I have often said, “There is nothing glorious about war.” I sincerely believe that. Even though I served in Viet Nam during my nine years in the Naval Reserve, and served 16 years in the Army Reserve focused on the European theatre and do not regret my military service; I could not wish anybody to do the savage things that must be done during war. War is totally contra to our moral upbringing.
I recently read a book about war. It was written about World War I and was first published in 1928. It is a story told from the view of a German enlisted soldier. The book is not really about campaigns or killing, although it has enough description of war to let you know it’s based on a true life experience. The author describes his feelings and emotions as reactions to important events in his wartime experiences. During this post, I will provide excerpts which I found to be relevant for all persons who have been to war in one form or another.
In the preface describing the book, it says, “It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war.”
Early on in the book he says, “We march up, moody or good tempered soldiers—we reach the zone where the front begins and become on the instant human animals.”
“We reach the shelter of the reserves and yearn to creep in and disappear, -- but instead we must turn round and plunge again into the horror. If we were not automata at that moment we would continue lying there, exhausted, and without will. But we are swept forward again, powerless, madly savage and raging; we will kill, for they are still our mortal enemies, their rifles and bombs are aimed against us, and if we don’t destroy them, they will destroy us.”
“A word of command has made these silent figures our enemies; a word of command might transform them into our friends.”
Speaking of hospitals, he says, “It must be all lies and of no account when the culture of a thousand years could not prevent this stream of blood being poured out, these torture-chambers (hospitals) in their hundreds of thousands. A hospital alone shows what war is.”
“I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow. I see how peoples are set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slay one another.”
“True, but just you consider, almost all of us are simple folk. And in France, too, the majority of men are labourers, workmen, or poor clerks. Now just why would a French blacksmith or a French shoemaker want to attack us? No, it is merely the rulers. I had never seen a Frenchman before I came here, and it will be just the same with the majority of Frenchmen as regards us. They weren’t asked about it anymore than we were.”
“We have almost grown accustomed to it; war is the cause of death like cancer and tuberculosis, like influenza and dysentery. The deaths are merely more frequent, more varied and terrible.”
The title of the book is “All Quiet On The Western Front” by Erich Maria Remaroque. I highly recommend it.
