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If
you see that your opponent is decked out in full dress uniform sporting two
epaulets -- one on each shoulder -- you must make a point of being seen in full
dress uniform with three epaulets (4
if you can swing it). This will sow
terror into the heart of your opponent.
Additionally, if one of your epaulets comes loose and falls off, you
need not busy yourself with such trifles as sewing on another epaulet, as you
will already have a backup. Thus is the wise general empowered and emboldened
by sowing and not sewing simultaneously. The Zen masters call this “sew-sow.”
In the Art of War, sew-sow is not so-so; sew-so is good.
Do
not waste precious time anticipating your opponent’s next move. Your opponent
has already anticipated that you will attempt to anticipate your opponent’s next
move, thereby sucking all the air out of the room. To stay one step ahead of
your opponent, you must imagine yourself as your opponent imagining what you
would do if you were your opponent’s opponent (i.e., you) anticipating your
opponent’s next move. If, following your recovery from the nausea induced by
your faithful practice of this exercise, both you and your opponent show up at
the observation deck at the top of the Empire State Building at exactly 12
noon, you will know that Game Theory is not entirely poppycock.
While
laying waste to your opponent’s territory, focus your mind’s eye on the
post-battle landscape. Today, you are the invading soldier; tomorrow, you are
the ruler. Leave nothing uninspected. Survey all the land from the highest
hilltop to the lowest plain. Give yourself permission to ask this question: “Would
this be a good spot for a frozen yoghurt shoppe?”
replete with the utterly pretentious and superfluous “pe.” (Your opponent will surely mispronounce “shoppe,” attempting
to effectuate some imagined, hyper-accentuated Elizabethan “eh.”). This will
confound and demoralize your opponent, and will also be a shibboleth, marking
your opponent as the one talking loudly and obnoxiously in an interminable line
wending around the corner and peopled with star-struck rubes desperate to be at
the next big happening. If the signs are not favorable for erecting a frozen
confections stand as a monument to your conquest [and also, if the proper
permitting cannot readily be obtained], decamp for a land where the members of
the local peerage are more corruptible, and the countryside less overrun by
competing styles of soft-serve. The patient general knows that a vanquished
populace needs a half-decent incentive (such as a liberal selection of
toppings) to at least go through the motions of appearing compliant and servile.
In
the midst of a campaign, do not be distracted by the chattering of subordinates.
Some will counsel advance; others retreat.
Still others will insist that you hold the line. Lest you succumb to the
temptation to be pulled this way or that by these underlings, quiet the noise
so that all that remains is the still, small clarity of your inner voice.
Listen to it carefully. It will always tell you the truth without fail. And the
truth is: None of these lieutenants have
as many epaulets as you have; that is why they call you “General.”
Never
lose sight of your goal. Keep it pinned to the inside of your jacket at all times. Better yet, keep it pinned to the outside of your jacket where you can
keep an eye on it. And while never losing sight of your goal, be mindful of the
costs. Are they cross-classified efficiently to maximize deductions? The savvy
general has the foresight to save all receipts, setting the dubious ones aside
for further “analysis.”
The
successful general rises above petty squabbles, enforcing discipline through the
religious application of strict measures, such as ordering the ranks to find
the solution to a crossword puzzle riddled with multiple errors. To the
Machiavellian maxim that the Prince is to be both feared and loved, add the
Pincus Ming Mandelbaum Principle: The general is to remain an enigma. In a
pineapple. Under the sea. It is not for a
mere foot soldier to pierce the veil between better judgment and an incomprehensible
policy. While the cold, hard truth may be that the general is oft times
clueless, this is a privileged secret. It is inviolate. An army will rebel
against the most accomplished of generals whose expressions of self-doubt are
exposed to the regiment, whereas an incompetent buffoon practiced only in
braggadocio and self adoration will engender mindless loyalty to the ends of
the earth.
Any
fool can start a war. Every child knows this.
They are born knowing it. Do not suppose that your opponent does not
already know it, especially if your opponent has read ahead. It is no accident
that in the annals of history, very few wars have been started by a child – a
taunting spree or a temper tantrum, maybe – but not a full-fledged war. The reason
is simple: most wars begin well past a child’s bedtime or else on a school day.
As effortless as it may be to start a war, for all but the most talented of
generals, it is a bridge too far to end one. The insightful general, therefore,
consults not only the movement of the opponent, the celestial bodies, and the
wind, but also the academic calendar and the television cartoon schedule. The battlefield is littered with generals who imagined
that they, instead of circumstances beyond their comprehension, turned the tide.
In the Art of War, the general who truly seeks a comprehensive peace must experience
the moment through the eyes of a child, think what a child thinks, feel what a
child feels, and hear what a child hears. And when you, dear general, hear the final
bell ring, ask not for whom the bell tolls; just know this: recess is over.
And
so is the war.
