for their heart. When the heart is sincere, the limbs draw close to the blade; when the heart doubts, the limbs waver and turn back. If the heart is not wholly one, the body does not move at its joints; if the general does not make his heart sincere, the soldiers are not brave. So the soldiers of a good general are like the teeth of a tiger, the horn of a wild ox, the feathers of a bird, the feet of a millipede: they can go, they can lift, they can bite, they can butt. They are strong and do not defeat one another, they are many and do not harm one another, because he uses them with one mind. So if the people truly follow his orders, though they be few there is nothing to fear; if the people do not follow orders, though they be many they are as few. So if those below are not close to those above, their hearts are of no use; and if the soldiers do not fear their general, their ranks will not fight. That defending has its certain firmness and attacking its certain victory is because the frame of surviving and perishing has already taken form, without waiting for weapons to be crossed and blades to meet.

Arms have three forces and two weighings. There is the force of spirit, the force of ground, and the force of circumstance. When the general is full of courage and holds the enemy light, when the soldiers are bold and glad to fight, when the host of the three armies, an army of a million, whets its will against the blue clouds, its spirit like a whirlwind and its voice like thunder, and its sincerity is heaped up and overflows so that its awe is laid upon the enemy: this is called the force of spirit. Narrow roads and fords and barrier gates, great mountains and famous strongholds, where dragon and snake lie coiled, where the ground sits like a bamboo hat drawn back, a road like a sheep's gut, an opening like the mouth of a fish trap, where one man guards the narrows and a thousand men dare not pass: this is called the force of ground. To follow their toil and weariness, their sloth and disorder, their hunger and thirst, their freezing and their sunstroke, to push what is already shaking and shove what is already held up high: this is called the force of circumstance. To use spies well, to look closely to where plans and forethought are laid, to set out screens and lay ambushes, to hide one's own form and come out where it is not looked for, so that the enemy's army has nothing it can fittingly make ready for: this is called knowing the weighing. To have the array and the soldiers upright and the front rank picked, advance and withdrawal made together, the tens and the fives holding to one another, front and rear not tangled together and left and right not crossing each other, so that few take the blade and many wound the enemy: this is called the weighing of business.

When weighing and force have surely taken form, when officers and soldiers are wholly choice, when the good are picked and talent is used, when each office has gained its man, when the reckoning is fixed and the plan decided, when men are clear about death and life, and there is nothing in taking up or laying aside, in gain or loss, that does not rouse and startle them, then the walled town is taken without waiting for ram or cloud ladder, and the enemy is broken without coming to crossed weapons and meeting blades, because he is clear about the attack that must win. So if arms will not surely win, he does not carelessly meet blades; if an attack will not surely take, he does not carelessly set out. So he fights after victory is fixed and moves after he has weighed it in the balance. So the host gathers and is not scattered in vain, and the army goes out and does not come home for nothing. Only let him not move at all; but once he moves, he rides over heaven and shakes the earth. He lifts Mount Tai and stirs the four seas, the ghosts and spirits move away and the birds and beasts are startled. When it is like this, there is no army in the field to face him and no walled town in the state to hold out. To meet haste with stillness, to wait on disorder with order, to master what has form with what has no form, to answer change with doing nothing: though this may not yet gain a victory over the enemy, it is the way by which the enemy cannot gain a victory. If the enemy moves first, that is his showing his form; if he is hasty and one's own side is still, that is the wearing out of his strength. When his form is seen, victory can be mastered; when his strength is worn out, awe can be set up. Watch what he does and change along with it; look at what is crooked and what is upright in him and master his life by it. Bait him with what he wants and wear out his feet. If there is a gap in him, fill that gap at once; run his changes to the end and bind him, spend his joints to the last and lay him down. If the enemy turns still instead, set out something unlooked for against him; and if he does not answer, play out one's own measure alone. If he moves and answers and shows something of what he does, then he is holding to a later measure, and one shifts along with him. Where he has heaped something up, there must be somewhere he falls short. If his picked men turn to the left, break down his right slope. When the enemy collapses and runs, one can surely shift to his rear. When the enemy is pressed and does not move, he is said to be covered and slow: strike him like thunder, cut him down like grass and trees, flash upon him like fire and lightning, be quick and be swift, so that a man has no time to move his foot and a chariot no time to turn its hub, so that the weapons stand like planted trees and the crossbows are like a ram's horn, and though his men be many, no force of theirs dares meet it.

Everything that has an image can be overcome; everything that has form can be answered. For this reason the sage hides his form in nothing and lets his mind wander in the empty. Wind and rain can be screened off, but cold and heat cannot be opened or shut, because they have no form. What can be slippery and fine and minute, pass through metal and stone, reach to the utmost distance, be set above the nine heavens and coil below the yellow springs, is only what has no form. One who uses arms well should strike where they are in disorder and not attack where they are in order. That is, he does not fall upon a bold and well set foe, and does not strike at even and steady flags. While their look cannot yet be seen he holds out against them by reckoning, and when they have a form that will die he takes it and masters them. If the enemy holds to reckoning and on moving goes to the shaded side, meeting the full with the empty, he will surely be taken. If the tiger and the leopard do not move, they do not fall into the pit; if the deer do not move, they do not come to the net; if flying birds do not move, they are not caught in the snare; if fish and turtles do not move, they are not pierced by the hook. There is no creature that is not mastered through moving. For this reason the sage prizes stillness: if he is still he can answer haste, if he is behind he can answer what is ahead, if he is close knit he can overcome what is loose, if he is broad he can take what is gapped. So a good general uses his soldiers by making their hearts the same and their strength one, so that the brave cannot go forward alone and the timid cannot fall back alone. Their halting is like a hill or a mountain and their setting out like wind and rain; what they ride down must be broken and there is nothing they do not crush and cut short; they move as one body and none can answer them or fend them off. For this reason many of them wound the enemy and few fight with their hands. Five fingers flicking one after another are not as good as one blow of the closed fist, and ten thousand men advancing one after another are not as good as a hundred men arriving together. Now the tiger and the leopard are quick and nimble and the bear has much strength, yet men eat their flesh and sit on their hides, because the beasts cannot join their knowing and make their strength one. The force of water overcomes fire; but when the Zhanghua terrace was burning, to pour water by the sheng and the ladle to save it, though the wells were dried up and the ponds drained, would come to nothing; whereas if men take up jars and casks, basins and tubs and pour them on, they may stand and wait for it to go out.

Now man against man has not the victory that water has over fire, and it is clear enough that one who wishes to match the many with the few cannot accomplish his work. Men of the schools of war sometimes say, "The few can match the many." This speaks of what is commanded, not of what does the fighting. One who commands many and uses few does so because their force is not even; one who commands few and uses many does so because the spending of strength is in accord. But that men should use their talents to the full and spend all their strength, and with the few overcome the many, has never been heard of from ancient times until now. In spirit nothing is nobler than heaven, in force nothing is handier than the ground, in movement nothing is more urgent than the season, in use nothing is of more profit than men. These four are the trunk of arms. Yet they must wait upon the Way before they go forward, and then they can be used as one. The advantage of the ground overcomes the season of heaven, a skillful move overcomes the advantage of the ground, and force overcomes men. So one who leaves it to heaven can be led astray, one who leaves it to the ground can be bound, one who leaves it to men can be pressed, one who leaves it to men can be confused. Benevolence and courage, good faith and honesty are the fine talents of a man; yet the brave can be lured, the benevolent can be robbed, the trusting are easy to deceive, the honest are easy to plot against. If one who commands a host shows even one of them, he will be taken by others. Seen in this way, it is clear enough of itself that arms master victory by the Way and its order, and not by the worth of a man's talent.

For this reason one who becomes a deer can be taken with the nets set for him, one who becomes a fish or a turtle can be taken with the net, one who becomes a wild goose or a swan can be reached with the tethered arrow; only to one who has no form can nothing be done. For this reason the sage hides in what has no source, and so his feeling cannot be seen; he moves in what has no form, and so his array cannot be passed through. Without rule and without bearing, he comes and makes himself fit to the case; without name and without shape, he changes and makes himself the image of it. Deep, how hidden it is! Far, how distant it is! Now winter and now summer, now spring and now autumn; above he reaches the tip of the highest and below he sounds the floor of the deepest, and in changing, in waning and waxing, there is nothing that clots and sticks in him. He sets his mind in the dark and hidden field and stores his will in the ninefold abyss, and though a man have clear eyes, who can peer into his feeling? What arms weigh in secret is the way of heaven; what they draw out is the form of the ground; what they speak of openly is the business of men; and what decides victory is the balance and the force. So when the highest general uses arms, above he gains the way of heaven, below he gains the advantage of the ground, in the middle he gains the hearts of men; then he acts by the trigger and sets out by the force, and so he has no army broken and no soldiers beaten. As for the middling general, above he does not know the way of heaven and below he does not know the advantage of the ground, and he uses men and force alone; and though he cannot be whole in every case, the balance of victory is surely much with him. When the lowest general uses arms, he hears widely and confuses himself, he knows much and doubts himself; sitting still he is afraid and setting out he hesitates, and so when he moves he is taken by others.

Now let two men meet blades, alike in skill and in clumsiness: why is it that the brave one must win? Because he acts with sincerity. When a great ax strikes paulownia firewood, it does not wait for a lucky hour and a good day to split it. But lay the great ax on the paulownia firewood with no man's strength upholding it, and though it follow Zhaoyao and carry punishment and virtue with it, it cannot split the wood, because it has no force. So water that is driven is fierce, and an arrow that is driven goes far. Take the nocks of Qiwei and Junlu bamboo and weight them with silver and tin: though there be only a curtain of thin silk or a tethered arrow of rotten lotus stem against them, still they cannot shoot of themselves. Lend them the strength of sinew and horn and the force of bow and crossbow, and they will pierce rhinoceros armor and go straight through a hide shield. The swiftness of the wind reaches to sending roofs flying and snapping trees; yet a thing lifted into the void comes down very slowly, and when it comes down from a high hill of itself, it is because men have given it a push. For this reason the force of one who uses arms well is like heaped water let go from a dyke a thousand fathoms high, like a round stone rolled down a valley ten thousand fathoms deep. When all under heaven sees that my arms will surely be used, who will dare to fight with me? So a hundred men who will surely die are worth more than ten thousand men who will surely turn back. How much more the host of three armies going into water and fire and never turning on their heels! Though one should stir up all under heaven to meet blades, who would dare stand above them?

What is called the numbers of heaven is this: the blue dragon on the left, the white tiger on the right, the vermilion bird in front, the dark warrior behind. What is called the advantage of the ground is this: life behind and death in front, the male on the left and the female on the right. What is called the business of men is this: that favors and rewards are trusted and punishments are certain, that movement and stillness keep the season and that taking up and laying aside are quick. These the world hands down and takes for its bearings and marks, and so they are; but they are not what victory is born from. Bearings and marks are things that change with the season. For this reason a man sits in the shade above the hall and knows the order of the sun and the moon; he sees the ice in a jar and knows the cold and heat of all under heaven. What makes things take form from one another is minute, and only the sage reaches the utmost of it. So the drum takes no part in the five notes, yet is the master of the five notes; water takes no part in the five tastes, yet blends the five tastes; the general takes no part in the business of the five offices, yet oversees the five offices. So one who can blend the five notes is one who takes no part in the five notes; one who can blend the five tastes is one who takes no part in the five tastes; and one who can order the business of the five offices is one who cannot be measured. For this reason the mind of a general flows on like spring, is wide like summer, is clear like autumn, is firm and frozen like winter; it changes along with the form before it and shifts along with the season. A shadow does not straighten itself for a crooked thing, and an echo does not muddy itself for a clear sound. He watches how the other comes and answers each with what overcomes it. For this reason he moves upholding right and acts pushing forward reason, he takes the joint and cuts through it with decision, he follows what is at hand and accomplishes his work. He lets the other know where he comes out but not where he goes in, know what he takes up but not where he gathers. At the start he is like a fox or a wildcat, and so the other comes lightly; when he closes he is like a wild ox or a tiger, and so the enemy runs away. When a flying bird strikes, it lowers its head; when a fierce beast seizes, it hides its claws; the tiger and the leopard do not put their claws outside, and they bite without showing their teeth. So the way of using arms is to show softness and meet him with hardness, to show weakness and ride him down with strength, to act by drawing in and answer by stretching out, to show the east when the aim is west, to cross him first and join with him after, to be dark before and bright after. It is like a ghost that leaves no track, like water that takes no wound. So where he faces is not where he is going, and what is seen is not what he is planning. His taking up and laying aside, his moving and resting, none can know. Like the striking of thunder, it cannot be made ready for. What he uses he does not use again, and so his victory can be whole a hundred times over. He passes through to the dark brightness, and none knows his gate. This is called the utmost spirit.

What makes an army strong is the people; what makes the people ready to die is right; what makes right able to be carried out is awe. For this reason, to join them with civil rule and make them even with force is called taking for certain, and when awe and dignity go forward together, this is called the utmost strength. What men enjoy is life, and what they hate is death. Yet at high walls and deep moats, with arrows and stones falling like rain, and on level plains and broad marshes where white blades cross, the soldiers vie to be the first to close. It is not that they hold death light and are glad to be wounded; it is that rewards are trusted and punishments are clear. For this reason, if those above look on those below as their sons, then those below look on those above as their fathers; if those above look on those below as younger brothers, then those below look on those above as elder brothers. If those above look on those below as sons, they will surely be kings over the four seas; if those below look on those above as fathers, they will surely set all under heaven straight. If those above hold those below close as younger brothers, the men will not count it hard to die for them; if those below look on those above as elder brothers, they will not count it hard to be lost for them. For this reason no one can fight against a foe who are as fathers and sons, as elder and younger brothers, because kindness was heaped up and bestowed beforehand. So if the four horses are not in accord, Zaofu cannot bring them far; if bow and arrow are not in accord, Yi cannot be sure of hitting; if ruler and minister ride upon each other's hearts, even Sunzi cannot answer the enemy. For this reason he cultivates his government within and heaps up his virtue, blocks what is shameful without and makes his awe obeyed, and looks to their toil and their ease so as to know their fullness and their hunger. So the day of battle has its set time, and they look on death as on going home. So a general must share sweet and bitter with his soldiers and stand with them in hunger and cold, and then their deaths can be had to the full. So the good generals of old always went before them in their own person. In heat he did not spread the canopy and in cold he did not put on furs, and so he measured cold and heat with them. In narrow and steep places he did not ride, and going up a hill he always came down on foot, and so he made toil and ease even with them. Only after the army's food was cooked did he dare to eat, and only after the army's well was opened did he dare to drink, and so he shared their hunger and thirst. When battle was joined he always stood where the arrows reached, and so he shared their safety and their danger. So when a good general uses arms, he always strikes heaped grudge with heaped virtue and heaped hatred with heaped love. For what reason should he not win?

What the ruler seeks of the people is two things: he seeks that the people toil for him, and he wishes that the people die for him. What the people look for from the ruler is three things: that he can feed the hungry, that he can give rest to those who toil, and that he can count as merit the merit of those who have it. If the people repay those two heaped things and those above lose the three things looked for, then though the state be great and its men many, the army will still be weak. But if the man in hardship surely gets his joy, the man who toils surely gets his profit, the merit of taking heads is surely kept whole, and reward surely comes to those left behind by a man who died in service, and these four are trusted by the people, then though the ruler shoot birds in the clouds and angle for fish in the deep pool, play the zither and the lute, sound the bell and the pipes, sit at liubo and throw at the pitch pot, the army will still be strong and his orders will still be carried out. For this reason, when those above are worth looking up to, those below can be used; and when virtue is worth longing for, awe can be set up.

A general must have three ways through, four rights, five practices, and ten holdings. The three ways through are these: above, to know the way of heaven; below, to be practiced in the form of the ground; in the middle, to look into the feelings of men. The four rights are these: to make the state easy and not turn his back on the army; to act for his ruler and not look to himself; to see danger and not fear death; to decide what is doubtful and not shirk the blame. The five practices are these: to be soft and yet not able to be rolled up; to be hard and yet not able to be broken; to be benevolent and yet not able to be trespassed on; to be trusty and yet not able to be deceived; to be brave and yet not able to be ridden down. The ten holdings are these: that his spirit is clear and cannot be muddied; that his plans reach far and cannot be longed after; that his grip is firm and cannot be shifted; that his knowing is bright and cannot be screened; that he is not greedy for goods; that he does not run to excess over things; that he is not greedy for debate; that he is not pushed to one side; that he cannot be made glad; that he cannot be made angry. This is called reaching the utmost: hidden and hidden, dark and dark. Who can know his feeling? When he sets out, he always hits the balance; when he speaks, he always accords with the numbers; when he moves, he always follows the season; when he loosens his hold, he always meets the joining. He passes through to the trigger of movement and stillness and is clear about the joints of opening and blocking, and he looks into the gain and harm of taking up and laying aside as though matching the two halves of a tally. He is quick as a drawn crossbow and his force is like the loosing of an arrow. Now a dragon and now a snake, in his movement he has no constant body; none sees where he strikes and none knows where he will come to an end. When he attacks, they cannot defend; when he defends, they cannot attack.

It is said that one who uses arms well must first cultivate it in himself and afterward seek it in others, and must first make himself one who cannot be beaten and afterward seek victory; he cultivates himself against others and seeks victory over the enemy. To attack the disorder of others when one cannot yet order oneself is like saving fire with fire and answering water with water. What could be mastered by that? Now if the potter turned into clay, he could not make basins and tubs; if the weaving woman turned into thread, she could not weave figured brocade. What is the same is not enough to order the same, and so difference makes the odd. When two sparrows fight together, neither of them dies; but when the falcon and the hawk come, they break apart, because these are of a different kind. So stillness is the odd against haste, order is the odd against disorder, fullness is the odd against hunger, ease is the odd against toil. The odd and the straight answering one another is like water and fire, metal and wood taking turns as female and male. One who uses arms well holds the five killings and answers with them, and so he can keep his victory whole; the clumsy man sits among the five deaths and is greedy, and so when he moves he is taken by others. In arms it is prized that the plan cannot be measured and the form is hidden away. Come out where you are not looked for, and no defense can be set. When the plan is seen, it is at an end; when the form is seen, it is mastered.

So one who uses arms well hides above in heaven, below in the ground, and in the middle among men. One who hides in heaven has nothing he cannot master. What is meant by hiding in heaven? Great cold and heavy heat, quick wind and violent rain, thick fog and darkness: he follows these and makes his changes by them. What is meant by hiding in the ground? Mountains and hills and mounds, woods and thickets and steep places: in them one can lie hidden and show no form. What is meant by hiding among men? To screen in front and watch from behind, to bring out the odd from within the ranks, to set out like thunder and be swift as wind and rain, to pull up the great flags and stop the sounding drums, and yet to go out and come in without form, so that none knows the first thread of it. So to have front and rear straight and even, the four quarters like a marked line, loosing and joining as they go out and come in without crossing or riding over one another, the wings light and the edges sharp, now in front and now behind, parting and joining, scattering and gathering, and never losing rank or file: this is being well practiced in the marching of the array. To be clear about having both the odd and the straight, and about yin and yang, punishment and virtue, the five phases, the watching of vapors, the observing of the stars, the tortoise shell and the yarrow stalks and the signs of fortune: this is doing well by the way of heaven. To lay out plans and forethought, to set screens and ambushes, to make a show of using water and fire, to bring out rare and strange things, to drum and raise a clamor in the army: this is for beguiling their ears. To drag branches and trail brushwood, to send dust flying and raise clouds of earth: this is for beguiling their eyes, and this is doing well by deceit and feint. To have gong and battle-ax firm and heavy, to stand fast so as to be hard to frighten, not to be lured by advantage of position or by profit, not to be moved by death and ruin: this is doing well as the filling and the trunk. To be nimble and quick, light and fierce, bold and holding the enemy light, swift as a thing vanishing away: this is doing well at using light troops to bring out the odd. To look at the form of the ground and settle where to halt, to order walls and ramparts, to watch smoke and scouts, to hold the high hills and to choose where to go out and where to stay: this is doing well by the form of the ground. To follow their hunger and thirst, their freezing and their sunstroke, their toil and sloth and disorder, their fear and their cramped footing, to ride them down with picked soldiers and strike them by night: this is doing well at following the season and answering change. On level ground to use chariots, on broken ground to use horsemen, at river crossings to use many bows, in narrows to use crossbows, by day to use many flags, by night to use many fires, in the dark to use many drums: this is doing well at setting things out. Not one of these eight can be lacking; yet they are not what is prized in arms.

A general must see alone and know alone. To see alone is to see what others do not see; to know alone is to know what others do not know. To see what others do not see is called brightness; to know what others do not know is called spirit. One who is spirit and brightness wins beforehand. Winning beforehand is this: when he defends he cannot be attacked, when he fights he cannot be beaten, when he attacks the other cannot defend. Emptiness and fullness are what this is. When there are gaps between above and below, when general and officers do not get on with one another, when what they hold to is not straight, when unwillingness to obey has heaped up in the soldiers' hearts: this is what is called emptiness. When the ruler is bright and the general good, when above and below are of one mind, when spirit and will rise together: this is what is called fullness. It is like throwing water on fire: what stands against it caves in and what draws near it is shifted. That the firm and the soft do not pass into each other, and yet each is odd against the other for victory, is what emptiness and fullness mean. So one who fights well is not a matter of being few, and one who defends well is not a matter of being small; victory lies in gaining awe and defeat in losing spirit. When men are full they fight, when they are empty they run; when they are flourishing they are strong, when they are failing they turn back. King Fuchai of Wu had land two thousand li square and seven hundred thousand men in armor. In the south he fought Yue and penned them on Kuaiji; in the north he fought Qi and broke them at Ailing; in the west he met the duke of Jin and took him at Huangchi. This was using the fullness of the people's spirit. Afterward he grew proud and overflowing and let his desires loose, turned away remonstrance and delighted in flattery, was fierce and carried his faults through so that he could not be set straight and taught. His great ministers bore him a grudge and the hundred families did not cleave to him, and the king of Yue picked three thousand soldiers and took him at Gansui. This was mastering him by following his emptiness. That spirit has its emptiness and fullness is like brightness that must come to darkness. So a winning army is not always full and a beaten army is not always empty. One who is good at this can fill the spirit of his people and wait for the emptiness of others; one who is not good at it empties the spirit of his people and waits for the fullness of others. So the spirit of emptiness and fullness is what is prized in arms.

Whenever there is trouble in the state, the ruler himself summons the general from the palace and charges him, saying, "The life of the altars of soil and grain is in the general's hands. Now there is trouble in the state, and I ask that you take command and answer it." When the general has received the charge, the invocator, the recorder and the grand diviner are ordered to fast and lodge apart for three days and to go to the great ancestral temple, bore the sacred tortoise and divine a lucky day, on which he is to receive the drums and the flags. The ruler enters the gate of the temple and stands facing west; the general enters the gate of the temple, hastens to the foot of the hall and stands facing north. The ruler himself takes up the battle-ax, holds it by the head and gives the general its handle, saying, "From here upward to heaven, let the general master it." He takes up the ax again, holds it by the head and gives the general its handle, saying, "From here downward to the deep, let the general master it." The general, having received the axes, answers, "A state cannot be governed from outside, and an army cannot be driven from within. A man cannot serve his ruler with two hearts, and he cannot answer the enemy with a doubting will. Your servant has already received his charge before you, and of the awe of the drums and flags and axes your servant asks nothing back. I beg that my lord too let one word of command come down to your servant. If my lord does not grant it, your servant dares not take command. If my lord grants it, your servant takes his leave and goes." Then he cuts his nails and sets out the garment of death, breaks open the gate of ill omen and goes out. He mounts the general's chariot, and the flags and the axes are loaded on it, heaped as though he could not bear their weight. When he faces the enemy and decides the battle, he does not look back at certain death and he has no second heart. For this reason there is no heaven above him and no earth below him, no enemy before him and no ruler behind him; he goes forward without seeking a name and withdraws without avoiding blame. He keeps only the people safe, and his profit accords with his ruler's. He is the treasure of the state, and this is the way of the highest general. When it is like this, the wise plan for him and the brave fight for him, their spirit whets itself against the blue clouds and they are swift as galloping horses. For this reason the enemy is afraid before weapons have crossed and met. If the battle is won and the enemy flees, all receive their merit and their reward: officers are moved up in office and have their rank and stipend increased, land is cut off and apportioned, and this is decided outside the borders, while the soldiers are judged and settled within the army. When he turns back and comes home to the state, he lays down the flags and brings in the axes, and when his report to the ruler is finished he says, "There is nothing left in the army to be dealt with." Then in white mourning cloth he keeps away from his house and asks the ruler for punishment. The ruler says, "He is pardoned." He withdraws, fasts and puts on his robes. After a great victory he returns to his house in three years, after a middling victory in two years, after a lesser victory in one year. Where arms are laid on, it is always a state without the Way; and so he can fight and win and have no revenge taken, take land and not give it back. The people are not stricken with plague, the general does not die young, the five grains are rich and abundant, and wind and rain keep their season. Victory is won abroad and good fortune is born at home, and for this reason his name is surely accomplished and afterward there is no harm left over.