I follow the teachings of Major General Smedley Darlington

In the grand tapestry of human history, where the rhythms of war and peace weave the stories of empires, nations, and individuals, there are those whose lives stand as both testament and warning. Jesse Ventura, in his reflection on the teachings of Major General Smedley Darlington Butler, speaks to a profound truth about the nature of war and the systems that fuel it. He states, "I follow the teachings of Major General Smedley Darlington Butler, United States Marine Corps. He won two Congressional Medals of Honor, and he wrote the highly controversial antiwar book 'War is a Racket.'" These words carry weight far beyond the personal admiration Ventura expresses; they serve as a call to examine the very nature of militarism and the hidden forces that drive nations to conflict.

Butler, a man who achieved the pinnacle of military success, decorated with two Congressional Medals of Honor for his actions during World War I and the Banana Wars, was, by all outward appearances, a model soldier—brave, dutiful, and honored by the state. Yet, his words in War is a Racket stand in stark contrast to the very system he once served. In his book, Butler lays bare the dark side of war—how it is not a noble cause but a business that enriches the powerful at the expense of the common soldier. He describes how the true winners of war are not the people or the soldiers who fight, but the corporations and elites that profit from the destruction. In this sense, war is not about heroism or national pride but about profit, power, and exploitation.

The wisdom of Butler’s reflections can be traced to the ancient truths that the great philosophers, from Socrates to Plato, sought to understand about the nature of power, virtue, and the moral cost of conflict. Socrates, in his dialogues, often asked whether it was just to wage war, and whether the pursuit of glory in battle could justify the human suffering that war inevitably causes. His teachings remind us that war should not be entered into lightly, for even the victorious are left scarred by its toll. Similarly, Plato’s works challenge the concept of the warrior as a hero, questioning whether the pursuit of military conquest truly serves the common good or simply the ambitions of the powerful. Butler’s message resonates with these ancient philosophies: war is a tool that serves the few while bringing devastation to the many.

Butler’s disillusionment with the military-industrial complex was borne not just of theoretical knowledge, but from firsthand experience. He had seen how wars were fought not to defend nations or ideals, but to secure the interests of corporations and the wealthy elite. His service in the Banana Wars, where the U.S. military was used to protect the interests of American corporations in Central America, opened his eyes to the true nature of modern imperialism—a system where blood was spilled not for freedom, but for profit. His military victories, lauded by the state, became a source of deep personal reflection. Through his eyes, we see that the very act of heroism, so often glorified in the ancient epics of Homer and Virgil, can be twisted into a tool of exploitation rather than virtue.

The teaching that Ventura follows is not one of pacifism in the face of tyranny, but of a deeper awareness—the understanding that war is not an isolated event, but part of a larger system that demands accountability. Butler implores us to look beyond the pageantry of military victories and understand that the true costs of war are borne by the common people, whose sacrifices are often used to prop up systems of power that have no true interest in justice or peace. Ventura, by following Butler’s example, calls us to recognize the inherent corruption of systems that use violence as a means of resolving disputes. It is not that war is always unjust, but that we must never forget that it is often a tool for the interests of those who already hold power.

In ancient Greece, warriors like Alexander the Great and Achilles were celebrated for their prowess in battle, their glory immortalized in epic poetry. But the ancient Greeks, like Butler, were also aware of the dangers of excessive pride in military conquest. Herodotus, the ancient historian, recounts how the Persian Empire—in its lust for power and conquest—collapsed under the weight of its own hubris. Similarly, Rome, though victorious in many wars, eventually fell not because it was defeated in battle, but because it had overextended itself and become entangled in a system that prioritized imperial expansion over the well-being of its own citizens. These ancient lessons resonate in Butler’s warnings: even the greatest powers can fall when their ambitions are driven by greed and war.

Thus, the lesson of Smedley Butler and Jesse Ventura’s tribute to him is clear: war is not an inevitable aspect of human existence, nor is it a means to achieve noble ends. It is, in its most brutal truth, a racket—one that exploits the blood, sweat, and tears of ordinary people to line the pockets of the few. We must question not just the reasons for war but the systems that benefit from it, and in doing so, we must strive to build a world where peace, not conquest, becomes the true measure of our success. Like the ancient sages, we must recognize that true strength lies not in war but in wisdom and understanding. Let us, then, live by the lessons of those who have fought not for glory but for justice, and let us honor the memory of those like Butler who dared to speak truth to power, no matter the cost.