Finding Stillness in the Fight

Why Lao Tzu and Steven Pressfield Are Secretly on the Same Team

At first glance, The Art of War and The War of Art sound like cosmic twins with flipped destinies—one forged in the fire of ancient warfare, the other in the quiet desperation of a modern writer’s desk.

One was weaponized by emperors, the other whispered by artists in need of a battle cry. But look deeper. Strip the camouflage from Sun Tzu and the trench coat from Steven Pressfield, and you’ll find both texts preaching something ancient: how to survive the war—within and without—without losing your soul.

Let’s clear one thing up: The Art of War was written by Sun Tzu, not Lao Tzu. But Taoist fingerprints are all over it. Sun Tzu, like Lao Tzu, was obsessed with flow—how to move without forcing, how to win without fighting. “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” That isn’t just a tactic. That’s spiritual aikido. That’s wu wei in combat boots. It’s the Tao, weaponized.

This isn’t the chest-thumping bravado of Western conquest. Sun Tzu wasn’t out to flex. He was out to bend—to bend circumstances, perceptions, energy. His genius wasn’t in brute strength but in strategy rooted in natural law.

The best general, he tells us, wins without drawing his sword. He anticipates. He adapts. He moves like water, not a wrecking ball. And when the time comes, he doesn’t hesitate—he strikes with precision and disappears like mist.

Now swing to The War of Art. Pressfield ain’t talking about physical war—he’s talking about the silent, daily grind of dragging yourself to the blank page, the gym mat, the studio, the startup. His enemy isn’t China. It’s not a foreign power. It’s Resistance—the inner saboteur that whispers: “Not today,” “You’re not good enough,” “Maybe tomorrow.”

From a Taoist lens, Resistance is ego’s final tantrum before surrender. It’s the mind grasping, controlling, fearing—refusing to flow. Pressfield doesn’t sugarcoat it. He calls Resistance “insidious,” “always lying,” “always full of shit.” And he’s right. It’s that voice that keeps you distracted, addicted, playing small. Taoism would say it’s the mind trying to override the Dao—the natural unfolding.

Pressfield’s antidote? Show up. Do the work. No applause, no whining. Sit your ass down and create. Don’t wait for inspiration—that’s Resistance’s trap. Get in position, and the Muse might visit. Don’t, and she sure as hell won’t. That’s Taoist, too. You don’t beg the Tao to show up. You align with it. You let it move through you, without gripping the wheel.

Here’s where it gets interesting: Sun Tzu says don’t act until the terrain is favorable. Pressfield says screw the terrain—act anyway. The Taoist in me smiles at the paradox. Because both are right. There are times to wait—to watch the wind, study the terrain, read the room. But there are also times when doing the damn thing is the only way to shatter Resistance and invite flow. Sometimes the only favorable terrain is your own conviction.

Pressfield’s work is often mistaken for self-help, but what he’s really offering is spiritual initiation. He doesn’t care about goals. He cares about grit. He’s asking you to bow—not to fame, not to productivity, but to the sacred act of creation itself. That’s what makes The War of Art resonate with Taoist wisdom. The warrior and the artist both live by rhythm, discipline, and surrender.

And make no mistake: both books are manuals for personal sovereignty. The Art of War trains you to navigate systems and hierarchies without becoming their prisoner. The War of Art trains you to face the biggest tyrant of all—your own fear.

Lao Tzu said, “He who conquers others is strong; he who conquers himself is mighty.” That’s the bridge between Sun Tzu and Pressfield. One fights from the outside in. The other from the inside out. But both know: if you can’t master your own mind, you’ll lose before the battle even begins.

So what’s the takeaway? Whether you’re battling in a boardroom or wrestling with your novel, these two warriors whisper the same core truth:

Wait. Watch. Move when it’s time.

And above all—flow.

Because in the end, it’s not about winning. It’s about aligning with something deeper than ambition or fear. It’s about letting go of control, and letting the Tao do the heavy lifting.

Now ask yourself: Are you still waiting for the right moment?

Or have you already begun?

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Diamond Michael Scott

aka The Chocolate Taoist