《淮南鴻烈解》Vol. 23

The twenty-second volume of the Huainan Honglie Jie, titled "Binglüe Xun" (Treatise on Military Strategy), was compiled and recorded by Xu Shen, the Grand Commandant Libationer of the Han Dynasty. It primarily discusses the fundamental principles of military strategy.

In ancient times, those skilled in warfare did not seek territorial expansion or the plundering of gold and silver treasures. Instead, they aimed to rescue endangered states, preserve declining lineages, quell chaos in the world, and eliminate the suffering of the people. Among all living creatures between heaven and earth—whether they have fangs, horns, or claws—when content, they play together, but when angered, they harm one another. This is their innate nature. Humans require food and clothing to survive, yet material resources are never sufficient for all. When people live together in mixed communities, unequal distribution and unmet needs inevitably lead to conflict, where the strong oppress the weak and the brave bully the timid. Humans lack robust muscles, bones, or sharp claws and fangs, so they invented leather armor and metal weapons. Greedy and tyrannical individuals bring calamity to the world, leaving the people with no means to live. At such times, sages rise to punish the violent, pacify disorder, eliminate dangers, cleanse corruption, transform chaos into clarity, and turn peril into peace. Therefore, the Dao of military strategy must eradicate the root of evil (just as King Tang of Shang overthrew the Xia Dynasty).

The origins of war stretch far back in history: the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) waged a great battle against the Flame Emperor (the last leader of the Shennong clan) at Banquan; Zhuanxu fought against Gonggong (who, in his struggle for the throne, knocked down Mount Buzhou); the Yellow Emperor clashed with Chiyou in Zhuolu (in present-day Hebei); Emperor Yao suppressed a rebellion on the banks of the Dan River (in present-day Nanyang, Henan); Emperor Shun campaigned against the Sanmiao tribes; and Xia Qi attacked the Youhu clan at Gan (in present-day Shaanxi). Since the era of the Five Emperors, warfare has never ceased—how much more so in times of moral decay and societal decline? The fundamental purpose of military action should be to halt tyranny and suppress rebellion, just as the Yellow Emperor captured the Flame Emperor, who caused fires, and Zhuanxu executed Gonggong, who brought floods.

(Note: This passage illustrates through historical examples that war originates from competition for survival and resource distribution. However, the military actions of sages are meant to eliminate violence and bring peace, not to satisfy personal desires. The figures mentioned—such as the Yellow Emperor, the Flame Emperor, and Gonggong—are legendary characters from high antiquity, and their battles often carry mythological significance.)

Guide them by the Dao and transform them through De. If they still will not listen, then awe them with authority. If they still refuse, only then restrain them with arms. Thus, when the sage uses arms, it is like combing hair or clearing weeds: little is removed, and much is benefited. There is no greater calamity than killing innocent people to sustain an unjust ruler; no deeper disaster than exhausting the world’s wealth to satisfy one person’s desires.

If Xia Jie and Yin Zhou had caused only minor harm to the people, they might not have suffered the punishment of the heated bronze pillar. If Duke Li of Jin and Duke Kang of Song had committed only a single act of injustice, they might not have died and lost their states, which were seized by force. These four rulers all committed small offenses, but no one corrected them. They went on to throw the world into disorder and bring calamity upon the people, indulging one man’s wicked desires and multiplying disaster throughout the realm. This is what the “Great Discourse” rejects. A ruler is established to curb violence and end disorder. But now, by relying on the strength of the people to commit atrocities, he is like a tiger given wings. Why should he not be removed? Those who raise fish in ponds must drive away otters, which prey on fish; those who raise birds and beasts must drive away jackals and wolves. How much more so when governing a people? The armies of a hegemon king deliberate with strategy, plan with calculation, and act in support of what is right. They do not seek to destroy a state, but to preserve what is imperiled and bring peace to what is in turmoil.

When they hear that a ruler of a neighboring state is abusing his people, they raise an army and approach its borders, condemning his injustice and exposing his misdeeds. When the army reaches the outskirts, the commander orders: “Do not cut down trees, destroy graves, burn crops or stored provisions, capture or abduct the people, or seize livestock.” Then he proclaims: “If your ruler defies Heaven and insults the spirits, renders unjust judgments, and kills the innocent, then Heaven condemns him and the people resent him. Our army has come to abolish injustice and restore those who possess De. Whoever follows a path that defies Heaven and leads the people into banditry will be put to death, and his clan will be destroyed. If a household reports such a person, the reward will extend to the whole household; if a neighborhood reports one, the reward will extend to the whole neighborhood; if a township reports one, its people will be granted the township; if a county reports one, its people will be enfeoffed with the county.” When the state is conquered, its people are left untouched. Its ruler is deposed and its government reformed. Outstanding scholars are honored, the worthy and good are advanced, and care is given to orphans and widows and to those in hardship and poverty.

The poor are released from prison, those who have rendered service are rewarded, and the people open their doors to welcome the army. They wash rice and store grain, fearing that the righteous army may never come. This is how Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou established royal rule, and how Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin became overlords. When a ruler acts without the Dao, the people hope for a campaign as eagerly as they hope for rain in a drought or water when thirsty. Who would refuse to take up a weapon? Thus, wherever a righteous army arrives, the situation often comes to an end without a battle.

In later times, even when rulers acted without the Dao, they would dig moats and build walls to hold out to the death. The attacking side, meanwhile, sought not to suppress violence and remove harm, but to seize land and expand its territory. Corpses piled up, blood flowed, and the opposing sides remained locked in conflict for a long time. The achievements of kings and hegemons did not endure from one generation to the next because each side acted for its own ends. Those who fight for land cannot become kings; those who fight for their own person cannot establish lasting merit. When people act for others, everyone comes to their aid; when they act for themselves, everyone turns away. Those supported by the people, though weak, will become strong; those abandoned by the people, though powerful, will perish.

An army that loses the Dao grows weak; one that gains the Dao grows strong. A general who loses the Dao is inept; one who gains it is skillful. A state that gains the Dao survives; one that loses it perishes. The “Dao” is round in its substance and square in its methods; it turns its back on Yin and embraces Yang, places softness on the left and strength on the right, treads in darkness and wears brightness above. It changes without ceasing, draws on the source of unity to respond to what has no fixed direction: this is called divine illumination. The round is Heaven; the square is Earth. Heaven is round and has no end, so it cannot be surveyed in its entirety. Earth is square and has no boundary, so no one can find its gate. Heaven transforms and nurtures without taking visible form; Earth gives birth and brings things to growth beyond all measure. Deep and indistinct, who can know what they contain?

All things have signs by which they may be divined, but the Dao has no such signs. It has none because it has no fixed configuration. It turns without end, like the movements of the sun and moon; like spring and autumn succeeding one another, and day and night following the sun and moon, it ends and begins again, grows bright and then darkens. No one can grasp its pattern or rule. It takes form without having form, and so its work can be accomplished; it makes each thing what it is without itself becoming a thing, and so it prevails without being overcome. The ultimate in punishment and warfare is to reach a state beyond punishment and warfare; that is the utmost limit. Thus the greatest army leaves no wounds and meets no blade.

Those who attain the Dao can make ghosts and spirits, supernatural powers, and the five weapons harmless. No one under Heaven dares oppose them. War drums remain in storage, and all the feudal lords tremble with fear. Those who act in this way and win without using force become the Five Emperors; those who transform and nurture all things through their marvelous power become the Three Kings. What is called “planning war in the ancestral temple” means taking Heaven’s Dao as one’s model; “spiritual transformation” means following the changes of the four seasons. When governance and instruction are put in order within the state, people far away admire its De. Victory is secured before battle begins, and the feudal lords submit to its authority: this is clear domestic governance.

In ancient times, those who attained the Dao modeled their stillness on Heaven and Earth, and in movement followed the sun and moon. Their joy and anger accorded with the four seasons; their cries rang like thunder; their breathing did not go against the eight winds; their bending and extending did not depart from the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). From creatures with scales and shells below to those with fur and feathers above, all were permeated by the spirit of the Dao. From the roots to the tips, all things were in order. Thus, the Dao could enter what was minute without pressing close, and dwell in what was vast without overflowing. It seeped into metal and stone, nourished plants and trees, and reached throughout the cosmos and its six directions—Heaven, Earth, and the four quarters—so that even the finest hairs yielded to it. The Dao’s influence flowed everywhere like a torrential rain, reaching into every subtle place. That is how it could bear great authority and responsibility, and command the strength of the many.

If an archer’s stance is not correct, the arrow will miss the target’s center. If a fine steed has even one limb unused, it cannot travel a thousand miles. An army’s defeat does not begin on the day the drums sound; it grows from a failure to establish sound practices and from troubles accumulated over a long time. When an army led by one who has attained the Dao sets out, its chariots do not move, its cavalry do not saddle their horses, its war drums do not raise dust, and its banners are neither unfurled nor rolled up. Armor stays on, but blades draw no blood. The court does not change hands, merchants do not leave the marketplace, and farmers do not leave the fields. By inspiring people through benevolence and righteousness, great states come to pay court and small towns submit. Following the people’s will and drawing on their strength, one removes the cruel and puts down the violent. Those who share the same Dao will die for one another; those who share the same feelings will help one another succeed; those who share the same aims will support one another. When action follows the Dao, all under Heaven respond. When hunters pursue game, chariots and horses race and each person exerts their full strength. No threat of punishment is needed to make them chase and block one another; they are united by shared advantage. People working together in the same boat are likewise united by what benefits them.

Related passages from the Huainan Honglie Jie

When a boat crew encounters wind and waves, people of every kind quickly help one another and summon boats, rowing them to safety. If the left and right hands cannot work together, they face the same danger. Thus, when an enlightened ruler uses military force, it is to rid the world of harm and share its benefits with all the people. Military force serves the people as a son serves his father and a younger brother serves his elder brother. When its might is brought to bear, it is like a mountain collapsing or an embankment bursting: who among the enemy would dare resist? A skilled commander uses military force on behalf of the people of the world; an unskilled one uses it for himself. When force is used for the people of the world, everyone can be called upon to serve them. When it is used for oneself, those one can rally are few.

There are three essentials in the use of military force. The first is to govern the state and administer its territory, put benevolence and righteousness into practice, extend kindness, uphold proper laws, and block corrupt paths. In this way, ruler and ministers draw close and support one another, the people live in harmony, those above and below unite, and the ruler and his chief minister work together. The feudal lords are awed by the ruler’s authority, while people from every quarter are drawn to his De. By putting good government in order within the court, one can blunt the enemy’s weapons a thousand miles away; with a gesture of the hands, one can command the world to respond. This is the highest level of military action.

When the land is broad, the people numerous, the ruler wise, the generals loyal, the state prosperous, and the army strong; when discipline is trustworthy and commands are clear; and when two armies face each other, their gongs and drums within sight, the enemy flees before weapons even meet. This is the middle level of military action.

To know the advantages of the terrain and the benefits of its passes, understand the changes between unorthodox and orthodox tactics, and observe the formations and maneuvers; to roll up one’s sleeves and beat the drums, cross blades, and face volleys of arrows; to see blood and entrails, chariots crash together, the wounded carried away, blood flow for a thousand miles, and corpses cover the battlefield—only then determine who is victorious. This is the lowest level of military action.

Today, people everywhere know to put effort into managing details, yet do not know that they should cultivate the root. They abandon the roots and establish the branches. An army can help bring victory because it has many troops, but victory itself depends on a small number of elite forces. Strong armor, sharp weapons, sturdy chariots, fine horses, ample supplies, and a large body of soldiers are major resources for an army. Yet if an army still cannot win under such conditions, it is because its leaders do not understand the essential principles of the sun and moon’s courses and the hidden calculations of punishment and De, nor do they know the advantages of turning their backs to one direction and maneuvering to the left or right.

Note: This passage comes from related chapters of the Huainanzi, written by Liu An and others during the Han dynasty, including “Military Strategy.” It is also included in standard editions and collated texts, though chapter titles and wording may vary. The title Huainan Honglie Jie may be another name for the book or the title of a commentary edition.

A Colloquial Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

I. The Foundation of a General’s Certain Victory

Warfare requires various supporting measures, but relying on them alone can lead instead to the annihilation of the entire army. Famous generals win consistently because they possess wisdom beyond ordinary understanding and follow unconventional paths—approaches that are difficult for everyone to accept.

II. The Duties of Five Military Officers

“On appointing the worthy and keeping officials prudent”—selecting capable and worthy people and ensuring officials act with care are the foundations of military governance.

The army appoints five kinds of officers, each with a particular responsibility:

These five officers are as important to a commander as a person’s limbs and hands. They must be carefully selected and allowed to use their full abilities: each post should suit the person, and each person should be suited to the work. Inform them through administrative directives and reinforce those instructions with military orders, so that they can be used to the full, like tigers and leopards with claws and teeth, or birds with wings.

Yet all these are only instruments that help bring victory. They are not its essential foundation.

III. The Root of Victory and Defeat Lies in Governance

The root of military victory and defeat lies in governance.

• When governance prevails over the people, and those below support those above, the army is strong.
• When the people prevail over governance, and those below turn against those above, the army is weak.

Therefore, the foundations of certain victory are:

1. Virtue and righteousness sufficient to win the allegiance of the people throughout the realm

2. Accomplishments sufficient to meet the realm’s urgent needs

3. Appointments and selections sufficient to win the hearts of worthy people

4. Deliberation and planning sufficient to understand the balance of strength and weakness

IV. When Governance Falls, the Army Falls

• Vast territory and a large population are not enough to make a state strong.
• Strong armor and sharp weapons are not enough to win.
• High walls and deep moats are not enough to hold a defense.
• Strict commands and numerous punishments are not enough to establish authority.

A state that acts to preserve its governance will survive even if it is small; one that acts to destroy its governance will perish even if it is great.

V. Taking Chu as a Warning

In ancient times, the territory of Chu stretched southward, encompassing the lands of the Yuan and Xiang Rivers (two rivers), and northward around the Ying River…

(This passage uses the rise and fall of Chu to show that even a vast realm will perish if its governance fails, echoing the point above: “One that acts to destroy its governance will perish even if it is great.”)

Key point: The Huainanzi traces military victory and defeat back to politics. Virtue, worthy people, sound planning, and the people’s allegiance are the foundations of lasting victory. The five military offices and powerful weapons are all tools that support governance; they are not the foundation itself.

This passage recounts the historical lessons of state decline due to incompetent rulers during the Chu Kingdom and the Qin Dynasty's Second Emperor period.

Regarding Chu: The Chu Kingdom originally possessed superior geographical advantages, with Bashu lands to its west and the Tanhuai region to its east, using the Ying and Ru rivers as moats, and the Yangtze and Han rivers as natural barriers. The Denglin forests and Fangcheng mountain ranges formed formidable defenses, with peaks piercing the clouds and ravines of unfathomable depth. Chu's military was exceptionally equipped—soldiers wore rhinoceros-hide armor, wielded both long and short weapons, with spearmen in front and repeating crossbows deployed behind. Their chariot formations moved swift as arrows, their momentum thunderous. Yet despite such might, Chu suffered devastating defeats at Chui-sha and was routed at Boju. King Huai of Chu, intimidated by Lord Mengchang of Qi, abandoned his kingdom's defenses to seek refuge with powerful Qin, only to meet military defeat, territorial loss, and eventual death in Qin without returning home.

Concerning the Second Emperor of Qin: Though holding the exalted title of Son of Heaven and ruling vast territories with commanderies and counties established wherever land and water routes extended, Qin Ershi (Hu Hai) indulged in extravagance while ignoring his people's hunger and cold. He constructed massive chariot processions, built the Epang Palace, conscripted impoverished civilians for frontier garrisons, and imposed crushing taxes taking two-thirds of harvests. The people suffered under harsh punishments, with roads littered with those who collapsed hauling supplies—death tolls became uncountable. The populace burned as if scorched by fire, drowning in misery as official-civilian relations grew strained. Ultimately, this led to conscript Chen Sheng's uprising at Dazexiang, where he raised a bamboo pole banner against tyranny.

(Notes: "Denglin" refers to strategic terrain upstream of the Mian River; "Fangcheng" was Chu's northern fortress; "Chui-sha" and "Boju" are place names; "Lord Mengchang" was Qi aristocrat Tian Wen; "Epang" denotes the Epang Palace built by Qin Shihuang; "Chen Sheng" was peasant revolt leader Chen She)

This passage describes the uprising of Chen Sheng and Wu Guang. The two men were from Ruyin and launched their revolt at Daze Township in Pei County. To rally support, they bared their right arms and removed one sleeve. They raised the banner of “Great Chu,” and people across the realm joined them in response.

They had no sturdy armor, sharp weapons, powerful crossbows, or siege engines. They cut branches from sour jujube and thorn trees to make spear shafts—the term jin refers to a spear shaft—and ground the tips into points with awls and chisels. They sharpened sickles and hoes, then used these to face regular troops armed with halberds and strong crossbows. Yet whenever they attacked a city or seized territory, the defenders surrendered. The realm erupted in turmoil: like gruel boiling in a cauldron and ants scattering in alarm, the whole scene was transformed, and the uprising swept across thousands of miles. Their standing had been low and their equipment poor, yet one man’s call brought the whole realm into action. This was because resentment among the people had grown too deep.

When King Wu marched against King Zhou, he headed east, though that direction lay under the influence of the year star. At Si he encountered a flood; at Mount Gongtou, a landslide. A comet appeared as well, its tail pointing toward the Yin people, as though Heaven had handed them the “handle” of power. Yet in battle, strange signs filled the sky, like ten suns appearing at once, amid driving wind and rain. Still, there was no reward for charging at the front of King Wu’s army and no punishment for retreating at the rear. Before the swords had even been fully drawn, the realm was already won. Thus, those skilled at holding power need not meet others in direct confrontation, and those skilled in warfare need not fight to the death. The key is to understand when to restrain and when to release, when to block and when to open; by following the moment and drawing on the people’s desires, one can gain the realm.

Therefore, a good ruler must build up virtuous governance, while a skilled commander must cultivate the people’s anger—their righteous indignation toward the enemy. Once virtue has accumulated sufficiently, the people can be called upon; once anger has been fully aroused, authority can be established. When civil virtue is applied only lightly, the scope of possible victory is small; when virtuous governance is extended widely, the reach of one’s authority grows. The wider that reach, the stronger one’s side becomes and the weaker the enemy’s. A skilled commander therefore weakens the enemy before beginning the battle. In this way, less than half the resources are spent, while the results are doubled.

King Tang ruled a territory of only seventy li, yet became a king because he cultivated virtue. Zhi Bo possessed a thousand li of land, yet was destroyed because he pursued war without restraint. Thus it is said: a state with a thousand chariots can rule the realm through civil virtue, while a state with ten thousand chariots will perish if it relies on warfare alone.

Plain-language interpretation

Those who excel at warfare first establish that they can win, and only then go to battle. They win first through De (Virtue/Power) and strategic advantage, and act afterward; Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou did this. A defeated commander, by contrast, fights first and then hopes for a lucky victory.

When De and strategic advantage are equal, the larger force defeats the smaller. When strength is equal, the wise defeat the foolish. When the sides are evenly matched, those with plans and calculations can overcome those without them.

Whenever troops are deployed, the battle must first be fully assessed in the ancestral temple: Which ruler is more virtuous? Which generals are more capable? Whom do the people support? Which state is better governed? Which has greater reserves? Whose soldiers are more seasoned? Whose armor and weapons are sharper? Whose military supplies are more readily available? Only after strategy has been worked out in the ancestral temple can victory be decided a thousand miles away.

Whatever can be seen and traced, all under Heaven compete to imitate. Whatever is recorded in writings, people pass on and learn. These all rely on visible forms to overpower others. Those who excel at using forms do not cling to other people’s methods. What is precious is the Dao (the Way), precious because it is formless. What is formless cannot be forced or controlled, measured or gauged, outwitted through deception, or managed by ordinary plans.

To display one’s intelligence and forms openly, to make everything visible to the crowd and lay out one’s equipment in plain sight; to have others plan, labor, lie in wait, and stand guard on one’s behalf; to arrange every action with care, and use cunning in every advance, retreat, yielding, and extension—none of this is the highest way. The actions of those who reach the highest level are mysterious and unpredictable, like stars shifting in profound transformation. Their advances and retreats, their yielding and extension, leave no trace. They move like a luan bird lifting its wings, a qilin gathering its strength, a phoenix in flight, or a dragon rising. They set things in motion like the autumn wind and strike as swiftly as a startled fish leaping from the water.

One should use the living to strike the dead, the flourishing to strike the declining, the swift to overtake the slow, and the well-fed to overcome the hungry. It is like using water to extinguish fire or boiling water to melt snow: where could it fail? Where could it not be put to use?

“Free passage” is held within inner emptiness; “spirit” moves through the outer expanse. The mind’s intention operates without form and emerges unexpectedly. It goes with a light, drifting motion and comes suddenly; no one knows where it goes. It spreads out like branches and slips into gaps; no one knows where it gathers. It bursts forth like thunder, swift as wind and rain, as if rising from the earth or falling from the sky. It moves in and out alone, with no one able to stop it. It is swift as a flying arrow—who could match it? It alternates between darkness and light; who can grasp its workings? Before anyone sees it set in motion, the blow has already landed.

Therefore, those skilled in warfare seize the advantage when they see the enemy’s weakness and never let the opportunity pass. Once they give chase, they do not relent; once they press forward, they do not draw away. They strike at the enemy’s hesitation and overwhelm its indecision. Thunder cracks so suddenly that there is no time to cover one’s ears; lightning flashes so swiftly that there is no time to blink. Warfare must be just as swift.

This passage presents the military thought of the Huainanzi, closely aligned with Sunzi’s ideas of “securing victory before seeking battle” and “formlessness.” Its discussion of “deliberation in the ancestral temple” and “deciding victory a thousand miles away” is also close to the “Plans” chapter of the Sunzi. The parenthetical phrases in the Chinese are original annotations or textual emendations and have been incorporated into the translation.

Those skilled in the use of troops act so swiftly that others have no time to cover their eyes, just as a sound produces an echo and a drumbeat produces a response. The enemy is dazzled, with no time to strike the drum in reply or even to catch a breath. At such moments, they look up and do not see the sky; they look down and do not see the ground; their hands have no time to brandish weapons, and soldiers have no time to draw them all. When attacking, their momentum is like thunder; when closing in, they are swift as wind; when setting fires, they are fierce as flame; when charging, they surge like waves. When the enemy is quiet, one does not know where they will defend; when they move, one cannot tell what they are doing.

Therefore, when war drums beat and banners wave, wherever they are attacked falls into stagnation, collapse, and confusion. Who in the world would dare to assert strength and resolve and meet such an offensive head-on? Thus one who takes the initiative to press the enemy can win; one who waits for the enemy to attack is likely to fail; one who becomes the target of another’s attack will lose his life. The term shao here refers to the object being attacked.

When an army remains calm, it is secure; when its thinking is unified, it has prestige; when its decisions are decisive, soldiers are brave; when doubts are harbored, it will retreat in defeat; when strength is dispersed, it will be weak. Therefore, if one can scatter the enemy troops and sow doubt in the enemy’s mind, even a force as small as a few zhu or liang will seem more than enough; if one cannot do this, even several times more troops will still be insufficient. The army of King Zhou of Shang numbered a million, but each harbored a different intention; the army of King Wu of Zhou was only three thousand, but all were single-minded. Thus, when a thousand people share one heart, they can exert the strength of a thousand; when ten thousand people each harbor different intentions, not one can be put to use.

The movements and security of generals, soldiers, officials, and common people should be coordinated like the parts of a body; only then can they respond to the enemy and fight with combined strength. Therefore, once the plan is fixed, set out at once; once the decision is clear, act decisively. The general must not hesitate in his planning; soldiers must not harbor divided loyalties; action must not slacken; words must not be empty; in handling affairs one must not repeatedly probe and test. Responding to the enemy must be nimble; dispatching troops must be swift.

The general treats the people as his own body, and the people treat the general as their own heart. If the general is sincere, the parts of the body will draw close and cooperate; if the central support is doubtful, the parts of the body will waver and shrink back. If the mind and will are not single-minded, actions cannot be coordinated; if the general is not sincere and firm, soldiers will not be brave. The soldiers led by an excellent general are like a tiger’s teeth, a rhinoceros’s horn, a bird’s wings, and the feet of the qian: each has its own function, able to advance, lift, bite, and ram; their strength is great without injuring one another, and their numbers are many without hindering one another. This is because they are of one heart and strength, obeying a unified command. The qian is a many-legged insect, used here as a metaphor for agile and powerful movement.

If the common people sincerely obey orders, even if few they have nothing to fear; if the common people do not obey orders, even if many they are equivalent to few. If subordinates are not close to their superiors, they will not pool their hearts and strength; if soldiers do not stand in awe of the general, they will not scruple at military discipline and punishment. If an army can achieve these things, its defense will surely be secure and its attacks will surely win. Even before battle is joined and weapons clash, the trend of victory or defeat, survival or ruin, has already appeared. In using troops there are three kinds of momentum, two kinds of expediency, and the power formed by momentum and will.

This passage discusses how to leverage natural conditions such as terrain, morale, and timing to achieve victory in military operations. It begins with "momentum" (qishi): When an army's fighting spirit soars like azure clouds and its force resembles a raging gale with the thunderous impact of lightning, such overwhelming momentum can psychologically overpower the enemy.

Next comes "terrain advantage" (dishi): At strategic passes, winding mountain paths, or narrow passageways, a single defender can hold off thousands. Examples include the serpentine "Goat's Gut Trails" twisting through mountains, or "Fish Trap Passes" where entry is easy but exit nearly impossible—both representing easily defended positions.

The text then addresses "adapting to circumstances" (yinshi): One must skillfully exploit enemy vulnerabilities like exhaustion, disarray, starvation, or frostbite, striking when they're unsteady or drowsy. Simultaneously, employing spies, meticulous planning, and ambushes to launch unexpected attacks leaves opponents defenseless.

Regarding "strategic flexibility" (zhiquan): Troops should deploy rationally—frontlines advancing uniformly without trampling each other, flanks operating without interference. This minimizes casualties while maximizing enemy losses. Selecting specialized talents for appropriate roles ensures clear decisions and decisive actions.

Finally, it emphasizes the Dao of warfare: Never attack blindly; commit only to certain victories. Once mobilized, the army must strike with cosmic force, shaking heaven and earth, paralyzing foes with terror. Calm counters agitation; order governs chaos; formless control masters tangible forms. Through wuwei (non-action), one adapts spontaneously, subduing enemies without battle and rendering national defenses unnecessary.

(Note: "Cloud Ladders" were ancient siege towers for reconnaissance; "Goat's Gut Trails" describe narrow, winding mountain paths; "Fish Trap Gates"比喻险要关口比喻险要关口 metaphorically describe strategic passes as narrow as bamboo fish trap openings.)

A Plain-Language Interpretation

Defeating an enemy does not mean meeting force with force. It means using a method that leaves the enemy unable to win. When the enemy makes the first move, his intentions are exposed. When he is agitated and you remain still, his strength is worn down. Once his intentions are visible, you can secure the advantage; when his strength is spent, your authority is established.

Follow his actions and guide events according to the situation. Judge whether his conduct is upright or crooked, then strike at what sustains him. Lure him with what he covets and keep him rushing from place to place until he is exhausted. If he reveals an opening, close it at once. Drive all his variations to their limit, then bind him; exhaust his tricks and stratagems, then return him to simplicity. If the enemy feigns stillness, win through surprise. If he does not respond, fully establish your own rhythm and wait for him to react. When he moves and you respond, you can see clearly what he is doing. If he always seeks to act later and control the tempo, shift and maneuver with him. When he concentrates his resources on one side, the other must be depleted—like elite troops turning left and leaving the right exposed (“the right slope” means the western side). Once the enemy is routed, you can often take advantage of the moment to reposition the rear of your formation.

When the enemy presses but you do not move in confusion, this is called “concealed slowness” (yanchi). Then strike with the force of thunder, cut cleanly like mowing down plants, and flash brilliantly like fire and lightning. Be so swift that no one can keep pace; make your edge so keen that a chariot has no time to turn its axle. Soldiers stand like planted stakes, and crossbows whirl like a whirlwind (“ram’s horn” is a metaphor for a crossbow’s rotating force). Though the enemy may be numerous, he will not dare to stand against your momentum.

Nothing with a visible form or trace cannot be countered; nothing with a fixed shape cannot adapt. That is why the sage hides traces in “nonbeing” and lets the mind roam in “emptiness.” Wind and rain can be blocked, but heat and cold cannot be shut out as though by closing a door, because they have no form. To slip through mud, penetrate the subtle, pass through metal and stone, and reach the farthest distance; to dwell above the Nine Heavens or coil beneath the Yellow Springs—all this depends on “formlessness.” A skilled commander strikes when the enemy is disordered, not when his ranks are in order. He does not attack a formidable formation or charge a steady banner (“a banner firmly planted” refers to a flag set securely and held upright). He contends through the use of numbers—meaning the situation and its rhythm—before the enemy’s posture is revealed. Once the enemy shows a form that means certain death, take advantage of it and bring him under control. If the enemy moves by counting his forces and calculating when to advance or retreat, meet his solid form with emptiness and he will surely be captured.

Tigers and leopards, when they thrash about, fall into traps; elk and deer avoid the snares by staying still. Birds are caught in nets when they move, and fish and turtles are hooked by the mouth when they stir. All things are brought under control through reckless movement. That is why the sage prizes stillness: by remaining still, one can respond to agitation.

Note: This chapter reflects the military thought of the Huainanzi. It emphasizes using stillness to control movement, formlessness to deal with form, luring and exhausting the enemy, and striking when he is disordered rather than when he is organized. Its ideas belong to the same tradition as Laozi’s “the skilled warrior is not angered” and Sunzi’s “make the enemy respond to you; do not respond to the enemy.” The notes in parentheses explain the original annotations or word meanings to help readers compare the text with its source.

This passage discusses the principles of military strategy and the importance of teamwork.

An exceptional general leads troops by unifying their morale and concentrating their strength. Brave soldiers should not charge ahead alone, nor should timid ones retreat independently. When stationary, the army should be as immovable as a mountain; when in motion, it should strike as swiftly as wind and rain. Such an army becomes invincible, moving in perfect coordination, leaving the enemy no chance to resist. Thus, in actual combat, direct clashes are surprisingly rare.

Just as five fingers tapping alternately cannot match the power of a clenched fist, ten thousand men attacking in turns cannot equal the effectiveness of a hundred striking simultaneously. Though tigers and leopards are agile, and bears possess great strength, humans can hunt them precisely because these beasts lack the ability to unite and cooperate.

The principle of using water to extinguish fire illustrates this well: When the Zhanghua Terrace (a famous Chu state tower) caught fire, ladling water spoon by spoon would prove futile even if wells and ponds were exhausted. But dousing the flames with buckets and basins in great volumes would quickly put out the blaze. The same applies to human confrontations—to defeat many with few, one must concentrate force like water extinguishing fire; otherwise, success is unlikely.

Some military strategists claim that "the few can oppose the many," but this refers to command strategy, not actual combat. Leading a massive army yet failing to harness its power stems from disunity, while commanding a small force that achieves maximum effectiveness comes from perfect coordination. History records no instance where sheer numerical inferiority alone secured victory.

The four essential elements of warfare are: celestial timing, geographical advantage, opportune moment, and capable personnel. Yet these only function when aligned with the Dao (natural law). Terrain can overcome celestial timing, ingenious action can surpass geographical advantage, and circumstances can outweigh human effort. Relying solely on celestial timing may lead to confusion, depending only on terrain may result in entrapment, fixating on opportunity may breed passivity, and trusting exclusively in talent may invite deception.

Benevolence, courage, integrity, and incorruptibility are all human virtues, yet the brave can be lured, the benevolent exploited, the honest deceived, and the upright outmaneuvered. A commander who focuses solely on these individual merits while neglecting the whole will be captured by the enemy. Thus, victory in warfare depends on following the Dao's principles—not merely relying on the excellence of individual talents.

A Plain-Language Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Deer can be caught with nets. This is like an army that has weapons but cannot fight: a force without strategy is just like that. Fish and turtles can be scooped up in nets. This is like troops compared to fish and turtles, scattered and unable to gather together. Swan geese can be brought down with arrows attached to cords. This is like troops compared to swan geese: high above, yet without cover. Only what has no form cannot be countered by any means.

The Sage, therefore, conceals himself at the source that has no root, so that others cannot see through his intentions. He acts within the formless, so that others cannot discern his formations. He has no fixed laws or ceremonies; when circumstances arise, he responds to them as they change. He has no fixed name or appearance; with each transformation, he takes on a different form. Deep and dark, he is difficult to fathom; distant and far-reaching, he is without end. At times he is like winter, at times like summer, at times like spring, and at times like autumn. Above, he reaches the highest heights; below, he probes the deepest depths. Things wax and wane in constant change, never remaining still.

Set the mind in a realm too subtle to understand, and conceal the will in the abyss of nine turns—the deepest place of all. Even the keenest eyes: who could see his true feelings? In warfare, what is secretly assessed is the Dao of Heaven; what is mapped out is the shape of the land; what is clearly understood is human affairs. But victory and defeat are decided by strategic advantage and momentum.

Thus, a superior general conducts war by aligning with the Dao of Heaven above, securing the advantages of the terrain below, and winning the people’s support in between. Only then does he act through stratagem and set events in motion through momentum. In this way, he does not break his army or lose his troops. An intermediate general, by contrast, understands neither the Dao of Heaven above nor the advantages of the terrain below. Relying only on human support and momentum, he may not achieve complete victory, but he will certainly wield considerable authority. A mediocre general sees and hears too much, and becomes confused; knows too much, and grows doubtful. He is fearful in ordinary times and hesitant in battle. The moment he moves, he becomes someone else’s prey.

Suppose two people fight, their skills evenly matched. The one who is brave and clear-minded will surely win. Why? Because his actions are sincere and single-minded. A great axe can split tung wood without waiting for an auspicious day or hour. But if the axe is merely set against the wood, with no one gripping it by the haft and swinging it, then even if it follows the direction of the Dipper’s handle and harnesses Punishment and Virtue—the celestial stems and their corresponding forces—it will not split the wood. There is no momentum.

Water surges more fiercely when driven; an arrow flies farther when propelled. Kuo, Qi, Wei, Jun, and Lu—all places renowned for arrow-making wood—provide excellent materials for arrows. But without someone drawing the bow and releasing the shaft, even the archery skill of Yi Yin or Hou Yi could not hit a target. There is no momentum. Momentum is therefore of the utmost importance and must be understood.

This passage elucidates how to leverage natural laws and strategic wisdom to gain advantage. Consider arrows adorned with silver and tin (referring to metal decorations on the shaft), even when paired with delicate silk quivers (thin silk fabric) and floral fletching (interwoven blossoms at the arrow's tail). Yet without the power of the bow, they cannot pierce rhinoceros hide armor.

The force of wind can tear roofs apart and snap trees—seemingly gentle yet capable of immense destruction. A skilled commander operates like releasing pent-up water from a towering dam or rolling boulders down a bottomless chasm, striking awe into the enemy. A hundred warriors who face death unflinchingly surpass ten thousand who shrink from battle, let alone an entire army united in purpose.

Military strategy follows the "Way of the Three Powers": celestial timing, terrestrial advantage, and human harmony. Celestial timing means aligning with astral configurations (Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise symbolize the four directional constellations). Terrestrial advantage involves mastering terrain—high ground ensures survival while lowlands invite peril; hills represent Yang aspects, valleys embody Yin. Human harmony requires clear rewards and punishments with decisive action. These are principles distilled by predecessors, yet true wisdom lies in adaptability.

The truly perceptive observer knows the hour by studying sunlight shadows indoors or discerns seasonal shifts from ice forming in a vessel. Fundamental patterns often hide in subtle details: the drum (not itself an instrument among the five tones—gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu) commands musical harmony; water (devoid of the five flavors—sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty) blends all tastes; the general (uninvolved in the five official duties) directs the entire operation. Thus, true mastery comes from grasping root principles to govern the whole.

The General’s Mind and Adapting to Circumstances

One who can harmonize the five flavors does not become mixed up in them. One who can govern the affairs of the five organs is impossible to fathom completely. The general’s mind is gentle and generous like spring, expansive like summer, clear and bright like autumn, and upright and steady like winter. It changes along with circumstances and shifts with the seasons. A shadow does not straighten itself for something crooked; an echo does not change its tone to suit what is clear or muddy. Observe where the opponent comes from, then respond with whatever means can overcome them.

Therefore, uphold what is right when taking action, and act on sound reasoning. Conceal your movements when concealment is needed; cut off and sever when that is called for. Use circumstances to accomplish your aims: let the opponent know where you are coming from, but not where you will enter; let them see what you raise, but not where you gather your forces. Begin like a fox, and the opponent will come carelessly; strike together like a rhinoceros or tiger, and the enemy will flee.

Show Gentleness to Meet Strength; Be Like a Ghost, Be Like Water

When a bird dives to strike, it lowers its head; when a fierce beast seizes its prey, it hides its claws. Tigers and leopards do not bare their claws before biting, nor show their teeth. In warfare, then, show gentleness while meeting strength; show weakness and then exploit your power; gather inward to act, then respond by opening outward. If you wish to go west, first signal that you are going east. First go against expectations, then come together; first remain hidden, then emerge into the light. Be like a ghost, leaving no trace; be like water, with no blade. Go where they do not expect, and show them actions they do not anticipate. Let no one discern your every move: strike like thunder, impossible to guard against. Because your methods are never repeated, you can win a hundred battles. You are connected with profound illumination, and no one can know your gateway—this is called the utmost spirit.

The People, Righteousness, Authority, and Civil and Martial Means

An army’s strength comes from the people; the people’s willingness to die comes from righteousness; righteousness can be put into practice through authority. Therefore, bring people together through civil means and bring them into line through martial means: this is called “certain victory.” When authority and dignity operate together, this is called “the utmost strength.”

People cherish life and loathe death. Yet when they face high walls and deep moats, with arrows and stones falling like rain, or meet gleaming blades on open plains and broad marshes, soldiers still rush forward to fight. It is not that they think little of death or enjoy injury; it is because rewards are trustworthy and punishments are clear. If those above regard those below as their children, then those below will regard those above as their fathers. If those above regard those below as younger brothers, then those below will regard those above as elder brothers. If those above regard those below as their children, those below will surely devote themselves and die in their service.

Plain-Language Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

When a ruler governs the four seas and those below regard those above as their father, the realm is easily brought into order. When those above treat those below like brothers, those below will readily risk their lives for them. When those below serve those above as they would an elder brother, they will readily lay down their lives for them. The mutual care and loyalty shared among fathers and sons, and among brothers, cannot be matched by outsiders, because they have built up their bonds of kindness and duty bit by bit.

If four horses do not work in harmony, even Zao Fu cannot drive them far. If a bowstring and arrow feathers are not properly adjusted, even Yi cannot hit his target. If ruler and ministers have different intentions, even Sunzi, skilled as he was in warfare, could not contend with the enemy. (Sun Wu, known as Sunzi, was a general under King Helü of Wu.)

Therefore, one should put domestic affairs in order and build up De (Virtue/Power), while closing off weaknesses abroad and making one’s authority commanding and credible. One must also understand whether the people are tired or rested, fed or hungry. Then, when the agreed day for battle arrives, the soldiers will regard death as if they were returning home. A general must share both hardship and comfort with the troops, enduring hunger and cold alongside them. Only then will they entrust him with their lives.

In ancient times, able generals who understood warfare always led from the front. In hot weather, they used no umbrella; in cold weather, they wore no fur coat, so they could share the heat and cold with everyone. On dangerous roads, they did not ride in a carriage; when going uphill, they dismounted, so that their exertion and rest would be comparable to everyone else’s. They did not eat until the whole army’s meal was ready, or drink until the army’s wells had been dug, so they could share hunger and thirst. Once battle began, they always stood within range of the enemy’s arrows, sharing everyone’s danger and safety. Thus, a good general meets accumulated resentment with accumulated De, and accumulated hatred with accumulated affection. How could he fail to win?

A ruler asks two main things of the people: that they labor for him and that they give their lives for him. The people look to their ruler for three main things: food when they are hungry, rest when they are tired, and rewards for those who have earned merit. If the people have fulfilled those two demands, but those above betray these three hopes, then however numerous the people may be, the army will still be weak. Conversely, if those who endure hardship can eventually enjoy ease, those who labor can eventually receive benefits, those who kill the enemy are fully rewarded, and the families of the fallen receive compensation (those killed in battle are counted as having earned military merit, and their children and grandchildren are rewarded), then these four principles take root in the people’s hearts. In that case, the ruler could shoot at birds in the clouds, fish in the depths, play the qin and se, strike bells and pipes, play liubo, or toss arrows into a high pot, and the army would still be strong and his commands would still be carried out.

Therefore, only when those below can look up to those above can they be put to use; only when a ruler’s De is worthy of admiration can his authority be established. A general should possess the “Three Penetrations, Four Duties, Five Conducts, and Ten Safeguards” (the original text explains these elsewhere; in general, they mean understanding the Dao of Heaven and human affairs, upholding duty and integrity, maintaining consistent conduct, and preparing against danger in a sound manner). The guiding principle is this: first show kindness to those below and unite your intentions with theirs; only then can one speak of victory or defeat.

Know the terrain and understand people’s hearts—these three things are dangerous paths that people must travel. They are called the Four Principles:

Bring benefit to the state without burdening it through endless warfare (the word “burden” is sometimes read as “show off,” meaning to display one’s military force); as a ruler’s minister, put the ruler before oneself; face danger without fearing death; and decide difficult matters without shirking responsibility for the consequences.

The so-called Five Virtues are: be yielding without being bent out of shape, firm without being broken, benevolent without being violated, trustworthy without being deceived, and brave without being bullied.

The so-called Ten Observances are: keep the spirit clear and free of confusion; plan far ahead without treating others’ plans as models to imitate lightly; remain steadfast and unshaken; be wise and perceptive, beyond deception. Do not covet wealth, indulge in external things, become absorbed in clever arguments, or cling stubbornly to one side. Do not act recklessly out of joy or anger. This is to reach a deep, hidden state: who can know what is truly within? Let every shot strike its mark, every word accord with the rules, every action suit the moment, and every solution fit the matter at hand. Understand the pivots of movement and stillness, discern when to open and when to close, and weigh the gains and losses of every move with exact precision. Be swift as a powerful crossbow, and forceful as an arrow released. Like a dragon or a snake, move without a fixed form: no one can see where you will strike or know where your action will end. When you attack, you cannot be defended against; when you defend, you cannot be attacked.

It is said that those skilled in warfare must first cultivate themselves, and only then seek to act upon others. They must first place themselves beyond defeat, and only then seek victory. If they have not put their own affairs in order but attack disorder in others, it is like trying to put out fire with fire or stop water with water. How could they overcome the enemy?

If a potter turned into clay, he could no longer shape that clay into bowls and jars. If a weaver turned into thread, she could no longer weave patterned brocade. Things of the same kind cannot govern one another, so difference is what makes something extraordinary. Two sparrowhawks fighting will not go so far as to kill each other; but when a kite or falcon arrives, it breaks them apart, because unlike kinds overcome one another. Thus stillness is the extraordinary counterpart of agitation, order of disorder, fullness of hunger, and ease of toil. The extraordinary and the ordinary respond to each other like water and fire, or metal and wood, each serving as the other’s counterpart.

Those skilled in warfare hold the Five Forms (also read as “Five Killings”) to respond to the enemy, and so preserve their victories. The inept take up positions among the Five Fatalities and greedily seek achievement; whenever they act, they are captured by others. In warfare, speed is precious.

A Plain-Language Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

The art of warfare prizes plans that are hard to fathom and movements that are carefully concealed. Strike suddenly, before the enemy has time to prepare. Once a plan is leaked, you fall into a passive position; once the true strength or weakness of your forces is exposed, the enemy can counter it.

Those skilled in warfare therefore practice three kinds of concealment:

Concealment through the weather

Use bitter cold and scorching heat, violent winds and rain, dense fog and darkness to change formations and mask movements, making the weather serve your purpose.

Concealment through the terrain

Hide ambushes among mountains, hills, dense woods, and difficult passages, leaving no trace. The enemy cannot see them or discover where they are.

Concealment through people

Keep watch to the front and rear, moving in and out among orthodox and unorthodox formations. Strike like thunder and move as swiftly as wind and rain. Roll up the banners, silence the drums, and advance or withdraw without leaving a sign, so outsiders cannot tell when the movement begins or ends.

Formations and discipline

Keep the front and rear in order, and the four sides aligned as if by a cord. In advancing, withdrawing, opening, and closing ranks, do not overstep or intrude on one another. Let the wings move swiftly and lightly, sometimes ahead and sometimes behind; let them gather and disperse, separate and reunite, without disrupting the ranks. This is the skill of arranging and maintaining formations.

Understanding the Way of Heaven

Understand unorthodox and orthodox methods, Yin-Yang, punishment and reward, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Observe Qi, read the stars, consult the tortoise shell and milfoil stalks, and discern signs of fortune. This is the skill of acting in accord with the seasons.

Deceiving the enemy’s senses

Devise unexpected plans, set ambushes, use water and fire, produce strange effects, and make a din among the troops to confuse the enemy’s hearing. Drag brushwood and raise clouds of dust to confuse their sight. This is the skill of deception and adaptation.

A firm central command

Securely position the heavy instruments, such as the chunyu and the jing. Do not be lured by the prospect of gain or shaken by the threat of death. This is a central command that is full and strong.

Swift surprise attacks

Be swift, light, and fierce; be bold and take risks. Come and go like the wind, vanishing in an instant. This is the skill of using light troops to launch surprise attacks.

Terrain and fortifications

Study the terrain, choose camp sites, maintain walls and ramparts, and watch the beacon signals. Take positions on high ground to observe the enemy’s movements. This is the skill of making use of the terrain.

Adapting to the moment

Take advantage when the enemy is hungry or thirsty, frozen or suffering from heat, exhausted, careless, disordered, frightened, or struggling to move. Attack with crack troops, including in night raids. This is the skill of adapting to changing circumstances.

Weapons and signals

Use chariots on level ground and cavalry in difficult terrain. When crossing water, carry more bows, since using crossbows in the water is inconvenient. In narrow passages, use crossbows, which can be aimed by hand to hold off the enemy. By day, use more banners; by night, more fires; in darkness, more drums. Match weapons and signals to the time and terrain.

Note: The final sentence of the original seems incomplete. According to the commentary, “rolling up the giant banners” means furling the banners; “the center being full and strong” means that the central command is well supplied and robust.

Plain-Language Interpretation

A skilled commander must take into account all eight factors discussed earlier; none can be left out. Yet those factors are not the most essential things in the use of troops.

A general must be able to see and know what others cannot. To see what others cannot is called clarity; to understand what others cannot is called spiritual insight. The clear-sighted can secure victory in advance by first placing themselves beyond defeat: when they defend, the enemy cannot break through; when they fight, the enemy cannot prevail. Conversely, if an army cannot win in battle, it cannot hold out on defense either. This is what is meant here by emptiness and fullness.

A situation is empty when rifts divide those above and below, generals and officials are at odds, the cause being upheld is unjust, and resentment and discontent build among the soldiers. A situation is full when the ruler is wise and the general capable, those above and below are united, and morale rises throughout the ranks.

It is like pouring water on fire: the flames go out where the water reaches, but remain where it does not. Whether strength can overcome weakness depends on whether emptiness and fullness are properly matched. That is why a skilled fighter does not fear having few troops, and a skilled defender does not fear having a small city. Victory comes from possessing authority; defeat comes from losing morale. When morale is full, one can fight; when it is empty, one can only flee. When morale is high, the army is strong; when it declines, the army retreats.

King Fuchai of Wu, ruler of the state of Wu during the Spring and Autumn period, controlled a territory two thousand li across and commanded seven hundred thousand armored troops. He fought Yue in the south and drove the Yue people back to Kuaiji; fought Qi in the north and defeated it at Ailing; and in the west, at Huangchi, even prevailed over the ruler of Jin, Duke Ping. This was when the people’s morale was full. Later, Fuchai grew arrogant and indulgent, rejected advice and welcomed flattery, and stubbornly refused to change. His ministers grew resentful, and the people turned away from him. King Goujian of Yue selected only three thousand men and captured him at Sui. This was precisely when Fuchai’s morale had become empty.

Morale has its empty and full states, just as brightness is always accompanied by darkness. An army that wins consistently keeps its morale full; one that is repeatedly defeated has empty morale. A skilled general nourishes the morale of his own people until it is full, then waits for the enemy’s morale to empty. An unskilled general weakens his own people’s morale, then engages the enemy when their morale is full. Thus, the emptiness and fullness of morale are among the most precious considerations in the use of troops.

When the state faced danger, the ruler would summon the general in person to the palace and say: “The fate of the altars of state rests with you, General. Our country is now in peril; I ask you to lead the army and meet the crisis.” After receiving his orders, the general would instruct the ritual officials and the chief diviner to observe purification for three days. They would then drill tortoise shells for divination in the Grand Temple and choose an auspicious day for him to receive the drums and banners. The ruler would enter the temple gate and stand facing west, while the general entered and proceeded quickly to the hall…

The ruler stands facing north and personally presents the general with an axe and battle-axe—ceremonial objects symbolizing military authority and the power to execute—and a “head”, an item bestowed in the ritual and fitted to the end of the haft. The person holding the haft says: “From here upward, as far as the sky extends, all is under the general’s command.” The axe and “head” are then presented to the general again, and the person holding the haft says: “From here downward, as far as the abyss extends, all is also under the general’s command.”

Having received the axe and battle-axe, the general replies: “Matters of state cannot be decided unilaterally in the outer court, and military campaigns cannot be directed from afar within the palace. One cannot serve a ruler with divided loyalties, and a divided mind cannot meet the enemy. Since I have received my orders before you, and the authority of drums, banners, axe, and battle-axe is now in my hands, I will not ask you to withdraw your decision. I also ask you to issue your command to me formally in a single statement. If you do not consent, I dare not serve as general; if you do, I will take my leave and depart.”

Then the ritual of clipping nails and hair is performed—a funerary rite in which the fingernails, toenails, and hair are cut as part of sending off the dead. The general puts on bright garments, a form of mourning dress so named because it is used in rites for the world beyond. A death gate is cut open and he leaves through it. The death gate is the north gate; a general setting out on campaign passes through it as if bound for death, showing his resolve to die. He rides in the general’s chariot, carrying banners, the axe, and the battle-axe.

He fights repeatedly. If he cannot win, he still faces the enemy in battle without regard for his own life, resolved to die without divided loyalties. Thus, above, he does not rely on Heaven; below, he does not rely on Earth. He fears no enemy in front of him and faces no interference from his ruler behind him. He advances not to seek fame and retreats not to avoid blame. His sole concern is protecting the people, and his interests accord with those of the ruler. This is the foundation of the state and the way of a great general. In these circumstances, the wise devise plans for him, the brave fight fiercely for him, morale soars to the clouds, and the army moves as swiftly as galloping horses. Thus the enemy is already terrified before the armies clash.

If he wins, the enemy is routed and flees, and those who have earned merit receive their full rewards: officials are promoted, ranks and stipends increased, and land granted as a fief. Major decisions are made beyond the frontiers, and punishments are decided and executions carried out in the army when the guilty deserve it. On his triumphant return to the state, he enters with his banners lowered and returns the axe and battle-axe to the ruler, declaring that nothing remains unresolved in the army. The ruler pardons him, and the general withdraws to fast and wear plain clothes before going to the ruler to confess his fault. The ruler says, “I pardon you.” The general then leaves his fasting clothes behind. A great victor does not return to his residence for three years; a moderate victor returns after two years, and a minor victor after one.

Military force should be directed only against a country that has abandoned the Way. Therefore, even after victory, one must not covet plunder; after taking territory, one must not repeatedly invade and seize more. The people should suffer no epidemic, the commanders should not die young, the grain harvests should be abundant, and rain and wind should come in their proper seasons. The same should hold after victory.

The blessings visible to others all grow from within. Only when one’s virtue and reputation truly live up to their names and are fully realized will there be no lingering trouble or complications.