Treat War Like a Funeral (Tao Te Ching 31)

31

Even the most elegant weapons
are instruments of doom.
They are loathsome.
So followers of the Tao
don’t abide them.
At peace, a man of honor
emphasizes graciousness.
At war, he emphasizes
power and might.

Weapons are tools of evil,
not good instruments.
They should only be used
as a last resort, in
extreme situations.

Don’t fetishize weapons.
There’s nothing to celebrate
in the taking of a life.
Those who do, glorify killing.
Those who glorify killing
will ultimately fail in their
attempts at domination.

At times of peace, there is celebration.
At times of war, there is mourning.
Approach war like a funeral,
not a celebration.

When there are many casualties,
mourn the bodies of allies
and enemies alike.
Even in moments of triumph,
treat it like a funeral.

Written Reflection

“Don’t take your guns to Dagobah.” That was our old mantra when we first discussed whether to bring a firearm with us for our first long-term van life journey. We were riding in our 1995 Mitsubishi Delica, we dubbed “Dreamweaver.” We were channeling the hippy vibes of peace, love, and understanding. We were grooving with an advance copy of a book co-authored by Jeff’s former student Mike Martin and author Shane Claiborne called Beating Guns: Hope for People Who are Weary of Violence (Brazos, 2019).

The reference to Dagobah points to the scene in The Empire Strikes Back in which Luke Skywalker goes into a cave that seems to represent his subconscious. Yoda tells him not to bring his lightsaber. Luke fails to heed the Jedi master’s advice, and he ends up having a frightening encounter with the archetypal figure of his father. The point in the film was that by relying on weapons, one is destined to experience violence. By laying down weapons, there is a greater likelihood for a peaceful solution, even in precarious circumstances.

During our eight months on the road in Dreamweaver, we did face a few sketchy situations, and we did come out unscathed, even without the projection of a gun. Indeed, the lack of a weapon (though we did have bear spray and a taser) helped to force us to rely on healing words rather than force when we came across a delusional meth addict who thought he was being targeted by assassins.

For our second sabbatical on the road, we switched to our more robust overland ride: St. George, a ’95 Ford F350 with a sizable Lance camper on the back. For this adventure, we changed our approach and locked away a single action revolver that was reasonably well suited for an encounter with a bear. We were traveling to grizzly country to do some fishing and we figured that being unarmed in remote wilderness was not a virtue but rather unwise. Throughout those months on the road, we fortunately never had to even think about digging out the gun, other than during a week of fishing in Montana streams.

In either case, we came to believe that, while the spiritual commitment of pacifists who prefer to face death rather than rely on violence is commendable, and while it serves as a powerful witness to an alternative way of life in our dangerous world, there is sometimes a place for weapons. As the Tao Te Ching says, that place is as a last resort.

The reason this is important is that Lao Tzu is both noble and realistic. As we’ve seen elsewhere, there’s great value in restraint, modest concessions to enemies, and meekness. But it’s worth noting here that one of the values of restraint and acting by not acting (wu Wei) is the energy we save up for those extraordinary times when we need to fight.

Lao Tzu says that we ought not only use weapons as a last resort, he teaches that it is unhealthy to fetishize weapons, glorify violence, or take delight in the death of an enemy. This is eminently sound.

For those who aren’t armed literally, the point remains. When one must fight, the sage reaches her goal but doesn’t gloat over the defeat of the enemy. Victory in such cases doesn’t come with fanfare but rather with mourning for those who are properly attuned to goodness, truth and beauty.

In the original Chinese text, there is a lot going on about the left hand and right hand, the left side and right side of a gentleman. This has to do with conventions and mannerisms that change during peacetime and wartime.

At home or at leisure, the lord favors the left side but in war favors the right. While left and right are understood differently by various cultures, and at various times, left and right have a similar implication for ancient Israelite and medieval European culture. The right hand is all about power, primarily because it’s the side that usually holds the weapons.

Consider, for instance, Exodus 15:6:

Your right hand, Lord,
was majestic in power.
Your right hand, Lord,
shattered the enemy.

This is arguably the context for the practice of shaking hands with right hands: a hand that can shake is one that is unarmed.

Unfortunately, in Western Europe, this eventually led to the idea that left-handed people were suspicious. The Latin word sinister means “left,” but came to mean “unlucky.” Here, the perspective differs from that of Lao Tzu’s context. For him, the left was auspicious or lucky because it meant one wasn’t existing in a violent situation.

It’s worth noting that while we tend to apply the Tao Te Ching to personal life issues that most readers face, in the original, the use of weapons is really about the use of armies. And for this, we can remain centered in the teaching that coercion through force is never a first resort, and should be used by states in the most extreme of circumstances, and then only to achieve a restoration of true peace and human flourishing.

May that flourishing be enjoyed in your life and in the lives of all you encounter.