Now arms, however beautiful, are instruments of evil omen, hateful, it may be said, to all creatures. Therefore they who have the Tao do not like to employ them. The superior man ordinarily considers the left hand the most honourable place, but in time of war the right hand. Those sharp weapons are instruments of evil omen, and not the instruments of the superior man;--he uses them only on the compulsion of necessity. Calm and repose are what he prizes; victory (by force of arms) is to him undesirable. To consider this desirable would be to delight in the slaughter of men; and he who delights in the slaughter of men cannot get his will in the kingdom. On occasions of festivity to be on the left hand is the prized position; on occasions of mourning, the right hand. The second in command of the army has his place on the left; the general commanding in chief has his on the right;--his place, that is, is assigned to him as in the rites of mourning. He who has killed multitudes of men should weep for them with the bitterest grief; and the victor in battle has his place (rightly) according to those rites.
This chapter teaches that violence is a last resort, never a source of pride. The Tao Te Ching argues that true power lies in restraint, not domination—that even when force becomes necessary, the wise person grieves what was lost rather than celebrates what was won. The superior person honors peace the way we honor life itself, and treats weapons as tools of failure, not instruments of victory.
We live in a culture that often reverses this teaching. We are surrounded by narratives that glamorize triumph, that present winning as the ultimate good, that treat conflict as entertainment. Our political life has become increasingly militarized in tone—adversaries rather than neighbors, battles rather than conversations. This chapter quietly asks: what does it cost us to celebrate victory? What happens to a person, a nation, a soul that learns to delight in defeat of others rather than grieve it? In our current moment of division and distant wars, the Tao Te Ching's insistence that the victor should weep feels radical and necessary.
Today, notice where you feel the urge to win, to dominate, to be right. Notice it without judgment, and ask: what am I actually protecting? See if you can find one moment to choose the left hand—the hand of listening, yielding, honoring—instead of the right. This is not weakness. This is the deeper strength.