Chapter V — ENERGY

1. Sun Tzŭ said: The control of a large force is the same principle as the
control of a few men: it is merely a question of dividing up their numbers.

[That is, cutting up the army into regiments, companies, etc., with subordinate
officers in command of each. Tu Mu reminds us of Han Hsin’s famous reply to the
first Han Emperor, who once said to him: “How large an army do you think I
could lead?” “Not more than 100,000 men, your Majesty.” “And you?” asked the
Emperor. “Oh!” he answered, “the more the better.”]

2. Fighting with a large army under your command is nowise different from
fighting with a small one: it is merely a question of instituting signs and
signals.

3. To ensure that your whole host may withstand the brunt of the enemy’s attack
and remain unshaken—this is effected by manœuvers direct and indirect.

[We now come to one of the most interesting parts of Sun Tzŭ’s treatise, the
discussion of the cheng and the ch’i.” As it is by no means
easy to grasp the full significance of these two terms, or to render them
consistently by good English equivalents; it may be as well to tabulate some of
the commentators’ remarks on the subject before proceeding further. Li
Ch’uan: “Facing the enemy is cheng, making lateral diversion is
ch’i. Chia Lin: “In presence of the enemy, your troops should be
arrayed in normal fashion, but in order to secure victory abnormal manœuvers
must be employed.” Mei Yao-ch’en: “Ch’i is active,
cheng is passive; passivity means waiting for an opportunity, activity
brings the victory itself.” Ho Shih: “We must cause the enemy to regard our
straightforward attack as one that is secretly designed, and vice versa; thus
cheng may also be ch’i, and ch’i may also be
cheng.” He instances the famous exploit of Han Hsin, who when marching
ostensibly against Lin-chin (now Chao-i in Shensi), suddenly threw a large
force across the Yellow River in wooden tubs, utterly disconcerting his
opponent. [Ch’ien Han Shu, ch. 3.] Here, we are told, the march on
Lin-chin was cheng, and the surprise manœuver was ch’i.”
Chang Yu gives the following summary of opinions on the words: “Military
writers do not agree with regard to the meaning of ch’i and
cheng. Wei Liao Tzŭ [4th cent. B.C.] says: ‘Direct warfare favours
frontal attacks, indirect warfare attacks from the rear.’ Ts’ao Kung
says: ‘Going straight out to join battle is a direct operation; appearing on
the enemy’s rear is an indirect manœuver.’ Li Wei-kung [6th and 7th cent. A.D.]
says: ‘In war, to march straight ahead is cheng; turning movements, on
the other hand, are ch’i.’ These writers simply regard
cheng as cheng, and ch’i as ch’i; they
do not note that the two are mutually interchangeable and run into each other
like the two sides of a circle [see infra, § 11]. A comment on the T’ang
Emperor T’ai Tsung goes to the root of the matter: ‘A ch’i
manœuver may be cheng, if we make the enemy look upon it as
cheng; then our real attack will be ch’i, and vice versa.
The whole secret lies in confusing the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our real
intent.’” To put it perhaps a little more clearly: any attack or other
operation is cheng, on which the enemy has had his attention fixed;
whereas that is ch’i,” which takes him by surprise or comes from
an unexpected quarter. If the enemy perceives a movement which is meant to be
ch’i,” it immediately becomes cheng.”]

4. That the impact of your army may be like a grindstone dashed against an
egg—this is effected by the science of weak points and strong.

5. In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle, but
indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory.

[Chang Yu says: “Steadily develop indirect tactics, either by pounding the
enemy’s flanks or falling on his rear.” A brilliant example of “indirect
tactics” which decided the fortunes of a campaign was Lord Roberts’ night march
round the Peiwar Kotal in the second Afghan war. [1]

6. Indirect tactics, efficiently applied, are inexhausible as Heaven and Earth,
unending as the flow of rivers and streams; like the sun and moon, they end but
to begin anew; like the four seasons, they pass away but to return once more.

[Tu Yu and Chang Yu understand this of the permutations of ch’i
and cheng. But at present Sun Tzŭ is not speaking of cheng at
all, unless, indeed, we suppose with Cheng Yu-hsien that a clause relating to
it has fallen out of the text. Of course, as has already been pointed out, the
two are so inextricably interwoven in all military operations, that they cannot
really be considered apart. Here we simply have an expression, in figurative
language, of the almost infinite resource of a great leader.]

7. There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these
five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.

8. There are not more than five primary colours (blue, yellow, red, white, and
black), yet in combination they produce more hues than can ever be seen.

9 There are not more than five cardinal tastes (sour, acrid, salt, sweet,
bitter), yet combinations of them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted.

10. In battle, there are not more than two methods of attack—the direct
and the indirect; yet these two in combination give rise to an endless series
of manœuvers.

11. The direct and the indirect lead on to each other in turn. It is like
moving in a circle—you never come to an end. Who can exhaust the
possibilities of their combination?

12. The onset of troops is like the rush of a torrent which will even roll
stones along in its course.

13. The quality of decision is like the well-timed swoop of a falcon which
enables it to strike and destroy its victim.

[The Chinese here is tricky and a certain key word in the context it is used
defies the best efforts of the translator. Tu Mu defines this word as “the
measurement or estimation of distance.” But this meaning does not quite fit the
illustrative simile in §. 15. Applying this definition to the falcon, it seems
to me to denote that instinct of self-restraint which keeps the bird
from swooping on its quarry until the right moment, together with the power of
judging when the right moment has arrived. The analogous quality in soldiers is
the highly important one of being able to reserve their fire until the very
instant at which it will be most effective. When the “Victory” went into action
at Trafalgar at hardly more than drifting pace, she was for several minutes
exposed to a storm of shot and shell before replying with a single gun. Nelson
coolly waited until he was within close range, when the broadside he brought to
bear worked fearful havoc on the enemy’s nearest ships.]

14. Therefore the good fighter will be terrible in his onset, and prompt in his
decision.

[The word “decision” would have reference to the measurement of distance
mentioned above, letting the enemy get near before striking. But I cannot help
thinking that Sun Tzŭ meant to use the word in a figurative sense comparable to
our own idiom “short and sharp.” Cf. Wang Hsi’s note, which after describing
the falcon’s mode of attack, proceeds: “This is just how the ‘psychological
moment’ should be seized in war.”]

15. Energy may be likened to the bending of a crossbow; decision, to the
releasing of the trigger.

[None of the commentators seem to grasp the real point of the simile of energy
and the force stored up in the bent cross-bow until released by the finger on
the trigger.]

16. Amid the turmoil and tumult of battle, there may be seeming disorder and
yet no real disorder at all; amid confusion and chaos, your array may be
without head or tail, yet it will be proof against defeat.

[Mei Yao-ch’en says: “The subdivisions of the army having been previously
fixed, and the various signals agreed upon, the separating and joining, the
dispersing and collecting which will take place in the course of a battle, may
give the appearance of disorder when no real disorder is possible. Your
formation may be without head or tail, your dispositions all topsy-turvy, and
yet a rout of your forces quite out of the question.”]

17. Simulated disorder postulates perfect discipline; simulated fear postulates
courage; simulated weakness postulates strength.

[In order to make the translation intelligible, it is necessary to tone down
the sharply paradoxical form of the original. Ts’ao Kung throws out a
hint of the meaning in his brief note: “These things all serve to destroy
formation and conceal one’s condition.” But Tu Mu is the first to put it quite
plainly: “If you wish to feign confusion in order to lure the enemy on, you
must first have perfect discipline; if you wish to display timidity in order to
entrap the enemy, you must have extreme courage; if you wish to parade your
weakness in order to make the enemy over-confident, you must have exceeding
strength.”]

18. Hiding order beneath the cloak of disorder is simply a question of
subdivision;

[See supra, § 1.]

concealing courage under a show of timidity presupposes a fund of latent
energy;

[The commentators strongly understand a certain Chinese word here differently
than anywhere else in this chapter. Thus Tu Mu says: “seeing that we are
favourably circumstanced and yet make no move, the enemy will believe that we
are really afraid.”]

masking strength with weakness is to be effected by tactical dispositions.

[Chang Yu relates the following anecdote of Kao Tsu, the first Han Emperor:
“Wishing to crush the Hsiung-nu, he sent out spies to report on their
condition. But the Hsiung-nu, forewarned, carefully concealed all their
able-bodied men and well-fed horses, and only allowed infirm soldiers and
emaciated cattle to be seen. The result was that spies one and all recommended
the Emperor to deliver his attack. Lou Ching alone opposed them, saying:
‘When two countries go to war, they are naturally inclined to make an
ostentatious display of their strength. Yet our spies have seen nothing but old
age and infirmity. This is surely some ruse on the part of the enemy, and it
would be unwise for us to attack.’ The Emperor, however, disregarding
this advice, fell into the trap and found himself surrounded at
Po-teng.”]

19. Thus one who is skilful at keeping the enemy on the move maintains
deceitful appearances, according to which the enemy will act.

[Ts’ao Kung’s note is “Make a display of weakness and want.” Tu Mu says:
“If our force happens to be superior to the enemy’s, weakness may be simulated
in order to lure him on; but if inferior, he must be led to believe that we are
strong, in order that he may keep off. In fact, all the enemy’s movements
should be determined by the signs that we choose to give him.” Note the
following anecdote of Sun Pin, a descendent of Sun Wu: In 341 B.C., the
Ch’i State being at war with Wei, sent T’ien Chi and Sun Pin
against the general P’ang Chuan, who happened to be a deadly personal
enemy of the later. Sun Pin said: “The Ch’i State has a reputation for
cowardice, and therefore our adversary despises us. Let us turn this
circumstance to account.” Accordingly, when the army had crossed the border
into Wei territory, he gave orders to show 100,000 fires on the first night,
50,000 on the next, and the night after only 20,000. P’ang Chuan pursued
them hotly, saying to himself: “I knew these men of Ch’i were cowards:
their numbers have already fallen away by more than half.” In his retreat, Sun
Pin came to a narrow defile, which he calculated that his pursuers would reach
after dark. Here he had a tree stripped of its bark, and inscribed upon it the
words: “Under this tree shall P’ang Chuan die.” Then, as night began to
fall, he placed a strong body of archers in ambush near by, with orders to
shoot directly if they saw a light. Later on, P’ang Chuan arrived at the
spot, and noticing the tree, struck a light in order to read what was written
on it. His body was immediately riddled by a volley of arrows, and his whole
army thrown into confusion. [The above is Tu Mu’s version of the story; the
Shih Chi, less dramatically but probably with more historical truth, makes
P’ang Chuan cut his own throat with an exclamation of despair, after the
rout of his army.] ]

He sacrifices something, that the enemy may snatch at it.

20. By holding out baits, he keeps him on the march; then with a body of picked
men he lies in wait for him.

[With an emendation suggested by Li Ching, this then reads, “He lies in wait
with the main body of his troops.”]

21. The clever combatant looks to the effect of combined energy, and does not
require too much from individuals.

[Tu Mu says: “He first of all considers the power of his army in the bulk;
afterwards he takes individual talent into account, and uses each men according
to his capabilities. He does not demand perfection from the untalented.”]

Hence his ability to pick out the right men and utilise combined energy.

22. When he utilises combined energy, his fighting men become as it were like
unto rolling logs or stones. For it is the nature of a log or stone to remain
motionless on level ground, and to move when on a slope; if four-cornered, to
come to a standstill, but if round-shaped, to go rolling down.

[Ts’au Kung calls this “the use of natural or inherent power.”]

23. Thus the energy developed by good fighting men is as the momentum of a
round stone rolled down a mountain thousands of feet in height. So much on the
subject of energy.

[The chief lesson of this chapter, in Tu Mu’s opinion, is the paramount
importance in war of rapid evolutions and sudden rushes. “Great results,” he
adds, “can thus be achieved with small forces.”]

[1] “Forty-one Years in India,” chapter 46.