Choosing Your Battles Wisely Matters More Than Winning Them
A lesson in conflict from Zheng He and the Duke of Wellington
This essay is part three of my ongoing investigation into the principles that shape conflict. Each essay can be read on it’s own, or you can read part one and part two first.
The great Ming admiral Zheng He stood silently at the bow of his treasure ship, gazing at the hostile fleet gathered in the narrow strait before him. The year was 1407, and the greatest naval commander in Chinese history faced a critical decision. With over three hundred ships under his command—many of them massive nine-masted vessels dwarfing anything Europe would build for centuries—Zheng He possessed overwhelming force against the pirate confederation that had harassed Chinese merchant shipping for decades. A swift, decisive battle could eliminate this threat and secure Ming dominance over the vital trade routes of Southeast Asia.
Yet as the morning mist cleared and the enemy positions became visible, Zheng He made an unexpected choice. He ordered his fleet to hold position rather than advance. Had the mighty admiral lost his nerve? Had he suddenly doubted the capabilities of his technologically superior armada? Neither. Zheng He, with the calculated precision that defined his career, was assessing something far more valuable than the pirates' ships or weapons. He was counting the true currency of conflict: time, energy, and attention.
The battle could be won—of that he had little doubt. But victory would damage his own fleet, delay his primary mission of expanding Chinese diplomatic influence, and draw the emperor's attention away from Zheng He's grander ambitions for exploration. Against these costs, what would triumph against pirates truly gain? The confluence of waterways could be patrolled more efficiently through strategic alliances with local rulers—alliances that would serve the Ming dynasty far beyond simply eliminating a band of raiders.
Instead of attacking, Zheng He dispatched envoys to the surrounding kingdoms, proposing a coordinated effort to isolate the pirates politically and economically. Within months, the pirate confederation, denied safe harbors and markets for their plunder, disintegrated without a single arrow fired from Zheng He's mighty ships. The naval power he preserved would later enable his historic voyages throughout the Indian Ocean, extending Chinese influence farther than ever before.
This moment—where restraint proved more powerful than force—illuminates the essential wisdom that lies at the heart of conflict strategy: knowing which battles to fight matters far more than knowing how to win them.
In part one of this series I explored the idea that not all fights are worth the cost.
In part two I pointed out that some fights are worth having, no matter how much they may require of us.
But knowing which battles deserve our energy requires a deeper understanding of conflict's true cost. Like Zheng He on that misty morning, we must learn to calculate with precision what we spend each time we engage in struggle—and whether the potential gains justify the guaranteed expense.
The Currency of Conflict
Every potential conflict demands payment in three precious currencies: energy, time, and attention. Like any wise investor, we must evaluate whether the returns justify the expenditure. Most people instinctively understand this in their financial lives—carefully considering major purchases or investments—yet approach conflict with reckless abandon, pouring these irreplaceable resources into battles without calculating their true cost.
I've spent years observing how we drain these currencies in both necessary and unnecessary struggles. What fascinates me is how often we scrutinize the smallest financial expense while casually emptying our most valuable personal resources into conflicts that yield minimal returns.
Energy encompasses not just physical exertion but emotional and psychological reserves as well. A workplace confrontation might require minimal physical energy yet deplete your emotional resources for days afterward. A legal dispute might drain your financial energy while simultaneously taxing your mental resilience. Every argument, every confrontation, every struggle demands payment from these finite reserves.
Time, unlike money, can never be earned back. The hours spent engaged in conflict—whether arguing with a neighbor over a property line or obsessing over a perceived slight—are permanently gone, unavailable for more meaningful pursuits. As William James noted, each choice we make casts "the shadow of what might have been"—a profound opportunity cost that we rarely calculate when diving into unnecessary battles.
Attention may be the most precious currency of all. What we focus on shapes our reality and directs our growth. The objects of our sustained attention become the architecture of our inner lives. When we fixate on conflicts—especially those of minimal consequence—we redirect our cognitive resources away from creativity, connection, and contribution.
We see this everywhere we look: the academic who becomes consumed by departmental politics rather than advancing their research, or the artist who abandons creative work to engage in social media disputes. The price paid isn't merely the time spent in conflict but the attention diverted from their essential purpose. As Marcus Aurelius cautioned, "You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength."
I realized the true cost of misallocated attention many years ago when I found myself drawn into an extended online debate about a minor professional disagreement. I "won" the argument by any objective measure, yet lost countless hours of creative work, slept poorly for weeks, and found my mind returning obsessively to clever retorts rather than focusing on the work I should have been doing. My victory extracted a price far higher than I'd ever have willingly paid had I calculated it in advance.
Assessing the Stakes: What Is Truly on the Line?
Before entering any conflict, the wise strategist asks: What is genuinely at stake? This assessment requires brutal honesty about the distinction between what feels significant in the moment and what truly matters in the broader context of your life and purpose.
In 1815, Napoleon Bonaparte escaped exile on Elba and reclaimed power in France, sparking what would become his final campaign. Several European nations, having just concluded years of devastating warfare, faced a critical decision: engage in yet another costly conflict or allow Napoleon's return to power. The Duke of Wellington, who would eventually lead the allied forces at Waterloo, made his assessment with clear-eyed precision: "If you don't go to war now, you will have a bigger war later."
Wellington recognized what was truly at stake—not merely territory or political arrangements but the fundamental stability of Europe. The short-term costs of immediate conflict, though substantial, paled in comparison to the long-term consequences of allowing Napoleon to reconsolidate power. This assessment proved prescient; though the Waterloo campaign extracted a terrible price in lives and resources, it secured decades of relative peace that might otherwise have been impossible.
Contrast this with the countless personal and professional conflicts we engage in where, if we were truly honest, little of consequence is at stake. The colleague who uses a slightly wrong approach in a project that will be forgotten in months. The social media argument with a stranger whose opinion has no tangible impact on your life. The family dispute over holiday traditions that damages relationships without serving any deeper purpose.
In these situations, we confuse emotional intensity with genuine significance. The fact that something feels important—that it triggers our anger, pride, or sense of justice—doesn't mean it truly matters in the context of our broader life journey. As Zheng He demonstrated in that misty strait, the discipline to distinguish between what feels urgent and what is truly important marks the master strategist.
To assess stakes properly, ask yourself:
If I "win" this conflict, what tangible benefit will I gain?
If I walk away, what meaningful loss will I suffer?
How will this matter to me one year from now? Five years? Ten?
What opportunities am I forsaking by engaging in this conflict?
These questions force us beyond emotional reactivity into strategic clarity about what truly deserves our precious currencies of energy, time, and attention.
Defining Victory: The Map Before the Journey
Even when stakes are significant and engagement justified, conflict often fails because participants lack clear victory conditions. Without knowing precisely what constitutes success, we risk fighting battles that cannot be won or continuing struggles long after their utility has expired.
Queen Elizabeth I of England demonstrated this clarity throughout her long reign. When the Spanish Armada threatened invasion in 1588, she defined victory not as the destruction of Spanish naval power—an objective that would have required resources England didn't possess—but as the prevention of landing troops on English soil. This precise definition allowed her commanders to employ tactics that focused on disruption rather than destruction, using fireships and the "Protestant wind" to scatter the Spanish fleet rather than engaging in costly direct confrontations.
Later, when dealing with religious conflicts that had torn apart neighboring countries, Elizabeth again defined victory with precision. Rather than attempting to eliminate religious difference—an impossible goal—she defined success as maintaining sufficient national unity to prevent civil war while allowing certain private religious practices. Her famous declaration that she had "no desire to make windows into men's souls" reflected this carefully calibrated victory condition.
In our own lives, unclear victory conditions lead to unnecessary suffering and wasted resources. The employee who begins a workplace disagreement without knowing exactly what outcome would satisfy them. The parent who confronts a child's behavior without a clear sense of what change they're seeking. The activist who protests without specific, achievable demands. In each case, the lack of defined victory conditions guarantees either perpetual conflict or unsatisfying resolution.
Before entering any conflict, ask yourself:
What specific condition would represent true success?
Is this condition clearly defined and recognizable?
Is it achievable through the means available to me?
At what point would continued engagement no longer serve my interests?
These questions establish not just the destination but the boundaries of the journey, preventing the mission creep that transforms manageable conflicts into endless quagmires.
The Battlefield of Life
The battles we select shape our lives more profoundly than the battles we win. Each conflict we engage—whether in personal relationships, professional settings, or public arenas—consumes limited resources, establishes patterns for future interactions, and ultimately contributes to who we become.
Zheng He understood this principle. His restraint against the pirate confederation wasn't weakness but strategic wisdom that preserved his resources for more consequential engagements. The seven massive naval expeditions he would later lead—reaching as far as East Africa—extended Chinese influence throughout the Indian Ocean without a single major military confrontation. His diplomatic approach created trading relationships that benefited China for generations, all because he recognized which battles were worth fighting and which were better resolved through indirect means.
In our own lives, similar wisdom applies. The conflicts we decline often prove as consequential as those we accept. The workplace argument left unengaged, the social media provocation ignored, the family grievance allowed to fade rather than fester—each represents not weakness but strategic wisdom, the preservation of our limited conflict currency for engagements that truly matter.
I've come to see conflict choices as similar to financial decisions, with compound interest in both directions. Each unnecessary battle we avoid preserves resources that can be invested in more meaningful pursuits. Each worthy conflict we engage in with clear purpose builds skills and wisdom that serve us in future challenges. The compounding effect of these choices over a lifetime is staggering.
The ultimate aim isn't to avoid all conflict or to fight only when victory is certain. It's to engage selectively in struggles that align with our deepest values, advance our most important goals, and make our limited time on earth meaningful. By developing this discernment, we transform conflict from a drain on our resources into a crucible that reveals and refines who we truly are.
In my last post, we explored why Tank Man's stand against overwhelming odds represented a battle worth fighting—a defense of values so fundamental that the cost became irrelevant. Combined with today's exploration of strategic selection, we begin to see the complete picture: wisdom to recognize which fights truly matter, courage to engage fully in those necessary battles, and discernment to avoid the rest.
As we navigate our daily choices about where to invest our precious currencies of energy, time, and attention, we would do well to remember Zheng He standing at the bow of his treasure ship, seeing beyond the immediate battle to the broader horizon of possibility. His greatness lay not in the fights he won, but in the ones he was wise enough to avoid.
Like him, our legacy will be defined less by our victories than by our choices—the careful, deliberate selection of which battles deserve the full measure of our commitment, and which are better left unfought.
Over the next few months, I'll be exploring more dimensions of this strategic approach to conflict—how to maintain balance when engaged in necessary battles, how to recover when knocked down, and ultimately how to ensure that the fights we choose lead to lasting peace rather than perpetual warfare. If you're interested in developing a more thoughtful approach to life's inevitable conflicts, join me on this journey by subscribing below.
References and Further Reading
Quotes and References
The details of Zheng He's naval expeditions come primarily from Louise Levathes' When China Ruled the Seas: The Treasure Fleet of the Dragon Throne, which offers a comprehensive account of the Ming voyages and their geopolitical context. I've taken some narrative liberties with the specific decision-making scene.
William James's observation about choices casting "the shadow of what might have been" appears in his seminal work The Principles of Psychology (1890), where he explores decision-making and its psychological implications.
The Marcus Aurelius quote comes from his Meditations. If you haven’t read this before I advise starting with Gregory Hays’ translation.
While Wellington strongly advocated for confronting Napoleon after his escape from Elba, the specific quotation I've used represents the essence of his position rather than his documented words. His actual correspondence during this period can be found in The Dispatches of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, edited by Lieutenant Colonel John Gurwood.
Queen Elizabeth I's famous declaration that she had "no desire to make windows into men's souls" regarding religious differences is cited in most major biographies, including Alison Weir's The Life of Elizabeth I, though the exact wording varies slightly in different historical accounts.
Additional Perspectives
For those interested in deeper exploration of how resource allocation shapes strategic outcomes, I recommend Saras Sarasvathy's concept of "effectual reasoning" in entrepreneurship, which has fascinating parallels to conflict management. Her paper "What Makes Entrepreneurs Entrepreneurial?" illustrates how resource-constrained decision-making creates surprising advantages.
Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of Our Nature offers compelling data on how the strategic avoidance of certain conflicts has contributed to the long-term decline of violence throughout human history, despite our perception that the world is becoming more dangerous.
For a psychological perspective on why we often engage in unnecessary conflicts, Jonathan Haidt's The Righteous Mind explores the emotional underpinnings of moral reasoning and why we sometimes fight for symbolic victories with little tangible benefit.
Ryan Holiday's Ego Is the Enemy provides accessible modern applications of Stoic principles to decision-making under pressure, particularly relevant to separating ego-driven conflicts from those that serve genuine purposes.
Those wanting to develop practical frameworks for conflict assessment might find Roger Fisher and William Ury's classic Getting to Yes valuable, particularly their emphasis on distinguishing between positions (what people say they want) and interests (what truly matters to them).