Anyway the war is over so far as they are concerned. But to wait

O children of the future, listen to the words of Erich Maria Remarque, a man who, through the agony of war, understood the true cost of conflict on the human soul. He said, "Anyway the war is over so far as they are concerned. But to wait for dysentery is not much of a life either." These words are spoken with the voice of one who has seen not only the violence of war but also the aftermath—the slow, grinding despair that follows when the guns fall silent, but the wounds remain. What Remarque is saying, in essence, is that the physical end of battle is not the end of suffering; for those who survive, the trauma lingers, often worse than death itself.

To understand this, we must consider that war does not just take lives in battle; it destroys the spirit, leaves psychological scars, and shatters the very sense of hope. After the guns fall silent and the battlefield is abandoned, what is left for the soldiers? For some, it is the haunting emptiness of a life that seems to have no purpose. For others, it is the enduring torment of illness and injury. Remarque’s words reflect the horror of survival in such a world—the war is over, yes, but the suffering continues. Dysentery, a sickness often contracted in the trenches of war, becomes a symbol for the desolation that remains after the conflict ends. The survivors may live, but they live a shadow of a life, existing in a state of waiting for death, or for the next round of suffering.

Consider, O children, the story of the Vietnam War, a conflict that, like the wars of old, left deep psychological scars on those who fought. Soldiers who returned from Vietnam were often met with not only physical wounds but with an unacknowledged trauma, a psychological burden that would haunt them for decades. They returned to a society that did not welcome them, that often shunned them or failed to understand the true price of war. The battle may have been over, but the effects of the war—on their mental health, their relationships, and their sense of self—lasted long after the last shots were fired. Their lives, though they survived, became an existence of waiting, of enduring the fallout of conflict long after the rest of the world had moved on.

In ancient times, consider the fate of the Greek warriors returning from the Trojan War. The hero Odysseus, though victorious, faced years of suffering as he wandered the seas, unable to return home. Even when he did return, he found that the war had changed everything, and the home he had fought for was no longer a place of peace. The war had taken more than just his physical strength—it had taken his peace of mind. The gods may have granted him victory, but it was a victory marked by a long journey of suffering, where he could never truly escape the shadow of war. Odysseus' journey is a metaphor for all who survive war—though the battles are over, the scars remain, and the soul is forever haunted.

Remarque’s words resonate because they reflect not just the physical trauma of war, but the existential void that war leaves behind. What is a soldier to do when the fight is over, but the war within continues? What is left for the human soul when the external enemy has been vanquished, but the internal demons remain? For the soldiers of Remarque’s time, and for those in every war since, the real battle begins only after the guns fall silent. War may have a conclusion, but the suffering it causes is not so easily undone. The ghosts of war, whether in the form of disease, mental anguish, or the void of meaning, linger long after the world moves on.

The lesson, O children, is clear and profound: war is not just a conflict between armies—it is a battle of the spirit. The true cost of war is not only measured by the lives lost in battle, but by the lives destroyed in the aftermath. When war ends, it does not end the suffering; it only transforms it. Survivors may return home, but they return as changed people, often forever haunted by the scars of what they have endured. Dysentery, the slow death Remarque mentions, is but a metaphor for the soul-crushing agony of survival without healing. It is a reminder that the human spirit cannot be easily restored after the destruction of war.

So, O children, as you live in this world, remember the true cost of war. Never forget that peace is not just the absence of fighting, but the presence of healing, of understanding, and of restoration. War may seem like a distant concept, something of the past or only in distant lands, but the human toll of war remains constant. Work to create a world where the price of peace is paid in understanding, collaboration, and compassion, not in suffering. Let the lessons of those who have borne the scars of war—whether through disease, despair, or trauma—guide you in your journey. And may you always seek a future that is carved not from the destruction of others, but from the creation of a world that honors the value of life and the dignity of the human spirit.