Skilled warriors of old were subtle,
Mysteriously powerful,
So deep they were unknowable.
Be extremely subtle
Even to the point of formlessness
Be extremely mysterious
Even to the point of soundlessness
Thereby you can be the director
Of an opponent’s fate
Change and movement have their times; safety and danger are in oneself. Calamity and fortune, gain and loss, all start from oneself. Therefore those who master change are those who address themselves to the time. For those who address themselves to the time, even danger is safe; for those who master change, even disturbance is orderly.
The study and practice of strategic living in the midst of all situations and events have been a central concern of practical philosophers of all the great cultures since ancient times. In China, one of the oldest living civilizations on earth, the classical philosophers concerned themselves with humanity’s struggle to survive and find security in the midst of endless change and movement. Many of the ancient teachers of wisdom were also artisans and scientists, seeking new strategies for living in their study of human nature and destiny; others were political and even military leaders, studying the most complex and difficult problems of society.
According to the philosophers of ancient China, when the pristine sociability of humanity had become distorted by personal ambitions, it fell into a state of perpetual inner war. This war manifested itself in social unrest, class conflict, and eventually armed aggression. From this time on the philosophers made it their particular concern to study mechanisms of human conflict and develop their understanding into practical sciences of crisis management.
For this reason, very early classical Chinese literature is already examining war deliberately, not only from the point of view of when and how to prosecute war, but also from the point of view of its impact on society and the resulting ethical implications. The Yin Convergence Classic, for example, is considered a most ancient Taoist text, believed to antedate even the Tao Te Ching (“The Way and Its Power”), having such consequent prestige that it is avidly studied by both social strategists and mystics: in a typically laconic manner this short work already summarizes the attitudes to war later adopted by various schools of thought, including the perennial Taoist and Confucian philosophies: “Cut off one wellspring, that of profiteering,” the classic says, “and that is ten times better than mobilizing the army.”
Later the Tao Te Ching, undoubtedly the most famous pure Taoist classic, elaborated on the theme of greed as the motive force underlying aggression:
When the world has the Way,
Running horses are retired to till the fields.
When the world lacks the Way,
War-horses are bred in the countryside.
No crime is greater than approving of greed,
No calamity is greater than discontent,
No fault is greater than possessiveness.
The same fundamental theme is carefully elaborated in the I Ching (“Book of Changes”), another early Chinese classic, one that is devoted, as the title suggests, to a science of mastering change, the basic fact of life. The same passage of the Yin Convergence Classic goes on to explain that cutting off the wellspring of greed begins at home: “Introspect three times day and night, and that is ten thousand times better than mobilizing the army.” This is also one meaning of the now proverbial line of the Tao Te Ching: “The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step,” which from the original may also be translated, “The journey of a thousand miles begins at your feet.”
Later classics also follow this theory that social reform must begin within the individual, and the implication that inward renewal of conscience is ultimately more effective than external imposition of law. For this reason Chinese philosophers concluded that education was of ever-increasing importance to society as a whole. They often had radically different ideas about the kind of education they considered necessary, but all of them agreed to include the study of conflict. And as it turned out, in spite of the variety of their ideas on other subjects, the ancient Chinese philosophers often came to the same conclusions on conflict. Thus the classics on strategy in conflict, such as the famous handbook known as The Art of War by Sun Tzu, generally contain an amalgam of the major philosophies of ancient China, particularly those derived from the I Ching.
The history of warfare in China reaches back into ancient myths representing great warriors as mystics and magicians whose legendary struggles came to typify the philosophers’ ideals of justice and social service in the early emergence of civilization. The realities of war in historical times were never quite as clear and simple as the paradigms of legend, but certain fundamental images and concepts were tenaciously held by politicians, philosophers, and warriors throughout the centuries in their thinking about contention and conflict.
China is a heterogeneous civilization with vast territories encompassing and bordering on an even greater variety of peoples. Its history is marked by centuries of warfare both civil and foreign. The persistence of certain causes and patterns of conflict over nearly three thousand years makes the study of warfare and the philosophy of the warriors potentially instructive and even enlightening, bringing out the essence of conflict.
Reduced to simple formulae, the power struggles that underlie three thousand years of warfare in China represent elaborations of a few basic antagonisms. The early warfare of Chinese folklore was tribal war among the peoples who lived or moved along the Yellow River. Certain tribes came to dominate others, until relatively large and quite powerful confederations developed along the Yellow River during the third and second millennia B.C.E. During the extended lives of these confederations, warfare broke out among regional interests in the control of the clans who organized and dominated them. This gradually intensified in frequency and violence, culminating in a prolonged period of virtually continuous warfare appropriately known as the era of the Warring States, which lasted from the fifth through the third centuries B.C.E.
A relentless campaign of the late third century finally ended these interstate wars and created a united China for the first time in history. This was followed by wars of expansion, which are analogous to the ancient tribal wars through which the proto-Chinese people originally established dominance over the Yellow River basin. Under the united Chinese regime, warfare between the ruled and the rulers became a typical pattern of conflict, in which regionalism continued to play a part.
Struggles between local interests and central control, and between overclasses and underclasses, played themselves out in various combinations and elaborations of these elements through countless civil and foreign intrigues and wars in the centuries to come. Added to this were clan and family rivalries, as well as political conflicts among the intelligentsia, palace eunuchs, and imperial in-laws. On greater and smaller scales, the race for power and possessions became a distinct facet of human events, to which practical philosophers responded with a science of security and strategic action.
Some of the most poignant statements on war and warriorhood originate in the classic Tao Te Ching, generally thought to have been compiled during the early to middle Warring States era. In the characteristic fashion of Taoism, this popular text seeks out the confluence of ethical and practical wisdom:
Weapons, being instruments of ill omen,
Are not the tools of the cultured,
Who use them only when unavoidable,
And consider it best to be aloof.
They win without beautifying it:
Those who beautify it
Enjoy killing people.
Those who enjoy killing people
Cannot get their will of the world.
When you are in ascendancy of power,
You handle it as you would a mourning:
When you have killed many people,
You weep for them in sorrow.
When you win a war,
You celebrate by mourning.
The same classic also describes the skilled warrior in similar terms, as the antithesis of bravado and violence:
Skilled warriors of old were subtle,
Mysteriously powerful,
So deep they were unknowable.
Just because they are unknowable,
I will try to describe them:
Their wariness was as that of one
Crossing a river in winter;
Their caution was as that of one
In fear of all around.
They were serious as guests,
Relaxed as ice at the melting point.
Simple as uncarved wood,
Open as the valleys,
They were inscrutable as murky water.
This Taoist stream of thought had a distinct influence on the strategic outlook of The Art of War, and elements of its penetrating criticism of tyranny in all forms also appear in the ideas of the later Warring States philosophers Mozi and Mencius. Both of these thinkers, especially Mozi, were activists, noted for their strong views on warfare.
Teaching that social well-being derives from universal love, Mozi described warfare as mass murder and ridiculed the states of his time for punishing individual thefts and murders while rewarding pillage and massacre. Mozi himself designed war machinery and organized a highly mobile brigade of ascetic religious warriors to go to the rescue of small states victimized by larger ones. After his passing, Mozi’s followers continued this tradition until about the end of the Warring States era.
Mencius, who lived somewhat after the time of Mozi, is famous for his elaboration of the teachings of the great educator Confucius. Whereas Mozi had focused his attention on interstate conflicts, Mencius was more concerned with class conflicts. His work strongly upholds the principle and practice of identity of interests as essential to social and political health. Accordingly, Mencius repudiated the last vestiges of ancient beliefs in the divine right of kings, and articulated the moral basis of rebellion by oppressed peoples.
Both Mozi and Mencius came to be regarded by Taoists as of their number in some sense, as were Confucius and other early philosophers who wrote the I Ching and The Art of War. In the second century B.C.E., all of these schools of thought were incorporated in some way into one book, the distinguished Taoist classic known as The Masters of Huainan. The subject matter of this extraordinary book covers a wide range of inquiry including politics, sociology, ecology, biology, and psychology, weaving them into a unified science of life. The Masters of Huainan combines the teachings of the I Ching, the Tao Te Ching, and the higher teachings of The Art of War, as typified in a story on a way to practice the dictum of the last-mentioned classic of strategy, that “to win without fighting is best.”
When the state of Jin marched on the state of Chu, the grandees of Chu asked the king to attack, but the king said, “Jin did not attack us during the reign of our former king; now that Jin is attacking us during my reign, it must be my fault. What can be done for this disgrace?”
The grandees said, “Jin did not attack us in the time of previous ministries; now that Jin is attacking us during our administration, it must be our fault.”
The king of Chu bowed his head and wept. Then he rose and bowed to his ministers.
When the people of Jin heard about this, they said, “The king of Chu and his ministers are competing to take the blame on themselves; and how easily the king humbles himself to his subordinates. They cannot be attacked.”
So that night the Jin army turned around to go home.
This is why the Tao Te Ching says, “Who can accept the disgrace of a nation is called ruler of the land.”
The Masters of Huainan relates another anecdote to illustrate a corollary principle of The Art of War, to the effect that when contention escalates to conflict there is already loss even in victory, and this can lead to even greater loss even after it has ended:
The Martial Lord of Wei asked one of his ministers what had caused the destruction of a certain nation-state. The minister said, “Repeated victories in repeated wars.”
The Martial Lord said, “A nation is fortunate to win repeated victories in repeated wars. Why would that cause its destruction?”
The minister said, “Where there are repeated wars, the people are weakened; when they score repeated victories, rulers become haughty. Let haughty rulers command weakened people, and rare is the nation that will not perish as a result.”
Eventually the whole range of Chinese thought on the practicalities of life was inherited by the Chan Buddhists, who subjected the understanding of every school of ideas to the most rigorous examination in order to cull the essence and sense of each one. Thus one of the most excellent presentations of the hierarchy of Chinese philosophies of war can be found in the writings of the illustrious eleventh-century Buddhist Mingjiao, who was a scholar and historian as well as a master of Chan Buddhist mysticism:
The use of arms is for dealing with criminal acts; it comes from humanitarianism and is based on justice. It comes from humanitarianism in the sense of sympathy for those whose lives are being disrupted, and is based on justice in the sense of stopping violence.
When violence is stopped justly, there is mutual realignment, not mutual disturbance. When those whose lives are disrupted are pitied for humanitarian reasons, plans are made to foster life, not to kill.
Therefore the armed actions of the idealized leaders of ancient times are called corrective punishments and campaigns for justice.
When social cohesion waned and the Warring States era set in, the course of military science changed: humanitarianism and justice faded out; instead military affairs came from violence and went to treachery. Strong states became unrestrained through militarism, large states grew arrogant because of their armies, angry states used their weapons to incite disturbance, and greedy states used their armed forces to invade others.
“Military action is a perverse affair, used by the civilized only when unavoidable.” Therefore sages value moral power, not military power. This is why those who understand military science should not run the world alone.
“Putting on armor is not the way to promote a country’s welfare; it is for eliminating violence.”
“A lost country wars with weapons; a dictatorship wars with cunning; a kingdom wars with humanitarian justice; an empire wars with virtue; a utopia wars with nondoing.”
A later Chan Buddhist, also an enlightened scholar and poet, added other points of view to his predecessor’s account of the classical philosophies of war. He recorded his observations in hauntingly beautiful poetry while hiding in the mountains after falling victim to an intrigue. A strong Taoist element, part of the ancient heritage of Chan Buddhism, is evident in the poet’s incisive vision of history and impartial understanding of the beauty and tragedy of contending interests in the course of human life.
IMPRESSIONS ON READING HISTORY
The enlightened and the good get things done only from time to time
While petty bureaucrats always support one another.
Once slanderers and flatterers get their wishes
Sages and philosophers are deterred.
The Great Process makes myriad beings
Of countless different types.
Fragrant and foul are not put together
The humane and the violent apply different norms.
If you put them together
How can they get along?
LAMENT OF A SOLDIER’S WIFE
You’re better off grass by the roadside
Than wife to a soldier at war.
The wedding bed not even warm
Her man’s now on the northern front.
She remembers the day they parted
How the snow flew o’er the landscape
Bow and arrows heavy at his side
Ice splitting his horse’s hooves
He is so far from home
How can they hope to meet?
It saddens her even to see sun and moon
That shine on both her and her man
Pining and pining she longs
When will it ever end?
Every night in labored dreams
Her spirit crosses the northern front so far.
But there is a rule in the army
To be careful all of the time
They cannot think of home and family
But work mindlessly for defense
Since ancient times men loyal to duty
All have learned to die.
The Art of War and the I Ching: Strategy and Change
The Art of War and the I Ching are two perennial Chinese classics, ancient books that have been studied by civil and military strategists throughout the ages in China and neighboring Asian countries. The Art of War includes the cultural within the martial; the I Ching includes the martial within the cultural. In classical Chinese political ideology, military strategy was a subordinate branch of social strategy. Accordingly, the first line of national defense against disruption of order by external or internal forces was believed to lie in the moral strength of a united people. It was further maintained that people could be united by policies that fostered the general welfare. Since unity was distinguished from uniformity in the I Ching, purist ideology maintained that these policies had to be adapted to the time, place, and people they were supposed to serve.
The following studies of The Art of War survey both ideas and events in the philosophy and application of conflict management according to this tradition. The connection between the philosophy and organizational science of The Art of War and the even more ancient I Ching is cited in the introduction to my translation of The Art of War. In order to put this classic of strategy in its philosophical perspective, it is logical to begin with the teachings on contention and military action outlined in the I Ching itself.
To many readers both East and West, the I Ching may be familiar as an ancient book of omens, used for millennia as a fortune-telling handbook. It is still undoubtedly used for prognostication, but this practice has not been endorsed by leading philosophers or political scientists. Divination has been explicitly prohibited by military scientists at least as far back in history as The Art of War itself.
For the social scientist, the I Ching is a book of strategic assessments, whose design is supposed to help the individual lead a more rational and effective life. Its structure is based on a quadrangle of four fundamental sets of ideas, on which revolves a cycle of three hundred and sixty states of opportunity. The number three hundred and sixty corresponds to the days of the lunar year, which in turn is emblematic of totality and completeness. These states are grouped into sixty major configurations, represented by symbolic signs, or hexagrams, consisting of six elements each.
Every hexagram is given a name and a theme, which stands for some aspect of life and development in the midst of change. This is accompanied by observations and images of possibility and change that can take place within human relationships under such conditions, when analogous opportunities develop in the course of events. The six elements within each hexagram are also accompanied by observations and images that further analyze the theme from different points of view, according to the various relative positions in which people may find themselves under given conditions.
The two themes in the I Ching that are most prominently relevant to a study of I Ching influence in The Art of War would be those of the sixth and seventh hexagrams, “Contention” and “The Army.” Considered in succession according to the traditional order of study used for temporal events, the observations of these two I Ching themes form an outline of classical thinking on the structure of conflict response.
The statement of the I Ching on the hexagram for “Contention” reads, “In contention there is sincerity.” Cheng Yi, one of the best I Ching readers in history, an idealist interpreter under the influence of Taoism and Chan Buddhism, explains this idea simply by saying that “Contention arises because of need.” With customary ambiguity, this remark applies to both predatory and defensive warfare.
In its overall symbolism, the hexagram for “Contention” shows internal desire and outward strength. This combination is taken to represent the greedy and aggressive possibilities in human psychology and behavior that lead to contention. Thus the “need” Cheng Yi calls the source from which contention arises may be understood to refer to the internal forces compelling an aggressor as well as the external forces necessitating defense against aggression.
In the code of ethics outlined in the I Ching, contention is considered justifiable when it is in resistance to oppression, or in opposition to suffering caused by greed and aggression. This principle is confirmed in all three of the major Ways of Chinese thought, in Confucianism and Taoism as well as in Buddhism. Therefore “contention that is just” also arises because of need. This is the “sincerity in contention” of which the I Ching speaks. Cheng Yi says, “Without sincerity and truthfulness, contention is merely intrigue and leads to misfortune.”
This code is also reflected in the practical teachings of The Art of War. In the chapter on “Maneuvering Armies,” Master Sun says, “To be violent at first and wind up fearing one’s people is the epitome of ineptitude.” In the chapter on “Fire Attack,” he says, “A government should not mobilize an army out of anger, leaders should not provoke war out of wrath. Act when it is beneficial, desist if it is not.”
The I Ching’s statement on “Contention” continues, “[When] obstructed, be careful to be balanced, for that will lead to good results. Finality leads to bad results.” Cheng Yi says:
People who contend match their reasoning with others in anticipation of a decision. Though they may be sincere and truthful, [if there is contention, that means] they are necessarily obstructed; something must be unresolved, for if that were not the case, the matter would already be clear and there would be no dispute.
Since the matter is not yet settled, one cannot necessarily say whether it will turn out well or badly. Therefore there is great concern that an auspicious balance be achieved and maintained. If you achieve balance, that bodes well. “Finality leads to bad results” means that if you conclude affairs with unmitigated finality, that bodes ill.
On the same principle, in the chapter on “Fire Attack” The Art of War says, “Anger can revert to joy, wrath can revert to delight, but a nation destroyed cannot be restored to existence, and the dead cannot be restored to life. Therefore an enlightened government is careful about this, a good military leadership is alert to this.”
In its technical sense in I Ching philosophy, a state of balance or centeredness means an attitude that is not affected by emotion. According to the traditional formula as cited in The Book of Balance and Harmony, a neo-Taoist classic based on the I Ching, “Before emotions arise is called balance; when emotions arise yet are moderate, this is called harmony.” Traditional Taoist teaching understands balance to mean being objective and impartial. In the classical formula of “balance and harmony,” this objective impartiality is always placed first, because it is held to be the practical means whereby harmony can subsequently be attained.
Because of the serious consequences of decisions made in contention, the I Ching adds to its statement, “It is beneficial to see a great person.” This is a stock phrase, traditionally understood to mean that real wisdom and knowledge are essential and cannot be replaced by emotional opinion. Cheng Yi describes great people, or people of wisdom, as those who “can settle disputes with firm understanding that is balanced and true.”
The Art of War also places great emphasis on the importance of mature guidance, which becomes increasingly critical in times of conflict and crisis: “Leadership is a matter of intelligence, trustworthiness, humaneness, courage, and sternness” (“Strategic Assessments”). According to classical philosophers, impartial wisdom is valuable to all parties in a dispute, insofar as loss already starts with contention and is maximized when contention becomes conflict. Furthermore, for those already involved in struggle, effective deployment of energies depends on guidance or leadership to concentrate them.
In both classical and modern terms, the I Ching’s statement that “it is beneficial to see great people” is also taken to refer to the importance of education, exposing the population to the thoughts of great minds; this too is a form of leadership, one which philosophers believed should also inform the exercise of personal leadership.
The final word of the I Ching’s observation on the general theme of “Contention” says, “It is not beneficial to cross great rivers.” According to Cheng Yi, this means that one should take safety precautions and not become reckless in contention. According to the tradition of strategists, knowledge of conditions is the basis of caution and preparedness: in its chapter on “Planning a Siege,” The Art of War says, “If you do not know others and do not know yourself, you will be imperiled in every single battle.” In actual conflict, this naturally extends to matters of logistics: in the chapter on “Doing Battle,” The Art of War also says, “When a country is impoverished by military operations, it is because of transporting supplies to a distant place. Transport supplies to a distant place, and the populace will be impoverished.”
The remark that “it is not beneficial to cross great rivers” in contention can also be read as a restatement of the basic principle of ethical contention that distinguishes it from invasive and aggressive action. In the chapter on “Terrain,” The Art of War says, “One advances without seeking glory, retreats without avoiding blame, only protecting people.” Similarly, the Taoist classic The Masters of Huainan says of adventurism, “Covetous people with many desires are lulled to sleep by power and profit, seduced into longing for fame and status. They wish to rise in the world through exceptional cunning, so their vitality and spirit are daily depleted and become further and further away.”
The theme of “Contention” is further analyzed in the I Ching’s statements on each individual element of the hexagram. The first element shows lowliness and weakness. The statement of the text says, “When you do not persist forever in an affair, there is a little criticism, but the end is auspicious.” Cheng Yi explains, “This is because contention in general is not something that should be prolonged; and weak people in low positions in particular hardly ever have any luck in contention.”
The Art of War also reflects this principle of minimalism in its strategy; in the chapter on “Doing Battle,” it says, “When you do battle, even if you are winning, if you continue for a long time it will dull your forces and blunt your edge; if you besiege a citadel, your strength will be exhausted. If you keep your armies out in the field for a long time, your supplies will be insufficient.”
Cheng Yi’s observation that powerless people in positions of weakness rarely have luck in contention also illustrates one reason why peasant uprisings throughout Chinese history have generally had among their leaders people from the intellectual, religious, military, or aristocratic classes. Cheng Yi says, “It is because there is corresponding assistance from a higher level that people in this position are able to refrain from persisting in an affair,” since collaboration reduces conflict.
According to interpretation based on ethical idealism, the second element of the hexagram represents ambitious strength contending against a just order. Because this is contention motivated by personal desire and not by moral necessity, it is countermanded in the I Ching’s statement: “Not pressing your contention, go back to escape in your home-town; then you will be free from fault.” Cheng Yi explains, “If you know that what is right and just is not to be opposed, and you go back home to live modestly, minding your own business, then you will be free from fault.”
The third element of the “Contention” hexagram represents people who are pliable and weak in positions of relative strength. In the construction of a hexagram, the third position is strong insofar as it represents the highest place among the lower echelons. This corresponds to positions of subordinate authority, on more local and diffuse dimensions than the authority and power represented by the upper strata of the hexagram, which represent the higher and more concentrated levels of influence and leadership.
In “Contention,” weakness at the top of the lower echelons is represented as characteristic of situations in which contention arises. The I Ching’s statement reads, “Living on past virtues, be steadfast.” What the text means by “past virtues” may be the labor of one, two, three, or more generations, generations of work forming the basis for the status of the present generation. From this point of view, to be steadfast (a stock I Ching term also meaning “chaste” and “true”) can mean being careful not to lose what progress has been made, even over generations. In the context of the theme of this sign, to be steadfast or chaste would imply that losing or despoiling “past virtues” by contending for what is as yet unearned is something to be positively avoided.
In his interpretation, the idealist Cheng Yi gives a very specific understanding of what this line means to him in the context of one generation: “Living on past virtues,” he says, “means living on what one has earned according to one’s means.” “Being steadfast,” he continues, “means being firmly in control of oneself.” Again, this line of the I Ching contains parallel social and strategic teachings. When The Art of War says, in its chapter on “Formation,” that “good warriors take their stand on ground where they cannot lose,” this also means that warriors are living on past accomplishments when they stand on secure ground in war.
Conversely, when The Art of War is reinterpreted sociologically, the meaning of this passage is identical to the understanding of the social idealist Cheng Yi—when warriors for good want to take their stand on ground where they cannot lose, they can do so only by living on what they have earned according to their means and by being in control of themselves.
This sort of parallelism of principle in different realms is characteristic of literature derived from or influenced by Taoist and Buddhist schools; and it is no doubt a factor in the perennial popularity of works such as the I Ching and The Art of War beyond their original contexts.
The I Ching’s reading for the third element of “Contention” also says, “Danger ends up all right.” Cheng Yi explains, “Though you be in danger, if you know how to be wary, you will have good luck in the end.” The word for danger, another standard I Ching term, also means “strict,” “intense,” and “diligent,” encompassing reference to both problem and solution in one symbol, in accord with the I Ching principle of “using unfortunate events for good purposes,” such as using stressful situations to arouse the willpower to overcome obstacles. The Art of War, in “Nine Grounds,” says, “If they are to die there, what can they not do? Warriors exert their full strength. When warriors are in great danger, then they have no fear.”
The final saying of the I Ching statement on the third element of “Contention” is, “If you work for the king, you will not accomplish anything.” Cheng Yi interprets this to mean that people like those represented by this component should not arrogate to themselves the accomplishments that take place through participation in an existing system or a public forum. In this sense they need to recognize that they are “living on the past virtues” of many other people, and therefore not contend for special prominence or distinction simply on account of having done their work.
Echoing this principle of unobtrusive action and unassuming service, in the chapter on “Formation” The Art of War says, “In ancient times those known as good warriors prevailed when it was easy to prevail. Therefore the victories of good warriors are not noted for cleverness or bravery.” This is also characteristic of Taoist philosophy; while undramatic, the indicated approach is held forth as a way to success: the Tao Te Ching says, “Plan for difficulty when it is still easy, do the great when it is still small.”
The Art of War continues its description of the unassuming warriors of old by saying, “Therefore their victories in battle are not flukes. Their victories are not flukes because they position themselves where they will surely win, prevailing over those who have already lost.” They take advantage of the structure and momentum in situations, so they do not seem to be doing anything themselves; this is one aspect of the Taoist “nondoing that does everything.”
The fourth element of the “Contention” hexagram represents people with personal power at the bottom of the upper echelons. These are people within the established power structure who are forceful and contentious, people whose strength is not in balance. The I Ching addresses such situations in these terms: “Not pressing your contention, you return to order and change. Remain steadfast for good fortune.” In a strategic reconstruction of this principle, the chapter on “Doing Battle” in The Art of War says, “It is never beneficial to a nation to have a military operation continue for a long time. Therefore those who are not thoroughly aware of the disadvantages in the use of arms cannot be thoroughly aware in the advantages in the use of arms.”
Again using an idealistic ethical framework of interpretation, Cheng Yi explains that the contentious person within a duly established power structure has no one to contend with justly, therefore not pressing contention is a social duty. Returning to order, according to Cheng, means overcoming the emotions that feed contentiousness, so as to change the mentality to an even-minded, objective view of true facts. When this more positive attitude is stabilized, there is normally better luck in social relations and consequent conflict resolution and avoidance.
Cheng Yi goes on to say, “Order means real truth; if you lose real truth, that is to go against order. So coming back to order is returning to truth. Ancient classics speak of the more obvious manifestations and consequences of going against order in terms of the brutalization and destruction of peoples.” The Art of War says, “A nation destroyed cannot be restored to existence, the dead cannot be restored to life,” merging utilitarian strategy and humanitarian ethics to conclude that in cases of contention “to win without fighting is best.”
Cheng Yi continues: “The point is that when strength is not balanced correctly it behaves impulsively; it does not stay peacefully in place. Because it is not balanced correctly it is not steady; and it is precisely this insecurity that makes it contentious. If you do not press any contention that you should not press, and go back to find out the real truth, you will change insecurity into security, which is fortunate.”
The fifth element of the “Contention” hexagram represents a strong and balanced leadership able to settle contention. The statement reads, “The contention is very auspicious.” Cheng Yi interprets thusly: “Settling contention in a way that is balanced accurately is the way to results that are very auspicious and completely good.” He also warns that the object of contention is not victory by any means, or at any cost: “Remember,” he writes, “that there are cases where people are very lucky but the results are not entirely good.”
Projecting the concept of “auspicious contention” into the domain of crisis management, in the chapter on “Planning a Siege” The Art of War says, “Those who win every battle are not really skillful—those who render others’ armies helpless without fighting are the best of all.” In terms that can be seen as ethical, yet even when purely utilitarian still translate into humanitarian practicalities on the battlefield, The Art of War also says, “Act when it is beneficial, desist if it is not,” and “do not fight when there is no danger” (“Fire Attack”).
The sixth and topmost element of the “Contention” hexagram represents aggressive people in high positions, “at the peak of power and also at the end of contention,” Cheng Yi says, “characteristic of those who bring contention to its ultimate conclusion.” Here this means people who adamantly pursue contention to its final limit; Cheng Yi says, “When they indulge in their strength, and when they get desperate, people resort to contention, thus causing themselves trouble and even destroying themselves, a logical conclusion.”
Liu Ji, the scholar-warrior whose recitals of history and military science are presented in Part Two of this book, applies this principle to the monumental Sui dynasty. The Sui dynasty briefly united China in the late sixth century, after hundreds of years of civil and colonial warfare. Speaking of the second emperor, who inherited the empire his father had labored to consolidate, Liu Ji said, “It is not that his country was not large, nor that his people were not many. But he made a hobby of martial arts, and he liked to fight; so he practiced with his weapons every day, and went on endless expeditions to attack neighboring peoples. Then things took a turn, and his army was beaten while his cabinet opposed him. Is he not ridiculous to people of later generations? Had human rulers not better be careful?”
Aggressive and contentious people in high positions, used to getting their way, do not suffer only when they happen to fail; even in success they are in danger, for this success itself becomes an object of contention that continues to animate the aggressive tendencies of all people on this level. The I Ching’s statement on this point says, “Honor given you will be taken away from you three times before the day is out.”
According to Cheng Yi, in a military, governmental, or other institutional context, “even if people contend successfully to the end, until they are rewarded for service to the regime, this reward is still an object of contention—how can it be kept secure?” Liu Ji gives an excellent version of the traditional formulation of the answer among the rules of war related in his history stories: “When you have won, be as if you had not.”
When contention is taken to its limit, it becomes conflict, and conflict taken to extremes leads to armament and war. Therefore the hexagram following “Contention” in the conventional order of the I Ching is the hexagram for “The Army.” The word used for this sign has a whole family of meanings, including “a military force,” “a military expedition,” and “a military leader.” From the last sense is derived another common usage of the same Chinese character, the meaning of “teacher, director, or master of an art or science.”
The idea of the teacher fits in with the needs of military command or general crisis management; and the image of war is also used in both Taoism and Buddhism as a general metaphor for contending with any sort of difficulty, hardship, or problem, whether or not it involves interpersonal conflict. This concept also passed into the vocabulary of folklore and proverb.
The statement on the hexagram of “The Army” says, “For the army to be right, mature people are good. Then there is no fault.” The implication is that there is a right way to use arms, and this leads back to the basic principle of ethical warfare according to the Taoist, Confucian, and Buddhist ways of thought: that war should be undertaken only as a last resort, and only in a just cause. This generally means defensive war, but it can also mean punitive war to stop the strong from bullying the weak. In either case, leadership has both a moral and a technical basis. The essays of Zhuge Liang translated in Part One of this book are particularly concerned with the characteristics and capacities of “mature people” capable of maintaining justice and order in military matters.
According to the classical traditions of China, war should be minimized even when it is justified. In ethical terms, this principle could be extended to mean war that is not minimized is for that very reason not just; in the strategic science of The Art of War, prolonging or expanding hostilities unnecessarily is regarded as one of the major causes of self-destruction, which is considered neither ethical nor practical. This means in principle that the right way to carry out war, in the event of its necessity, is normally the right way from both humanitarian and utilitarian points of view.
History demonstrates clearly enough that in the absence of education from model moral leadership, war can easily turn into rapine and bloodlust, an outlet of frustration and oppression. On the other hand, without education from model technical leadership, armed forces can become clumsy and ineffective even if they are large in numbers. Therefore the I Ching says, “mature people are good,” and adds, “then there is no fault.” This parallel moral and technical leadership is constantly emphasized by Zhuge Liang and other noted strategists.
Cheng Yi explains this statement on “The Army” in these terms: “The course pursued by the army should be correct: if you raise an army and mobilize troops in a cause that is not right and only creates trouble, the people do not really obey, they are merely coerced. Therefore the guiding principle of the army should be uprightness.”
Furthermore, not only does solidarity require that the cause be just in the eyes of those expected to fight for it, but competent leadership is also essential to direct and focus the process of struggle. Cheng Yi says, “Even if the army acts in the right way, the leaders must be mature to obtain good results. After all, there are those who are lucky but also faulty, and there are those who are faultless but still not lucky. To be lucky and also faultless is as mature as people can get. Mature people are stern and worthy of respect. If those who are to lead a group are not respected, trusted, and obeyed by the group, how can they get the people to follow willingly?”
Master Sun the Martialist makes the same point in the opening chapter of The Art of War: “The Way means inducing the people to have the same aim as the leadership, so that they will share death and share life, without fear of danger” (“Strategic Assessments”). Zhuge Liang’s essays on generalship in the present volume stress the theme of harmonization among the different echelons of an organization as well as society in general. Liu Ji’s war stories, in turn, include several cases of deliberate use of sternness and kindness in specific proportion to unify the minds of a military force.
The first element of the hexagram for “The Army” represents the beginning of mobilization. The statement of the original text says, “The army is to go forth in an orderly manner. Otherwise, doing well turns out badly.” This theme of order permeates The Art of War, which views the functions and malfunctions of order from various angles. The great statesman and warrior Zhuge Liang is particularly famous for his insistence upon order in times of crisis. As a commander, he is said to have been strict yet impartial, with the result that his people regarded him with simultaneous awe and admiration, so that he was both honored and obeyed.
Two traditional Chinese concepts of the role or mode of human leadership in maintaining order were explained by a distinguished Chan Buddhist in these terms: “There are those who move people by enlightened virtue and those who make people obedient by the power of authority. It is like the phoenix in flight, which all the animals admire, or tigers and wolves stalking, which all the animals fear.” In the martial tradition, authority means not only rank, but also personal power, awesome, charismatic, or both. Classical Chinese thought refers to this as a combination of the cultural and the martial, and this is considered standard for civilization after the prehistoric fall of humanity from pristine simplicity.
Even in the pacifist schools of Buddhism and Taoism, the martial image is retained for various practices, including critical analysis, intuitive penetration, and psychological purification, as well as hygienic and therapeutic exercises. It is well known, furthermore, that certain exercise movements are also used to train strength for combat, and other movements can be speeded up to produce martial effects.
One famous example of this is that of the Shaolin Boxers, a school recognized by Taoists but associated by them with Chan Buddhism. The appearance of fighting monks in China was in the defense of the country against invaders; followers of offshoots of these practices also kept theories of classical chivalry in their own codes, thus scattering the original principles of the I Ching throughout Chinese chivalric lore in the middle ages.
Cheng Yi also takes a characteristically moral view of the I Ching’s statement, “The army is to go forth in an orderly manner; otherwise doing well turns out badly.” To the idealist Cheng, this reaffirms the importance of ethical human values in conflict. He says, “An ‘orderly manner’ means a combination of justice and reason. This means that the mission of the army is to stop disorder and get rid of violence. If the army acts unjustly, then even if it does well the affair turns out badly. In this sense, ‘doing well’ means winning victories; ‘turning out badly’ means killing people unjustly.”
The second element of “The Army” hexagram represents the military leadership. It is placed in a subordinate position with respect to the civil leadership, representing the principle that the military exists to serve the nation and people, not the other way around. Cheng Yi says, “That means the leader of the army should be the leader only in the army.” Zhuge Liang, who was both a civil and military director, also said, “Culture takes precedence over the martial.”
The I Ching’s statement on the second element reads, “In the army, balanced, one is fortunate and blameless,” meaning, “the leadership of a militia is lucky and blameless if it is balanced.” Cheng Yi says, “Those who assume sole charge (of a militia) yet who manage to steer a balanced middle course are fortunate because of this, and are blameless.”
In respect to the nature of military authority in the total context of society as symbolized by this hexagram, Cheng Yi defines one meaning of balance in these terms: “The point seems to be that if one presumes upon authority one strays from the right path of subordination; yet if one does not exercise authority there is no way to accomplish anything. Therefore it is best to find a balanced middle way.” In abstract terms, a general stands for someone who has been entrusted with the responsibility for a task and, while exercising leadership and organizational skills to carry it through, does so with the awareness that field command, while completely in the hands of the general, is based on delegated authority. Although the qualities of leadership are essential in the leader of a delegation, it is the purpose and not the person that is of paramount importance in the whole event.
The statement of the I Ching on this element also says, “The king thrice bestows a mandate.” This restates the constitutional imperative of I Ching culture, that the authorization for militia and military action comes from civil government. It is also taken to mean that if a militia or other special task force does its job well, then it is deemed trustworthy and therefore gives peace of mind to the populace. The practice of employing standing armies for public works projects originally grew out of this principle.
When this practice was employed in China, it brought armies closer to the general populace, often providing unique opportunities for contact between people from radically different areas of China, all the while giving the military—and by extension the government—a chance to establish public rapport by model behavior. Zhuge Liang was one of those known for his genius at winning popular support and was highly acclaimed as a civil administrator. His method of success seems to have been based to a large extent on his consistent practical application of Taoist and Confucian ethical principles.
This is something that distinguishes Zhuge Liang from many other intellectuals and administrators in Chinese history. Most such people did at least read or hear about these principles, but many used them only when it suited their immediate personal ambitions to do so. The epic Tales of the Three Kingdoms, a neoclassical historical novel strongly flavored with Taoist psychology, immortalizes the spiritual brilliance of Zhuge Liang as it satirizes and ridicules the warmongers who had a classical principle handy to rationalize every act of greed, treachery, and violence.
Cheng Yi explains the I Ching’s statement on bestowing mandates in these terms: “If it is employed in the best possible way, the army can accomplish works and make the world peaceful. It is for this reason that rulers entrust generals with important mandates time and again.” In The Art of War, Master Sun also says, “Thus one advances without seeking glory, retreats without avoiding blame, only protecting people, to the benefit of the government as well, thus rendering valuable service to the nation” (“Terrain”). Zhuge Liang says, “A good general does not rely or presume on strength or power. He is not pleased by favor and does not fear vilification. He does not crave whatever material goods he sees, and he does not rape whatever women he can. His only intention is to pursue the best interests of the country” (“Loyalty in Generals”).
In civilian terms, any delegated authority puts people in a similar position to that of the army in I Ching sociology; from the point of view of I Ching ethics, it is natural reason to carry out the duties of this delegated authority in an orderly and therefore efficient manner, without arrogating arbitrary authority to oneself. Cheng Yi says, “Even though it is in charge of itself, whatever the power of the army can bring about is all due to what is given to it by the leadership, and any accomplishment is all in the line of duty.” The I Ching and derivative works on planning all stress the danger of the military leaving its subservient position and usurping the position of the civil authority. Any specialization can threaten society in the same way when it becomes self-serving instead of subservient to the whole body of society.
The Biblical saying that “the sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath” is similar in this sense: reason says that institutions are created to provide service for humanity, not to advance the personal interests of those mandated to serve. In the same vein, Zhuge Liang writes, “When offices are chosen for persons, there is disorder; when persons are chosen for offices, there is order.”
The proliferation of titles, offices, and emoluments to satisfy members of powerful and wellconnected clans and interest groups was always one of the banes of Chinese government and religion, increasing the burdens on the taxpayers while hastening sclerosis in practical administration. Taoist philosophers said that this can happen in any domain of organized activity, of which national government is a highly visible and consequential example. Zhuge Liang emphatically stressed the idea that government should be streamlined, in accord with Taoist political theory, much of which is particularly designed for use in times of conflict and duress.
The third element of the hexagram for “The Army” symbolizes the secondary leaders within the army. The reading emphasizes the special importance of mutual understanding and order in the relationships on this level, as well as in relationships between this level of the chain of command and the central military leadership. This is also on the analogy of the subordination of the whole martial entity to the whole cultural entity.
The I Ching’s statement on the third element says, “It bodes ill for the army to have many bosses.” Discord and competition in the lower ranks of command naturally weaken the whole body, especially by damaging and distorting the connection between the leadership and the common soldiery. Cheng Yi interprets, “The responsibility for a military expedition should be unified; one in a position of authority should concentrate on this.” This also applies, like other I Ching metaphors, to other domains; in this case to the negative effects of extreme division and disunity on analogous levels of organization, from the organization of an individual life to the organization of a collective enterprise.
The Art of War also makes a point of the vulnerability inherent in disunity and directs its strategy at this weakness: in the chapter “Nine Grounds,” Master Sun the Martialist says, “Those who are called the good militarists of old could make opponents lose contact between front and back lines, lose reliability between large and small groups, lose mutual concern for the welfare of the different social classes among them, lose mutual accommodation between the rulers and the ruled, lose enlistments among the soldiers, lose coherence within the armies.” This is the familiar rule of “divide and conquer,” amplifying the I Ching rule and carrying it into each dimension of an organization.
The fourth element of the hexagram for “The Army” represents being in a weak position and at a disadvantage in times of conflict. The statement says, “The army camps; no blame,” meaning that it is normal to hold back or withdraw from an impossible position. Identical strategic principles are emphasized several times in The Art of War, as in the chapter on “Armed Struggle,” which says, “Avoiding confrontation with orderly ranks and not attacking great formations is mastering adaptation.” In the chapter on “Nine Grounds,” it also says that good militarists of yore “went into action when it was advantageous, stopped when it was not.”
The fifth element represents the civil leadership, whose authority is the source of the military’s mandate. Since this serves as a general representation of delegation of authority for special purposes, the civil leadership is behind the scenes in “The Army.” The I Ching’s statement, which simply summarizes the logic and ethic of warfare, begins, “When there are vermin in the fields, it is advantageous to denounce them; then there will be no fault.” Cheng Yi understands this to mean eradicating active menaces to society, distinguishing this from acts of tyrannical aggression and paranoia: “The army should be mustered only when aggressors are hurting the people. . . . If it is a case like when vermin get into the fields and damage the crops, and it is justly appropriate to hunt them down, then hunt them down; act in this way and there will be no fault. Act at whim, thus harming the world, and the fault is great indeed. To ‘denounce’ means to make clear what has been done wrong, in order to stop it. Some martial tyrants have scoured the very mountains and forests for those whom they considered ‘vermin,’ but it was not that there were vermin in their own fields.”
The I Ching’s statement concludes, “A mature person leads the army; there will be bad luck if there are many immature bosses, even if they are dedicated.” This is a recapitulation of the general doctrine of the I Ching on the importance of wisdom in leadership and unity in organization. Cheng Yi says, “The way to mandate a general to direct an army calls for having a mature person lead the force. . . . If a group of immature people boss the army, then even if what they do is right, it will turn out badly.”
The need for certain qualities in military leadership and unity in organization is among the first premises of The Art of War, and is a central theme of Zhuge Liang’s writings on generalship. In his essay “Capacities of Commanders,” Zhuge describes the greatest of military leaders in grandiose terms thoroughly consistent with I Ching idealism: “One whose humanitarian care extends to all under his command, whose trustworthiness and justice win the allegiance of neighboring nations, who understands the signs of the sky above, the patterns of the earth below, and the affairs of humanity in between, and who regards all people as his family, is a world-class leader, one who cannot be opposed.”
The sixth and final element of the hexagram for “The Army” represents the end of the mission of the armed forces and the reintegration of warriors into civilian society. This can stand symbolically for the absorption of the results of any specialization into the whole body of society. In the context of civil or international warfare, here the I Ching reaffirms both the parallel and the contrast between martial and civil matters, as defined throughout its treatment of this theme.
Here, at the end of “The Army,” the I Ching says, “The great leader has a command to start nations and receive social standing.” Originally cast in a feudal setting, this statement illustrates a principle more generally understood here and now in bureaucratic or corporate contexts, for bureaucracies and conglomerates are the heirs of feudalism, though they rendered and consumed their parents some time ago.
Because many of the qualities needed for crisis management were also qualities needed for ordinary management, and because a complete education in China was believed to encompass both cultural and martial arts, a person might be both a military and a civilian leader, simultaneously or at different times. Zhuge Liang and Liu Ji are outstanding examples of individuals who were called upon to fulfill both military and civilian duties.
The I Ching implies that warriors rejoin civilization when war is over, thus avoiding the pitfalls of a socially isolated warrior caste and also contributing the knowledge, character, and experience gained in war to the society for which the war was waged. According to the I Ching’s statement, the ideal government contributes to this reintegration by entitling warriors according to their achievements. Cheng Yi says, “The great leader rewards the successful with entitlement, making them overseers of groups, and gives them social distinction for their capability.” This is an example of the more general principle of meritocracy, a cornerstone of I Ching ideology written into the fundamentals of Confucian philosophy.
The underlying implication in the case of “The Army” and its end is the corollary doctrine, embraced by strategists like Zhuge Liang, that military personnel, and especially military leaders, should have a good general education as well as special technical and military training. In Chinese this is called the combination of wen and wu. Wen, or culture, deals with the cultivation of constructive social skills and values. Wu, or the martial, deals with both practical and theoretical sciences of crisis management. According to Chinese military science in the I Ching–Taoist tradition as represented by The Art of War and certain later adepts, balance in wen and wu is believed to be better for warriors even on campaigns and in combat, as well as when they are eventually reinstated into civilian society.
Therefore the I Ching’s statement concludes with the warning, “Petty people are not to be employed.” In this context, the statement means that when it comes to integrating warriors into society, achievement in war should not be viewed in isolation as the only criterion of advancement, in disregard of the moral integrity and total person of the individual concerned. Cheng Yi says, “As for petty people, even if they have achieved, they are not to be employed. There is more than one way to raise an army, go on an expedition, and achieve success; those who do so are not necessarily good people.”
Zhuge Liang is a model example of a leader in both realms, a beloved civil administrator as well as a distinguished strategist and general. His writings show a particularly deep savor of serious I Ching learning, combining Confucian and Taoist thought into an ethical yet pragmatic program for acute crisis management. Because of his fidelity to the classic traditions of humanitarian warrior-statesmen, the original roots and broad outlines of Zhuge Liang’s thought can be traced in the fecund abstractions of the I Ching itself. This is also true of the work of Liu Ji, who goes even further than Zhuge Liang into the derivative traditions, especially the practical strategy and warrior ethos of The Art of War.