The “art” of war? No title could seem more paradoxical. War by its very nature involves the inflicting of mass death; every kind of cruelty and pain is inextricably an intrinsic part of war. And yet many commentators have seen a kind of artistry – a strange, perverse sort of grace – in a war that is waged “well.” Perhaps it is for that reason that the Confederate general Robert E. Lee, observing the grandeur and precision of his rebel troops’ deployments at Fredericksburg in 1862, supposedly said, “It is well that war is so terrible – otherwise we should grow too fond of it.”
In The Art of War, the Chinese philosopher Sun Tzu sets forth in thirteen concise chapters his sense of how “the Skillful Warrior” can be assured of victory on every battlefield. Sun Tzu is known worldwide as one of the first great military theorists; and yet, as translator John Minford explains in a preface to this edition, very little is known about Sun Tzu himself. He may have lived at about the same time as Confucius (551-479 B.C.), or maybe not; the name “Sun Tzu” may simply have been applied to a series of military maxims set down by various thinkers over many years. But whatever the realities of his life story may or may not have been, Sun Tzu has come to personify the idea that a set of principles, applied with proper insight and flexibility by a vigorous and perceptive officer, can lead to assured success in war.
My mention of Lee at the beginning of this review reminds me that, as an American from Maryland -- a state that saw some of the fiercest fighting of the American Civil War -- I found myself consistently applying Sun Tzu’s various dicta to events from that conflict. In Chapter 9 (“On the March”), for example, I read Sun Tzu’s advice – “If the enemy crosses a river toward you, do not confront him in midstream. Let half his troops cross before you strike” (p. 51) – and thought of Lee at Fredericksburg in December of 1862, forcing his adversary, Union General Ambrose Burnside, to lead his soldiers across the Rappahannock River under heavy fire, sustaining significant casualties in the process.
General Burnside, for his part, might have benefited from reading Sun Tzu’s “axioms of the Art of War” set forth in Chapter 8, “On the Fray”: “Do not advance uphill. Do not oppose an enemy with his back to a hill” (p. 45). General Burnside did launch his attack uphill, against well-entrenched rebel troops on Marye’s Heights at Fredericksburg, and sustained terrible casualties in his defeat there. A copy of The Art of War in General Burnside’s tent might have saved many Union soldiers’ lives that day.
Other readers from other nations, as they make their way through The Art of War, will no doubt apply the book’s ideas to the military history of their own countries. The important thing here seems to be the universal applicability of Sun Tzu’s ideas to any military conflict in any age.
Part of what gives this Penguin Books edition of The Art of War its particular power is the manner in which the reader gets to experience Sun Tzu’s ideas twice – the first time by themselves, and the second time surrounded by an accretion of centuries’ worth of critical commentary by military thinkers, both Western and Chinese – with translator Minford adding his own insights.
For instance, a core idea of Sun Tzu from Chapter 1, “Making of Plans,” proceeds thus: “The Way causes men to be of one mind with their rulers, to live or die with them, and never to waver” (p. 101). Sun-Tzu’s original idea is then followed by commentary from Lao Tzu (philosopher, 5th century B.C.), Sun Bin (military strategist, 4th century B.C.), Chuang Tzu (philosopher, 4th century B.C.), Lord Shang (politician, 4th century B.C.), Master Huainan (Han dynasty prince, 1st century B.C.), Zhang Yu (general officer, 14th century A.D.), and Guo Huaruo (general officer and military strategist for Mao Zedong’s army, 20th century A.D.).
And commentator Minford offers his own 21st-century take on Sun Tzu’s seeming invocation of Taoist ideas regarding “The Way”: “Master Sun is dealing with military success, and his Way of War is in a sense a knack, a skill, a ‘virtue’ similar to the Taoist Way leading to spiritual ‘success.’ But here he is simply reminding his disciples that (empirically speaking) moral power bestows military power” (p. 103). For Minford, Sun Tzu offers a relentlessly practical, often ruthless guide to winning victories as a way of gaining and keeping power; Western readers, reviewing Minford’s commentary on Sun Tzu, may find themselves drawing parallels with Niccolò Machiavelli’s meditations on power in The Prince (1532).
Minford emphasizes repeatedly that Sun Tzu’s ideas are readily applicable to metaphorical as well as literal “battlefields.” Consider, for example, how many contemporary Americans no doubt got their first acquaintance with Sun Tzu by way of Wall Street, film director Oliver Stone’s 1987 look at the battlefield of modern American finance.
As Minford notes, the film’s antagonist, corporate raider Gordon Gekko (played by Michael Douglas), approvingly quotes Sun Tzu to justify his aggressive and lawless business tactics: “I don’t throw darts at a board. I bet on sure things. Read Sun Tzu, The Art of War. ‘Every battle is won before it is ever fought.’ Think about it.” Here, Gekko seems to be citing Chapter 3, “Strategic Offensive”: “Ultimate excellence lies not in winning every battle, but in defeating the enemy without ever fighting” (p. 14).
And as the film goes on, protagonist Bud Fox (played by Charlie Sheen), a young broker drawn by Gekko’s win-at-any-cost ethic, makes clear that he has taken Gekko’s reading advice, saying to Gekko, “Sun Tzu: ‘If your enemy is superior, evade him. If angry, irritate him. If equally matched, fight; and if not, split – re-evaluate.’” Bud Fox here draws from Chapter 1, “Making of Plans” – “If the enemy is full, be prepared. If strong, avoid him. If he is angry, disconcert him” (p. 7) – and from Chapter 3, “Strategic Offensive”: “If equally matched, fight it out; if fewer in number, lie low; if weaker, escape” (p. 16).
Gekko approves of Bud Fox’s invocation of Sun Tzu: “He’s learning, huh? Buddy’s learning!” Only later does Bud Fox come to realize what commentator Minford hopes the modern reader of The Art of War will keep in mind; as bullets and bombs don’t care what bodies they tear apart, what lives they end, so the maxims and advice of The Art of War can be applied with equal effectiveness by a virtuous leader or a wicked one.
I read The Art of War while on a visit to Shanghai. Staying in a hotel in the ultra-modern Pudong district, I could look across the Huangpu River to the historic Bund district, imagine the horrors of the Japanese occupation of Shanghai during the Second World War, and reflect that both the Japanese occupiers and the Chinese resistance forces no doubt had read, and sought to apply, Sun Tzu’s ideas.
Nowadays, the weapons of war have gained destructive power that would have been unimaginable – not only to Sun Tzu and his contemporaries, but also to most of the people fighting on both sides at Shanghai in 1941. Against that backdrop, The Art of War is more relevant than ever. It is one of the most important books ever written. It is also – in metaphorical, philosophical, and rhetorical terms – a weapon that can do a great deal of damage anytime it falls into the wrong hands.