Why I Hate Sun Tzu

2024 Chase Prize Essay Contest Winner: Honorable Mention

Reevaluating a supposedly foundational text

I hate Sun Tzu. There, I said it. Go on, make your judgments, roll your eyes, and think: Here we go, this is the same guy who dismissed Plato in Philosophy 101 just to be a shocking contrarian. That is, admittedly, a perfectly reasonable reaction—but let me add some context now that I have your attention.

The Art of War does not offer bad advice, quite the opposite. It has had a profound effect on the 20th century through men like Mao Zedong and Vo Nguyen Giap; that is unquestioned. The Art of War is the definitive work on war in some parts of the world—but not here. The problem with Sun Tzu is two-fold. First, the influence of Sun Tzu is wildly overemphasized in Western military education since The Art of War is a relatively recent addition to the Western strategic canon. Second, his Confucian philosophy is antithetical to the philosophies that shaped the American way of war. Ultimately, Sun Tzu is an outsider whose work has limited applicability to the Marine Corps.

New Kid on the Block
Sun Tzu is typically covered first when studying the theory of war. This makes sense, as he is chronologically the earliest great theorist. Yet, when the historicity is considered, Sun Tzu is a relatively recent addition. French Jesuits brought the first translations of The Art of War to Europe in the late 18th century, but when The Art of War entered into the Western zeitgeist is up for debate. Just because translations were available did not mean they were utilized. B.H. Liddell-Hart, whose indirect approach bears some similarities to The Art of War, was already working on his ideas when he was introduced to Sun Tzu in 1927.1 It was Marine Gen Samuel B. Griffith’s translation and commentary alongside Mao’s On Guerrilla Warfare in 1963 that finally brought the text to wider attention in the West. Griffith even observes in his translation’s appendix that, despite European theorists having access to the text, they either had little knowledge or regard for it.2 Sun Tzu did not even make the cut for the definitive Makers of Modern Strategy, first released in 1986, though he did make the cut in the 2023 edition.3

Mediocre translations were certainly a factor in the relative sluggishness of Sun Tzu’s acceptance in Europe; however, likely the most significant factor was the lack of foundational texts whose understanding was a requisite for comprehension. Even today, much of the nuance of The Art of War is lost on Westerners who are not familiar with Confucian philosophy and Chinese history.

Most Westerners are not familiar with their own foundational texts, much less the Chinese ones. However, this was not always the case. For centuries, education in Europe was based on the medieval model’s trivium and quadrivium—collectively referred to as the liberal arts.4 This model drew heavily from the Greco-Roman texts that formalized education and served as a means of leveling the upper class.5 Classical works were pervasive in the development of modern military theory, practitioner Wellington and theorist Clausewitz would have equally dreaded the sentence: Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres.6

Intellectually, the Greco-Roman and Medieval worlds were far more influential than Sun Tzu could ever hope to be. The overwhelming majority of theorists and practitioners who shaped our world had no idea who Sun Tzu was. If studying the evolution of Western strategic theory as it developed chronologically, Sun Tzu appears very late—certainly after Clausewitz and Jomini. The ancient classics with their medieval linkages are so vast that scholars frequently forget they are standing on them.

Why Sun Tzu Does Not Belong
The Art of War was a subversive text at the time of its collection. War in ancient China had become increasingly theatrical with battles serving as opportunities for the nobility to display their manliness. Sun Tzu brought pragmatism to war in China. That is precisely the problem, Sun Tzu is the ultimate pragmatist; winning without fighting is a pragmatic goal, not a moral ideal. Restraint and magnanimity in victory are only necessary when the benefits outweigh the cost. People are disposable if it means winning; he lets others do the fighting and suffering provided it leads to victory. Everything is available to Sun Tzu—how you win is of no importance so long as you do. Mao and Giap won their wars in no small part because they were willing to inflict truly staggering degrees of suffering not just on their soldiers but on their own people; safe in the knowledge, it was for their own good. Effectively employing The Art of War requires the kind of hubris that Icarus would briefly appreciate.

This is where Sun Tzu fails to meaningfully contribute to the American way of war or Marine Corps warfighting. His commonsense advice is just that—common. Sun Tzu is certainly not unique, Homer compares conflict to flowing water as well.7 Readers can already learn the value of deception from wily Odysseus, sound campaign preparations from Julius Caesar, and strategic foolishness from Thucydides. Sun Tzu just reads better on a PowerPoint.

What is distinct to Sun Tzu is his cynical philosophical underpinnings that are best suited to equally cynical autocrats seeking to create a world more advantageous for themselves. The difference becomes more apparent when it is compared directly to the Western intellectual tradition that would create the concepts of chivalry and just war. The Art of War stresses the importance of the general as the “bulwark of the state” and “arbiter of fate” which has been an antithetical concept in American history since George Washington.8

Like Liddle-Harts’s indirect approach, Sun Tzu requires a healthy degree of sophistry to intellectually sustain. If you properly observe the techniques, then success is all but guaranteed; failure is the result of not following the proscribed techniques. By this logic, one could argue that Alexander applied the indirect approach when he slashed open the Gordian knot. Just consider the translation convention of terms like Moral Law and virtue, Sun Tzu and Thomas Aquinas are talking about very different things.9 Where Sun Tzu advocates morally relative pragmatism, Thomas Aquinas acknowledges moral paradox. War can be both awful and just. Violent men are expected to control themselves with courtly manners. This is not hypocrisy but the inability to live up to transcendent ideals, much like Clausewitz’s acknowledgment that theoretical total war is impossible. This is why Europe has King Arthur and China has Confucius.

Know Your Self, Know Your Adversary
Science is the handmaiden of philosophy. Therefore, cynical pragmatic philosophy will produce cynical pragmatic means of making war. Sun Tzu would be baffled by Western readers’ negative perception of the Melian Dialogue as an increasingly imperious Athens threatens the small neutral island of Melos into submission; obviously, the weak endure what they must, that is the entire point of being strong! For the most hardened student of realpolitik, it is hard to make a case that Americans are particularly talented at the strategy advocated by Sun Tzu. It has been attempted but rarely with lasting success and never with moral justification. When Americans are at peace, Sun Tzu has minimal applicability to U.S. foreign policy because pragmatism does not win friends.

Two states that actively espouse Sun Tzu will never truly be at peace. Sun Tzu emphasizes attacking an opponent’s strategy. In peacetime, this means undermining the enemy society since the best way to win without fighting is to endlessly prepare for war while undermining your adversary. A state that ascribes to this sort of mentality can have a public policy of no preemptive strikes yet still launch a surprise attack in the name of defense.

Sun Tzu emphasizes a mental model of war versus a physical one; this becomes truly terrifying when it hybridizes with postmodern materialistic philosophy. The pursuit of gaining and maintaining political power becomes its principal goal and is endlessly pursued. Sun Tzu is far more applicable to the challenges of international order, unsurprisingly, the People’s Republic of China. China has recognized that attacking an opponent’s strategy means corrupting their society, which they do through disinformation campaigns on social media, complicity in illicit synthetic opioid exports, and eroding trust in global institutions, such as the World Health Organization. A state that emphasizes undermining its perceived adversary’s societal fabric through deception will have to pay a moral cost as words will cease to mean things and trust corrodes.

What Should the Marine Corps Do About It?
Thucydides should be acknowledged as the intellectual godfather of the Marine Corps; the History of the Peloponnesian War puts tragic the human cost of war on full display. When war is perceived as easy and convenient, reality quickly dispels this notion at a terrible cost. Society breaks down when pragmatism is ahead of ideals. The fact humans are unable to achieve permanent peace does not make the ideal less worthwhile. Wars should be fought with the intent to create a better state of peace, wars of pragmatism rarely accomplish this. Thucydides paints an imperfect world that is worth living and fighting for, the world of Sun Tzu knows no leisure.

Sun Tzu should be studied and comprehended in the same way that Mao’s Little Red Book should be kept handy. No reasonable person could argue about Mao’s effectiveness as a leader; he achieved his political objectives and was one of the most consequential leaders of the 20th century. Yet, this came at the cost of ruthless purges, grinding campaigns, and mass starvation but on a scale that most Americans can barely comprehend. The current generation of the Chinese Communist Party helming China are the heirs of that tradition. Whether they appreciate it or not, Americans are crusaders. Brilliant crusaders. Whether crushing insurrections to end slavery or ending the terror of an authoritarian dictator; when Americans go to war with ideals and strategic alignment—they get the job done regardless of the cost and blood.

Sun Tzu is commonly referenced because it is easily referenced, pithy quotes that apply to everything. The Western classical tradition is more difficult to digest but offers a much richer understanding of humans in conflict. Thucydides is a grind, both textually and spiritually, and it should be—comprehending war should not be easy or convenient. The works of Homer and Thucydides are ostensibly sad, life is hard, and war is tragic but that is only because deep down they understand that it should not have to be this way. Understanding the rage of Achilles, the despair of Odysseus, or the whole tragedy of the Peloponnesian War offers a far more realistic view of humanity in conflict because of its longing for a better world that is denied to them. They can only see the silhouettes that are created by a luminous perfect form. They are focused on the light; Sun Tzu is focused on the shadows.

Sun Tzu’s current place in the Western strategic canon is poetic, his introduction is far more recent, yet he is the most recognizable and more often quoted. The West Point Civil War generals fought because of Jomini, the Prussian generals fought because of Clausewitz, and both of whom are footnotes when compared to the influence of Thucydides. Sun Tzu has truly won without fighting.

>Maj Stephens is the Course Chief for the Logistics Intelligence Planners Course at the Marine Corps Operational Logistics Group in Twentynine Palms, CA.

Notes

1. Sun Tzu, Art of War, translated by Samuel Griffith (New York: Oxford University Press, 1971).

2. Ibid.

3. Gordon Gecko cites the text in 1987’s Wall Street if that is any indication of public awareness.

4. For a concise description of the medieval liberal arts, see the Dorthy L. Sayers essay “The Lost Tools of Learning.”

5. Thomas Ricks, First Principles (New York: Harper, 2020). 

6. “All of Gaul is divided into three parts,” The (in)famous opening line of Julius Caesar’s campaign in Gaul.

7. Homer, The Iliad, translated by Robert Fagles (New York: Penguin Books, 1990).

8. Ibid.

9. Ibid.

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