My dear Excellency! I have not gone to war to collect cheese and

Hear the voice of Manfred von Richthofen, the Red Baron, the knight of the skies, who once declared with biting candor: “My dear Excellency! I have not gone to war to collect cheese and eggs, but for another purpose.” These words, though edged with humor, reveal the spirit of a man who understood the solemnity of war. They are not the words of one seeking comfort or petty gain, but of a warrior who knew that war, however terrible, must be fought for a cause greater than oneself.

The origin of this saying lies in the days of the First World War, when Richthofen, already a legend of the German Air Force, received offerings of food and gifts from grateful civilians and dignitaries. To many soldiers, such gifts were welcome respite amid hunger and hardship. Yet Richthofen, though not ungrateful, dismissed these tokens as trivial compared to the higher purpose he believed called him to the skies: to serve his nation, to master his craft, and to face his enemies with skill and honor. His words remind us that war is not a marketplace for rewards, but a crucible of duty.

The meaning of his words is clear: true warriors do not fight for the spoils of war, but for the higher calling that draws them into struggle. The Red Baron did not soar into battle for cheese or eggs, nor for gold, nor for glory alone, but because he believed himself part of something greater. To him, war was not about petty comforts, but about loyalty, service, and the trial of courage. Even if one rejects the cause for which he fought, one must see in his words a lesson: that to endure hardship without being seduced by small rewards is the mark of a disciplined soul.

Consider the tale of Alexander the Great, who, when his army was parched in the desert, refused to drink from a small cup of water brought to him. He poured it into the sand, saying he would not take what his men could not share. Like Richthofen, he showed that true leaders and warriors do not live for small luxuries while greater purposes are at stake. In both examples, the message rings true: greatness is found not in what is received, but in what is endured for the sake of something beyond the self.

Richthofen’s statement also warns against the corruption of war’s meaning. Too often, battles have been waged not for ideals but for plunder, not for justice but for gain. Armies have sacked cities for wealth, leaders have sent men to die for resources or tribute. Yet in rejecting the notion of fighting for “cheese and eggs,” Richthofen placed himself in the ancient tradition of warriors who see war, however flawed, as a contest of spirit and conviction, not a hunt for spoils. He speaks against reducing sacrifice to selfish reward.

The lesson is as relevant now as it was then: in every struggle, we must ask ourselves, “What is the purpose?” If we fight only for gain, our cause is shallow, and our sacrifice wasted. But if we strive for something higher—whether justice, freedom, or the protection of others—then our suffering takes on meaning. Richthofen’s words challenge us to look beyond trivial rewards and to measure our actions against a purpose worthy of the hardship they demand.

What, then, must we do? We must cultivate clarity of purpose in our own lives. Whether in the battles of nations or in the struggles of the soul, we must refuse to be distracted by the small rewards that lure us away from higher duties. We must remember that the measure of our fight is not in what we gain, but in what we defend, what we build, and what we endure for the sake of others.

Therefore, let the words of the Red Baron endure as a strange yet powerful wisdom: war is not for cheese and eggs. It is not for trinkets or trophies. It is for causes so great that they command sacrifice. And if such causes cannot be found, then war itself is vanity. Let us take from his words a reminder: in all struggles, whether great or small, let our purpose rise above gain, and let our actions be guided by duty, courage, and honor.