Reverence for Life in a World at War
We live in a world torn by violence. As of 2025, reports show over 110 armed conflicts around the globe. In Gaza, more than 64,000 Palestinians have been killed since October 2023. In Ukraine, nearly 14,000 civilians have died, and tens of thousands of soldiers on both sides have been lost. Behind each number are lives cut short, families shattered, and communities left in silence.
In the Plum Village tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh, the First Mindfulness Training: Reverence for Life calls us to another way. It asks us not only to avoid killing, but to actively nurture compassion and protect all beings—people, animals, plants, and the Earth itself.
“Aware of the suffering caused by the destruction of life, I commit to protect and cherish all beings. I will not kill, nor support killing, in thought, word, or action.”
As an ordained Buddhist layperson, I believe violence is wrong under all circumstances. Yet I cannot ignore the veterans who return from war. They are praised as heroes when they leave, honored if they die—but often abandoned if they return broken in body or spirit. Too often, society falls silent while they struggle with trauma, homelessness, addiction, prison, and despair.
What can we do for the young people who once carried noble ideals into battle?
First, we must stop glorifying war. We must refuse to declare it, participate in it, or romanticize it. Every flag-waving parade and cinematic celebration of combat only fuels the illusion that war is noble or inevitable. In truth, it is neither.
We can begin by telling the truth about war—about the grief of families, the scars that remain long after guns fall silent, the emptiness that medals and speeches can never heal. We can listen to veterans with open hearts, not just when their stories are tidy or inspiring, but when they are raw, painful, and inconvenient.
We can create pathways of healing—investing in mental health care, community support, education, and meaningful work for those who return home disillusioned and wounded. Instead of silence and stigma, we can surround them with compassion and belonging.
We must also teach our children differently. Instead of raising them on myths of battlefield glory, we can nurture their courage for peace: the bravery to resolve conflict through dialogue, to resist hatred, to choose service that builds rather than destroys. Stories of peacemakers, healers, and bridge-builders should be the ones held high, shaping the imagination of the next generation.
And perhaps most importantly, we must model nonviolence in our daily lives. War does not begin only on distant borders—it begins with fear, greed, and aggression in our homes, our politics, our communities. When we practice compassion, forgiveness, and deep listening, we weaken the roots of war itself.
Ending war and violence is not just the absence of battle—it is the presence of justice, care, and reverence for life. This is the greatest gift we can offer its survivors—and the generations yet to come.
Thomas Merton once wrote:
“The root of war is fear… We are not at peace with others because we are not at peace with ourselves.”
As we witness the devastation in Gaza, Ukraine, and beyond, we need voices of conscience. We need those willing to say no to war’s madness, even at great personal cost. To do no harm—to people, animals, plants, or the Earth—is the only path forward.
For my part, I choose compassion. I choose to protect life in all its forms. And I choose not to kill, nor to let others kill, nor to support any act of killing—in my thoughts, in my words, or in my way of living.
