So . . . don’t judge me, I am a history geek, after all, but I recently found occasion to re-read Sun Tzu’s seminal work, “The Art of War”.  It’s not that long, in fact, I got through it in a single morning over two cups of Starbucks coffee.  Yet despite that brevity—or maybe because of it—the work remains an interesting read.  More to the point, I’m reminded in this latest visit with one of the world’s most revered thinkers of military and strategic art, just how often “Master Sun” is misquoted and, frankly, misunderstood in modern times.  As with most historical writings, context is critical, so let’s dig in a bit and better understand the world in which “The Art of War” was written and who it was intended to instruct.

Sun Tzu, as we know him today, was born Sun Wu late in the mid-6th Century B.C.  A more precise birthdate has proven difficult to pin down and is much debated amongst scholars.  His apparent participation in the Battle of Boju in 506 B.C argues strongly for his birth occurring sometime in the mid-to-late 500s, supporting the traditionally-accepted 544. Yet this, like the very existence of the man himself, remains hotly debated among those who study ancient Chinese history.

Sun Tzu is thought to have originally hailed from the proto-Chinese state of Qi, straddling the Yellow River and encompassing the entirety of the Shandong Peninsula in what is now Eastern China.  He would rise to prominence as a philosopher, strategist, and general of some acclaim, in the service of King Ho-lu who ruled the southeastern state of Wu, an area that incorporated the modern cities of Shanghai and Nanjing.

The many peoples sharing Chinese culture at the time were still working toward unification, not to be achieved until the Q’in state finally established dominance over their rivals in 221 B.C.  With the conquest of Qi—the last of the proto-states to be brought forcibly to heel—the first real, unified Chinese polity was formed, at least in the sense we might understand it today.  That said, the period between the end of Western Zhou dominance in 771 B.C. and the consolidation of Q’in hegemony was one of endemic warfare between and among China’s proto-states. 

The “Spring and Autumn Period” from 771 to 403 B.C. was a virtual bar brawl between 13 separate proto-Chinese nation-states.  The “Warring States Period” from 403-221 B.C. was a pared down version of the same conflict between the seven states that survived the previous centuries of chaos.  Regardless, you get the picture, during the time of Sun Tzu’s life, wars and rumors of wars were virtually continuous amid an ever-shifting backdrop of political alliances, treachery, and attempts by civil leaders to hold these small states together surrounded by so many potential threats.

To put things further into context, understand that Confucius, the great thinker and moral philosopher, lived and taught during this period, 551-479 B.C.  Confucius, living through the brutal Spring and Autumn Period, held warfare and military virtues in disdain, a viewpoint quite understandable after 300 years of war.  I’ve no doubt he was sick of war and those who practiced it!  Virtually unknown in his time, after death, his teachings would branch out from his native state of Lu, lying between Sun Tzu’s native Qi and the state of Wu where Master Sun would find military employment.  The teachings of Confucius would in time greatly influence the history and development of East Asia, a topic worthy of its own discussion at some point.  It’s also worth noting for reference that at the time of Confucius and Sun Tzu’s writings, the development of Taoism (Daoism) still lay about two centuries in the future.

This, then, is the philosophical environment within which Sun Tzu drafted his masterpiece on war and strategy.  The holes in Confucius’s teachings—as seen, perhaps, by the leader of any of the proto-Chinese states—was the seemingly intentional omission of anything at all to do with concepts of defense and security.  And yet, war and warlike political ambition, were everywhere around them.  Sun Tzu would fill that gap for future generations of Chinese, Korean, and to a certain extent Japanese warlords, bandits, generals, princes, and emperors.  His work, and multiple subsequent commentaries upon it, laying the foundation of ancient security wisdom memorized by students of the military art until the abolishment of the Korean national military service examinations in 1894.  Though it must be recognized, of course, that people study Master Sun’s writings still today.  Let’s talk about that a bit.

Sun Tzu’s work displays a general tendency to emphasize the psychological over the physical, meaning he places greater emphasis on morale and preparedness than military formations and tactics.  As well, Sun Tzu reminds the reader throughout the work to keep their eye on the prize, so-to-speak.  To focus on accomplishment of the strategic task at hand and not be seduced by battle for the sake of itself, or worse, as an emotional response.  Overall, there is a pragmatism at work throughout “The Art of War” that emphasizes the value of early concepts of deterrence and effective—if sometimes aggressive—diplomacy.

His teachings bring out again and again the need for deliberate, informed planning and preparation prior to considering, much less embarking upon, any military venture.  He posits the need to fully understand one’s own security situation, as well as that of one’s opponent, as the only way to be consistently successful in war.  In short, he argues for the employment of educated, intelligent military leaders who approach war in a rational, unemotional manner.

As well, whatever significance ancient Chinese peoples held for the numeral five shows up again and again throughout the work, as it does in Confucian and later Taoist writings.  In general, if Sun Tzu tells you he’s about to provide a list . . . it’ll probably be a list of five things.  This is true of his general rules for planning sieges, for predicting military victory, general military rules, traits of “dangerous” generals, and measuring military power.  That latest grouping of five being most interesting to me as it matches up very closely with the modern Western planning concept of METT-T (now METT-TC), taking into account the mission, equipment, terrain and weather, troops, and time available.

Attempts to apply Sun Tzu’s teachings, however, to tactical military problems are, by their very nature, problematic, as this was never his intent.  Sun Tzu, throughout his treatise, seeks to convince the aspiring military commander to carefully consider the desired end state, gather critical information, plan thoroughly and deliberately, prepare with a view toward mitigating the unexpected, and execute rapidly with an overwhelming amount of force. [Five things . . . see, I can do it too!]  These are not tactical concerns, rather the realm of the strategist, the civil leader or senior military commander making decisions that have consequences which include war or peace for their nation and people.

Another thing that must be remembered when attempting to shoe-horn the writings of Master Sun into a modern situation is that he was writing in a thoroughly Chinese world, about potential adversaries that were all cut from the same cultural cloth.  The opponents in Sun Tzu’s work spoke, thought, and reasoned in a manner very similar to him.  They were as bound by their own cultural blinders as we are by ours today, and so, with no external threat at the time, his statutes were only ever designed to work within that limited Chinese context. 

This may help to explain why Sun Tzu’s teachings gained such popularity among military leaders spanning so many Chinese generations, yet seem to have failed them when attempting to expand beyond what might be considered cultural China.  Adherents of Sun Tzu failed again and again throughout history when facing non-Chinese adversaries, leading to repeated invasion by multiple nomadic peoples and eventual subjugation by the Jurchen, the Mongols, and finally the Manchus. 

The Manchus, however, took China far beyond the borders of any Chinese-run state, adding all of Manchuria at the inception of the Qing Dynasty in 1636, Tibet in 1718, Qinghai in 1725, and Xinjiang in 1759, rounding out the shape of China we recognize today.  It’s important to remember, then, that foreigners, a confederation of Jurchen tribes and allies from across Manchuria, nearly doubled the size of China, accomplishing in just over a hundred years what successive native Chinese dynasties had failed to achieve through 1,857 years of unified rule.

So, how much of Sun Tzu’s work can we really consider relevant today, in a world where nearly all military conflict is multi-cultural, takes place within a global security environment with established rules of its own, and involves such elements as navies, air forces, ballistic missiles, satellites, and cyberspace?  Or perhaps it’s silly to expect the writings of a military philosopher from the 6th Century B.C. to be appropriate today for anything other than understanding the military and political history of the region.

I’d argue that the basic, underlying theme of Master Sun’s work, that military conflict should only be sought after rational deliberation, following extensive planning and preparation, remains as true today as it did 2,500 years ago.  The rest?  Well … the rest makes for great quotes in email signature blocks.  You know . . . shows you’re well-read!

Still, that any of Sun Tzu’s work would be applicable today argues for his inclusion among the greatest of history’s military theorists.  He was certainly a visionary, and I’m glad I took the time to reacquaint myself.

 M. G. Haynes 

* My sincere apologies for the many mispronunciations of the Chinese language throughout the audio rendition of this blog post. In case you hadn’t noticed . . . I don’t speak Chinese!