Let's move on to Chapter 9 of The Art of War. I'm going to take the rest of the book somewhat quickly. 

We come now to the question of encamping the army, and observing signs of the enemy.

Pass quickly over mountains, and keep in the neighborhood of valleys.
 

The heading of this chapter is The Army on the March. Sun Tzu gives us details specific to actual military maneuvering, here. But are there general principles that we can tease out and apply to our own lives?

Let's see.

The point of telling us to "pass quickly over mountains," our translator notes, is that we need to not "linger among barren uplands, but keep close to supplies of water and grass."

Water and grass are fuel for men and horses. We can say for the soul generally, keeping in mind Plato's image of the soul as a winged chariot, pulled by two horses. "Barren uplands," then, are all those places in which the soul can find no nourishment, no water for the men nor grass for the horses.

What is it that nourishes the soul?

This varies from person to person, of course, depending on our individual needs and desires. There are some constants, though. Every soul is nourished by vital energy: Real food, fresh air, sunlight, the presence of other living beings. Every soul is nourished by beauty: In music, art, architecture, and stories. Every soul is nourished by purpose: By fulfilling that charge or set of charges which is its own to dispatch upon the Earth. 

And every soul without exception is nourished by Love. Love for God; for one's parents or mentors, one's children or students, one's friends, one's lover; for one's town and country, for a forest or mountain range, for one's own animals and plants-- relationship is another way to say this. 

Let us recall Plato's words in the Phaedrus:


Ten thousand years must elapse before the soul of each one can return to the place from whence she came, for she cannot grow her wings in less; only the soul of a philosopher, guileless and true, or the soul of a lover, who is not devoid of philosophy, may acquire wings in the third of the recurring periods of a thousand years; he is distinguished from the ordinary good man who gains wings in three thousand years:-and they who choose this life three times in succession have wings given them, and go away at the end of three thousand years. But the others receive judgment when they have completed their first life, and after the judgment they go, some of them to the houses of correction which are under the earth, and are punished; others to some place in heaven whither they are lightly borne by justice, and there they live in a manner worthy of the life which they led here when in the form of men. And at the end of the first thousand years the good souls and also the evil souls both come to draw lots and choose their second life, and they may take any which they please. The soul of a man may pass into the life of a beast, or from the beast return again into the man. But the soul which has never seen the truth will not pass into the human form. For a man must have intelligence of universals, and be able to proceed from the many particulars of sense to one conception of reason;-this is the recollection of those things which our soul once saw while following God-when regardless of that which we now call being she raised her head up towards the true being. And therefore the mind of the philosopher alone has wings; and this is just, for he is always, according to the measure of his abilities, clinging in recollection to those things in which God abides, and in beholding which He is what He is. And he who employs aright these memories is ever being initiated into perfect mysteries and alone becomes truly perfect. But, as he forgets earthly interests and is rapt in the divine, the vulgar deem him mad, and rebuke him; they do not see that he is inspired.
 
Stay close to the air and the sunlight; don't linger in catacombs, even if they're well stocked with groceries. Find time every day to do the things that you are meant to do on this Earth. And abide not long in a life devoid of love!
Today, a note from Plato on the nature of the soul:

Of the nature of the soul, though her true form be ever a theme of large and more than mortal discourse, let me speak briefly, and in a figure. And let the figure be composite-a pair of winged horses and a charioteer. Now the winged horses and the charioteers of the gods are all of them noble and of noble descent, but those of other races are mixed; the human charioteer drives his in a pair; and one of them is noble and of noble breed, and the other is ignoble and of ignoble breed; and the driving of them of necessity gives a great deal of trouble to him.
 
Later, in the same dialog, he elaborates:

 
As I said at the beginning of this tale, I divided each soul into three-two horses and a charioteer; and one of the horses was good and the other bad: the division may remain, but I have not yet explained in what the goodness or badness of either consists, and to that I will proceed. The right-hand horse is upright and cleanly made; he has a lofty neck and an aquiline nose; his colour is white, and his eyes dark; he is a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and the follower of true glory; he needs no touch of the whip, but is guided by word and admonition only. The other is a crooked lumbering animal, put together anyhow; he has a short thick neck; he is flat-faced and of a dark colour, with grey eyes and blood-red complexion; the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf, hardly yielding to whip and spur. Now when the charioteer beholds the vision of love, and has his whole soul warmed through sense, and is full of the prickings and ticklings of desire, the obedient steed, then as always under the government of shame, refrains from leaping on the beloved; but the other, heedless of the pricks and of the blows of the whip, plunges and runs away, giving all manner of trouble to his companion and the charioteer, whom he forces to approach the beloved and to remember the joys of love. They at first indignantly oppose him and will not be urged on to do terrible and unlawful deeds; but at last, when he persists in plaguing them, they yield and agree to do as he bids them.

Now, Plato is talking about sex here-- and not the kind of sex that would please Jerry Falwell, either. But his words apply to every circumstance in which the two steeds within us are aroused. A modern Plato might have written:
 
Now, when the charioteer sees a friend's Facebook post, the obedient steed thinks "Good for her!" or "I hope he's happy" or at least "After all, everyone tries to look as good as possible on social media. But the other, heedless of the whip, goes right to envy, or judgment, or regret, or lust. 

Or,
 
Now, when the charioteer beholds an advertisement, the obedient steed is unmoved, seeing in it only a cynical attempt to manipulate his desires; but the other, heedless of the whip, allows himself to be led by lust or fear or insecurity towards a product that he does not need.

Or,
 
Now, when the charioteer hears of some news item, the obedient steed, always under the government of patience and prudence, refrains from responding emotionally; but the other, heedless of the whip, plunges down into whatever rabbit-hole of fear or hatred the media have prepared for him. 
 

All of us who are not immortal beings come equipped with both of these horses, and learning, through meditation and spiritual practice, to guide the chariot of our soul is the work of a lifetime. And it is slow, difficult, work, requiring immense patience and a will to persist in the face of a thousand setbacks and obstacles. But the work is worth it. As Plato tells us, the soul which comes under the rule of its charioteer is able to return to the gods, where it can ascend with them to the highest heaven. 
 
But of the heaven which is above the heavens, what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing worthily? It is such as I will describe; for I must dare to speak the truth, when truth is my theme. There abides the very being with which true knowledge is concerned; the colourless, formless, intangible essence, visible only to mind, the pilot of the soul. The divine intelligence, being nurtured upon mind and pure knowledge, and the intelligence of every soul which is capable of receiving the food proper to it, rejoices at beholding reality, and once more gazing upon truth, is replenished and made glad, until the revolution of the worlds brings her round again to the same place. In the revolution she beholds justice, and temperance, and knowledge absolute, not in the form of generation or of relation, which men call existence, but knowledge absolute in existence absolute; and beholding the other true existences in like manner, and feasting upon them, she passes down into the interior of the heavens and returns home; and there the charioteer putting up his horses at the stall, gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink. 
 


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