All Quiet on the Ilium Front

Why don’t leaders battle out their differences and claims between themselves instead of taking their entire nations to war?

This question is raised in Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front, (1929), which I re-read last week. It is astonishing that a book that explicitly depicts war’s horrors is so humane and, as such, beautiful. Most of the characters are German soldiers in the trenches of the Great War (1914-1918). In a conversation, a soldier named Kropp:

… proposes that a declaration of war should be a kind of popular festival with entrance-tickets and bands, like a bull fight. Then in the arena the ministers and generals of the two countries, dressed in bathing-drawers and armed with clubs, can have it out among themselves. Whoever survives, his country wins. That would be much simpler and more just than this arrangement, where the wrong people do the fighting. — All Quiet, Chapter III.

It happens that I then started reading Homer’s The Iliad, where, as if by serendipity, I found Kropp’s fantasy being acted out. The Iliad was named for Ilium, which Troy’s citizens called their city. The epic is about the war that began when the Trojan Paris, also called Alexandros, abducted Greek Menelaos’s wife Helen. In Book III, after nine years of the war, the Trojans and Achaians (the Iliad’s name for the Greeks) start the day prepared to battle yet again:

And now the two armies advanced, each under its own leaders.

The Trojans raised a loud din and clamour, like a huge flock of birds. So you may hear cranes honking out of the sky before a storm of rain, as they fly with a great noise towards the Ocean stream, bringing death and destruction to the Pygmy men; and in the early morning they open their fight. But the Achaians marched in silence, breathing fury shoulder to shoulder, with grim determination.

However, Troy’s strongest warrior, Hector, has a proposal to present to both armies. It takes some effort to get them to stop advancing, but at last he is permitted to speak:

“Hear me, Trojans, and you men of Achaia, while I give you a message from Alexandros, who was the cause of our war. He asks that both Trojans and Achaians lay down their arms on the ground, and let Menelaos and himself fight a duel for Helen and all her wealth. Whichever proves the better man shall take both wealth and woman home with him: then let both sides swear friendship and peace.”

All heard this in silence; then Menelaos cried out:

“Hear me also! This touches me most nearly, but my mind is, that Achaians and Trojans should now be reconciled. You have suffered enough for this quarrel of mine which Alexandros began. Whichever of us is fated to die, let him die, and let the others make friends forthwith. …

Achaians and Trojans were all glad that there was some hope to end that lamentable war. They arranged their chariots in order; the men got out and put off their armour, laying it all upon the ground close together, and leaving a small space between the armies.

As the two combatants prepare to fight, we are told:

The men of each side lifted up their hands and prayed:

“O Father Zeus, almighty and most glorious, lord of Ida! Whichever of these two brought the troubles upon both our nations, grant that he may perish and go down to the house of Hadês, and grant that we may have friendship and keep this oath!”

It can’t be said that the Iliad is anti-war, since many passages celebrate the warriors, but it does beg the question why did men on either side have to die and eventually an entire city be destroyed over a dispute between princes? Yes, there was a crime, Helen’s kidnapping, but, as Hector contends, it could have been resolved without so much death and destruction.

In All Quiet, Remarque explores the reasons behind war in more detail. His character Kat says:

“… [C]onsider, 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 any more than we were.”

“Then what exactly is the war for?” asks Tjaden.

Kat shrugs his shoulders. “There must be some people to whom the war is useful.”

“Well, I’m not one of them,” grins Tjaden.

“Not you, nor anybody else here.”

“Who are they then?” persists Tjaden. “It isn’t any use to the Kaiser either. He has everything he can want already.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” contradicts Kat, “he has not had a war up till now. And every full-grown emperor requires at least one war, otherwise he would not become famous. You look in your school books.”

“And generals too,” adds Detering, “they become famous through war.”

“Even more famous than emperors,” adds Kat.

“There are other people back behind there who profit by the war, that’s certain,” growls Detering.

“I think it is more of a kind of fever,” says Albert. ‘No one in particular wants it, and then all at once there it is. We didn’t want the war, the others say the same thing—and yet half the world is in it all the same.” — All Quiet, Chapter IX.

In The Iliad, Klopp’s gladiator fantasy is acted out, but only up to a point:

He [Menelaos] made one leap and caught hold of the horsehair plume, turned and dragged Alexandros towards his own ranks; the helmet-strap choked him, pulled tight under his chin. And Menelaos almost got him—a glorious victory it would have been! But Aphroditê saw it and broke the strap, so all he got was the empty helmet. He threw it over with a swing to his friends, and leapt back to kill his enemy with the spear; but Aphroditê carried him off in a thick mist, as a god can easily do, and put him down in Helen’s sweet-scented chamber. — The Iliad, Book III

And so it was that the two armies resume fighting.

By depicting divine interference, Homer suggests that the roots of war are beyond our control; that something beyond human willpower starts them and then causes them to endure. Remarque’s characters identify who might benefit from war, but ultimately they, too, despair of a rational explanation. The character Albert has the last word, saying it is “a kind of fever.”

Still, if the leadership of one nation has a grievance against that of another, why not fight it out among themselves? Today, it’s doubtful that many Americans support Donald Trump’s provocative actions against Venezuela. Both Trump and Nicolás Maduro appear eager to attack each other. So, agree on a neutral arena—say Rome, famed for the Colosseum’s gladiatorial combats—for the two men to have it out in a fight to the death. Others in their administration advocate for their belligerent stances, so by all means include them in the fight. When all the proponents on one side are killed, the other wins. Terrible! Brutal! Yes, but it would be violence confined to a small number, as against the suffering inflicted on either or both countries.

There would be exceptions. I think back to World War II, which began in Europe in 1939. U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt wanted to intervene early on, but enough popular opinion was opposed. Indeed, many Americans backed Germany. FDR did what he could, such as arranging the lend-lease program that helped arm Britain. It wasn’t until Japan attacked Pearl Harbor that public opinion shifted, and he persuaded Congress to declare war on December 8, 1941. It ended up being what has been called “the good war.”

Some say that to war is human. Others—pacifists—argue against participation in all wars. But sometimes, self-defense is necessary, as in World War II. That said, while one side in that conflict was justified, the other was wrong to start it.

Restoring the Department of Defense’s old name, the Department of War, suggests we haven’t made real progress since the Trojan War of the twelve or thirteen century BCE, about 3,300 years ago. If war between humans is the sport of the gods, with no less a divinity than the goddess of love stirring things up, perhaps religious people need to devise more effective prayers. If war is a symptom of a fever, may artificial intelligence lead us to a cure. Nothing else has. Or else, let’s force our leaders, in the event they convince themselves they can’t resolve disputes peaceably, to engage in gladiatorial combat. Maybe then they’ll be a lot more motivated to work out peaceful solutions.

Note: for All Quiet, I rely on Hachette’s 2013 edition where the translator is not credited. The spellings suggest it was originally a British edition, as is the one of The Iliad I have. For the quotations from The Iliad, my copy is William Henry Denham Rouse’s 1938 translation. My thanks to Bookshare.org for both texts.