Reclaiming Thucydides in the name of statecraft

Reflections on the ancients with the aid of Daoism

Preface: I wrote this a while ago, and have been reflecting on it and refining it on-and-off ever since. Given US-Israeli strikes on Iran and the blow-back that has occasioned, this essay on lessons from Thucydides seems apposite and timely - if not in the immediate here and now, then certainly in how we can think about international relations in the aftermath to come. I have commented on, and written about, the war in the middle east elsewhere so won’t go over this ground in this more reflective piece.

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“The strong do as they please, the weak suffer what they must.” This is a quote from Thucydides frequently invoked to make a “realist” point about how might is right in the world of international relations. Yet, this isn’t the point of this passage at all. The point in Thucydides was to show how those that uttered this phase ultimately fell.

The phrase comes from the Melian Dialogue in Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War, where the Athenians justify their ultimatum to the neutral island of Melos by asserting that power determines outcomes, not justice. This is often taken as a straightforward endorsement of realism, and the idea that in international relations, power is the only true determinant of action.

However, Thucydides does not present this statement as an eternal truth. Rather, it is an articulation of Athenian arrogance at the height of their power. The Melian Dialogue is a literary construction that serves to illustrate the moral and strategic failure of the Athenians, who, despite their ruthless logic, ultimately suffer a catastrophic defeat in the war. The very power they believe gives them impunity leads to overreach, particularly in the Sicilian Expedition, which accelerates their downfall.

In this sense, Thucydides is not simply stating that “might makes right”; he is showing that hubris and the unchecked pursuit of power often lead to ruin. The tragedy of Athens is that, by embracing this logic, they sowed the seeds of their own destruction.

Graham Allison’s Thucydides Trap has popularised the notion that there is an historic deux ex machina that propels rising powers to come into conflict with incumbent or declining powers. As interesting as it is, Allison’s argument is premised on very few case studies, and tends to de-historicise the examples in the quest for something akin to an iron law. In any case not all case studies back up his claim. The limited number of case studies, often handpicked from Western history, creates a somewhat contrived pattern rather than demonstrating an inviolable historical law. Not all cases of rising versus incumbent powers result in war (e.g., the U.S. surpassing Britain in the late 19th and early 20th centuries). The analysis also flattens historical context, treating vastly different geopolitical situations as equivalent.

That said, Allison’s book is useful because it forces us to re-engage with Thucydides’ analysis from which we discover that the issue is not so much about rising powers coming into conflict with receding powers, but that it is diplomacy that is pivotal to the management of inter-city state relations.

The real lesson of Thucydides is not that power transitions must lead to war, but that diplomacy and decision-making are crucial in determining outcomes. Thucydides does not present the Peloponnesian War as inevitable but as a result of contingent choices, strategic miscalculations and failed diplomacy. The History of the Peloponnesian War is full of moments where diplomacy could have prevented escalation, such as the Spartan king Archidamus’ calls for caution, Pericles’ careful balancing act before his death, and even the Melian Dialogue itself, where Athens chooses coercion over negotiation.

So, rather than a deterministic trap, Thucydides presents a study of how human agency, ambition, fear and miscalculation shape international relations. It suggests that diplomacy, restraint and understanding the perspectives of both rising and established powers are key to avoiding conflict; not that conflict is inevitable.

In some important respects, Allison’s work really is a lesson of how an important historical work can be mobilised and reframed in the name of framing a contemporary narrative. Allison’s Thucydides Trap is less about Thucydides and more about constructing a contemporary geopolitical narrative that frames U.S.-China relations as a preordained clash. In doing so, Allison’s Thucydides is quite different from Thucydides’ actual analysis, stripping away the nuances of diplomacy, decision-making and historical contingency in favour of an abstract, near-deterministic framework.

This kind of historical framing has political effects: it reinforces the idea that the U.S. and China are locked in an inevitable struggle, as an ontological a priori, which in turn justifies certain policy choices, such as military buildup, containment strategies, and confrontation. But Thucydides’ History is not a playbook for war; it’s a study of the complexities of power, the fragility of empire, and the consequences of strategic miscalculation.

If anything, an alternative, more direct reading of Thucydides should push policymakers away from fatalism. It should highlight the importance of diplomacy, strategic patience, and managing power transitions wisely rather than assuming they must lead to war. Allison’s framing does the opposite; it runs the risks of turning history into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Such an alternative reading of Thucydides should focus on questions of effective statecraft, the making of good judgements and the role of virtue (or lack of it) in the processes of calculation and conduct.

In this reading, Thucydides’ History is ultimately a study in statecraft. It is a study in how leaders make decisions, how states navigate conflict, and how the interplay of power, perception, and judgment shapes outcomes. Far from being a crude realist manifesto, his work is deeply concerned with the role of phronesis (practical wisdom) in governance and the consequences of moral and strategic misjudgment.

Throughout his account, Thucydides contrasts leaders who embody prudence and restraint, such as Pericles, who understood the limits of Athenian power and sought to avoid unnecessary entanglements, with those who succumb to hubris, emotion, or shortsighted ambition. The downfall of Athens, for instance, is not simply the result of a structural power struggle but of poor decision-making, factionalism, and the reckless imperial overreach of leaders like Cleon and Alcibiades.

Moreover, the Melian Dialogue is actually a stark warning about the dangers of abandoning ethical considerations in statecraft. The Athenians, convinced of their own invincibility, crush Melos out of expediency, only to later suffer a far greater disaster in Sicily. The lesson is clear: arrogance, cruelty, and the rejection of diplomatic prudence can lead even the most powerful states to ruin.

So rather than being about the inevitability of conflict, Thucydides’ History is a meditation on leadership, the necessity of good judgment, and the fragile balance between power and wisdom. His work is as much about the moral dimensions of politics as it is about strategy, something that is almost entirely lost in the Thucydides Trap narrative.

Let’s contrast this then with lessons that today’s Chinese leadership draw from their own history of warfare, the rise and fall of dynasties, the unification of China and how they frame the challenges and imperatives of statecraft, particularly insofar as it goes to how China relates to other states.

While Western strategic thought, especially as filtered through recent interpretations of Thucydides, often frames power transitions as inherently conflictual, Chinese statecraft draws from a very different historical and philosophical tradition. China’s leadership today approaches international relations with a perspective shaped by its long history of dynastic cycles, internal unification, and strategic philosophy, particularly from Confucianism, Daoism, and Legalism.

One of the most fundamental lessons drawn from Chinese history is that disorder (luan, 乱) is the greatest threat to governance, and the legitimacy of rule is tied to the maintenance of stability. The concept of the Mandate of Heaven (天命) underscores this: rulers maintain their legitimacy through effective governance and moral leadership, but when they fail, disorder follows, leading to their downfall. This historical consciousness informs China’s approach to statecraft, both domestically and internationally. Stability is prioritised over ideological confrontation, and the emphasis is on managing complexity rather than escalating conflict.

This is a key reason why China does not embrace the zero-sum logic implied by the Thucydides Trap. While it acknowledges competition, it also sees the value in curating long-term balance rather than seeking outright domination. This explains China’s preference for economic interdependence, long-term strategic patience, and multi-tiered diplomacy rather than direct military confrontation.

China’s leadership frequently draws on lessons from the Warring States period (战国时代, 475–221 BCE), where rival states engaged in continuous strategic manoeuvring. Thinkers like Sun Tzu (The Art of War) and Han Feizi (Legalism) emphasised adaptability, deception, and achieving objectives without direct confrontation.

What then is the key lesson? The strongest power does not always win. Those who manage strategic resources wisely and exploit asymmetries can prevail. This thinking manifests in China’s modern strategy. China seeks to avoid direct military conflicts with strong parties (e.g., the U.S.); instead it pursues influence through economic initiatives like the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). It uses diplomatic flexibility and ambiguity, such as balancing between cooperation and competition with various powers, rather than locking into rigid alliances. It also emphasises “incrementalism” in geopolitics, such as the patient assertion of territorial claims rather than reckless escalation.

Another historical lesson deeply embedded in Chinese statecraft is the imperative of national unity. The periods of division in Chinese history, such as the collapse of the Han dynasty or the fragmentation during the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms (907–960 CE), are remembered as times of weakness and vulnerability. This has direct implications for China’s approach to sovereignty: issues like Taiwan, Xizang, and Xinjiang are seen not merely as political disputes but as existential matters tied to national cohesion.

Externally, this also informs China’s approach to alliances. Unlike Western powers that often rely on formal military pacts, China historically prefers relationships where influence is exerted through economic and cultural ties rather than hard (military) commitments. This is evident in China’s relationships with Southeast Asia and Africa today, where engagement is framed around economic partnership rather than military alignment. It is also evident in the nature of the partnership it has developed with Russia.

The concept of Tianxia (天下 All-Under-Heaven) represents an ancient Chinese vision of order where different political entities can coexist under a hierarchical but non-confrontational system. This does not necessarily imply imperial control but rather a framework where China, as a major power, maintains stability through diplomacy, trade and cultural exchange.

In modern foreign policy, this manifests in a number of ways. Firstly, we see an emphasis on multilateral diplomacy, through which China engages in multiple overlapping frameworks (BRICS, Shanghai Cooperation Organisation, ASEAN+1) rather than rigid blocs. Secondly, unlike the Western model of interventionist liberalism, China tends to emphasise sovereignty and internal stability, seeing foreign-imposed regime change as dangerous and to be resisted. Lastly, China seeks economic integration as a means of curating networks of influence. Instead of direct coercion, China extends influence through infrastructure, trade and technology that deliver benefits all around (e.g., BRI, AIIB).

Whereas Allison’s Thucydides Trap frames history almost as an iron law of conflict between rising and established powers, China’s historical perspective suggests a more fluid and adaptive approach to power evolutions and transitions. The Chinese view does not deny competition but sees it as something to be managed through strategic patience, economic interdependence and diplomatic flexibility.

This is why China often resists U.S. framings of geopolitics as a new Cold War. This is because from a Chinese historical perspective, the objective is not to overthrow the incumbent power through direct confrontation but to outmanoeuvre it, gradually rendering its dominance obsolete. In other words, the objective is to facilitate systemic evolution. China does not seek to replace the United States as a global hegemonic power; rather, it seeks to advance a world in which there is no single global superpower acting as hegemon.

Returning to Thucydides, the true lesson of his work, like China’s historical lessons, is that diplomacy and statecraft determine outcomes more than raw power. The Western appropriation of Thucydides as proof of (near) inevitable conflict leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy, while China’s leadership, drawing from its own historical experience, sees the world in terms of managing competition through long-term strategic patience. Ultimately, both Thucydides and Chinese historical thought emphasise that leadership is not about brute force but about understanding timing, perception, and the art of maintaining order amidst complexity.

Thus, at the core of both Thucydides’ analysis and the Chinese tradition of statecraft is an approach that closely aligns with Aristotle’s phronesis, that is, practical wisdom or virtue ethics applied to governance. The art of statecraft is not about following rigid formulas but about making the right calls at the right time, balancing continuity and change, and managing the unpredictability of human affairs.

Thucydides’ History repeatedly shows that the fate of states depends not just on power but on the wisdom (or lack thereof) of their leaders. Pericles embodies phronesis. He understands Athens’ strengths and limits, advocating a defensive strategy in the Peloponnesian War rather than reckless expansion. His successors, particularly Cleon and Alcibiades, abandon prudence in favour of arrogance and self-interest, leading Athens toward self-destruction. For Thucydides, statecraft is about practical wisdom in action; of adjusting to circumstances, foreseeing long-term consequences, and knowing when to show restraint or act decisively. The failure of Athens is not predetermined; it is the product of hubris, poor decision-making, and an inability to navigate changing realities.

Chinese political philosophy similarly emphasises the importance of wisdom and adaptability in leadership. Confucianism views virtue (de 德) as the foundation of legitimate rule, with ren (仁 benevolence) and li (礼 proper conduct) guiding leaders toward decisions that maintain harmony. A ruler who acts with virtue strengthens the state; one who rules through force alone invites resistance and disorder.

Daoism adds another layer: the idea that the most effective governance often works with the natural flow of things rather than against them. The concepts of wu wei (无为, effortless action) and wu wei er zhi (无为而治, ‘rule through non-interference’) and the notion that ‘governing a great state is like cooking a small fish’ (治大国若烹小鲜) all suggest that sometimes the best form of leadership is the application of a light touch, allowing organic developments to unfold. This is reflected in China’s preference for long-term strategy over immediate confrontation, aligning statecraft with shifting conditions rather than imposing rigid doctrines. These ideas are deeply rooted in Daoist philosophy, particularly the thought of Laozi.

The phrase ‘governing a great state is like cooking a small fish’ comes from the Dao De Jing (Chapter 60). It conveys the idea that ruling a large country requires a light touch, much like cooking a small fish, which will fall apart if overly handled. The underlying philosophical notion emphasises minimal disruption, wherein excessive interference in governance may create more problems than it solves, just as stirring a small fish too much will break it apart. It also guides the ruler to respect the organic development of society, ensuring that policies align with natural tendencies rather than forcing artificial control. It is a question of being attuned to balance and natural order. Lastly, it advises that a wise ruler governs with subtlety, guiding rather than micromanaging, allowing the people and institutions to function smoothly without unnecessary intervention.

Similarly, the idea of ‘rule through non-interference’ suggests that the best governance occurs when the ruler does not actively interfere but instead creates conditions where order emerges naturally. It should be emphasised that wu wei (无为) does not mean doing nothing; rather, it means governing in a way that allows natural order to function optimally. In practical terms, the state should provide the necessary conditions for society to flourish (e.g., legal structure, infrastructure) rather than attempting to dictate every detail. It facilitates, enables and empowers rather than controls. We see this also evident in the approach to international relations, where relations are mediated not forced; where disputes are engaged with through dialogue. ‘Rule through non-interference’, therefore, suggests that the best governance does not rely on force but rather on guiding society subtly, shaping norms and incentives.

We often hear Chinese leaders speak of the need to create the ‘right conditions’ or that the ‘conditions need to be right’ for certain behaviours and outcomes to emerge and take root. China's ‘Community of Shared Future for Mankind’ aligns with Daoist principles by promoting cooperation and alignment of interests rather than coercion or confrontation. The underlying driver is to work in ways that are conducive to the emergence of the right conditions for change to take place without causing drastic or violent disruptions.

Both the idea of light-touch governance and non-interference reflect the Chinese state’s adaptive, flexible and pragmatic approach to governance. Unlike Western models that emphasise direct intervention (through laws, regulations, and enforcement), China’s model often guides rather than commands, creating an environment where change happens organically but within a structured framework. In this framework, prudence and wisdom become pivotal variables as making decisions and judgements that relate to the conditions at hand is central to success in a world that is always changing.

Both Thucydides and Chinese thinkers recognise that while stability is crucial, change is inevitable. The key is not to resist change outright but to guide it wisely. Athenian leaders who ignored this, clinging to an aggressive, outdated imperial strategy, suffered ruin. Similarly, Chinese dynasties that failed to adapt (such as the Qing resisting modernisation for too long) collapsed under external and internal pressures.

This is why China’s modern approach to global politics is based on gradual adjustment rather than direct confrontation. Economic modernisation, diplomatic realignments, and infrastructure diplomacy (BRI) all reflect an awareness that enduring influence comes not from brute force but from shaping conditions over time. Both Thucydides and Chinese statecraft emphasise that true power is not simply the ability to impose one’s will but the capacity to govern effectively, maintain legitimacy, and anticipate shifts in the strategic environment. States that rely solely on coercion tend to overextend and collapse, while those that cultivate resilience, adaptability, and pragmatic diplomacy endure.

The Western realist obsession with power struggles and “traps” misses the deeper lesson found in both Thucydides and Chinese history: leadership is not about brute force but about making wise decisions at the right time to minimise disruption, maintain order, and navigate inevitable change. This is the sine qua non of statecraft. Whether through phronesis, de, or wu wei, successful statecraft is an art of balance; an art that requires an acute understanding of both worldly forces and human agency. It demands a mindfulness to the centrality of cultivating prudence and acuity in determining the kinds of actions that are warranted at particular times.

The lessons of Thucydides are less to do with traps, and more to do with the ethical challenges of diplomacy and statecraft in the face of human frailties, unbridled passions and self-deceptive hubris.