Tao Te Ching — Chapter 31

Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen; all creatures detest them, so one who has the Tao does not dwell with them. In peace the gentleman honors the left; in war he honors the right. Weapons are instruments of ill omen, not the tools of the gentleman; he uses them only when there is no other choice, and calm restraint is best. He does not glory in victory; one who glories in it delights in killing people, and whoever delights in killing cannot accomplish his purpose in the world. When many people are killed, we should weep for them with grief and sorrow; victory should be observed with the rites of mourning.

James Legge (1891)

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.

Dwight Goddard (1919)

Even successful arms, among all implements, are unblessed. All men come to detest them. Therefore the one who follows Tao does not rely on them. Peace and quietude are esteemed by the wise man, and even when victorious he does not rejoice, because rejoicing over a victory is the same as rejoicing over the killing of men. If he rejoices over killing men, do you think he will ever really master the Empire? In propitious affairs the place of honor is the left, but in unpropitious affairs we honor the right. The strong man while at home esteems the left as the place of honor, but when armed for war it is as though he esteems the right hand, the place of less honor. Thus a funeral ceremony is so arranged. The killing of men fills multitudes with sorrow; we lament with tears because of it, and rightly honor the victor as if he was attending a funeral ceremony.

Continuing directly from chapter 30, this chapter intensifies the Tao Te Ching's anti-militarism into one of the most morally striking passages in ancient literature. Weapons are bù xiáng zhī qì — "instruments of ill omen." No matter how finely made, they are objects that all living things instinctively hate. The person who follows the Tao does not make their home among them. The chapter uses an old ritual distinction — the honored "left" of peaceful ceremony versus the "right" associated with mourning — to make a structural point: in the army, the commanding general is placed on the right, the position of mourning, because to command in war is to preside over death.

The ethical core is the refusal to glory in victory. "He does not glory in victory; one who glories in it delights in killing people." Even a just and necessary war is, at best, a tragedy to be entered with calm restraint (tián dàn ) and exited with grief. The chapter's most haunting instruction closes it: when many have been killed, mourn them with sorrow, and observe even a victory "with the rites of mourning." Triumph over slain human beings is to be treated as a funeral, not a parade. Across the translations the meaning holds firmly; Goddard's OCR slightly garbles the left/right ritual logic, but the moral — never rejoice in killing — is unmistakable in all.

The instruction to treat military victory as an occasion for mourning is among the most morally advanced statements in any ancient text, and it resonates with the just-war tradition's insistence that even legitimate force is a tragedy, never a glory. The refusal to "delight in the slaughter of men" parallels the prophetic biblical revulsion at bloodshed and the universal moral intuition that joy in killing corrupts the killer.

The image of the victorious general placed in the position of mourning anticipates the deep ethical seriousness of figures who, having had to use force, refuse to celebrate it — a posture echoed in the Buddhist emperor Ashoka's remorse after conquest and in the contemplative conviction that taking life, even when unavoidable, leaves a wound that calls for grief rather than triumph.

Force and harm, even when genuinely unavoidable, are never causes for celebration. To glory in another's defeat or destruction is to delight in something that corrupts the heart. The morally serious response to any victory bought through harm is sorrow, not triumph.

This chapter's refusal to glory in victory speaks to every arena where people are tempted to celebrate the defeat of an opponent — politics, competition, conflict. "Whoever delights in killing cannot accomplish his purpose in the world" warns that triumphalism corrodes the very ends it claims to serve. Treating necessary hard actions — layoffs, confrontations, defeats inflicted on rivals — with gravity rather than glee is the mark of moral maturity. Some things may have to be done, but they should be done in sorrow, not celebration.