Memorial Day: Reflections on War and Humanity

On Memorial Day we remember with deep sadness the many thousands who died in our wars, having done their duty to the end. They were sacrificed to the gods of war—for reasons both noble and not—and our gratitude for them is expressed in tears.

But I believe we must also remember and honor those who returned from battle, carrying the death of something vital within them. Some part of their humanity—emotional, spiritual, or physical—was lost, even if their bodies made it home.

For me, Memorial Day is a time of solemn contemplation on the cruel inhumanity of war. For many years, I have used this day to reflect on the life of my friend Harlan Miller. He was a self-educated farm boy who enlisted early in World War II.  Seriously wounded in North Africa when an artillery shell struck his foxhole, he spent years in hospital care before returning to civilian life—a life marked by hermit-like loneliness, part-time menial jobs, poverty, and an inability to feel at home in the company of others.

He survived, yes—but part of his body and soul had died that day. His only family was the church and the church served as executor of his tiny estate. He was not unique. His story is one among many quietly carried in the lives of those who never fully came home.

Studs Terkel won the 1985 Pulitzer Prize for his book The Good War, so titled to suggest that World War II stood apart as the only war in living memory fought for morally acceptable reasons. But even World War II was initiated out of the usual motivations: greed, hubris, lust for power, empire-building, and revenge. These forces have animated nearly every war in history.

There are exceptions—wars of independence, such as our own, and others led by colonized peoples seeking self-determination. But even the most justified war exacts an unforgivable toll in human life and inflicts collateral damage on God’s creation, which was entrusted to us to nurture and keep.

In early human history, kings had few responsibilities apart from waging war. Scripture even notes that spring was the season “when kings went out to war”—because that’s what kings did. At least they were honest about it. There was no pretense of moral justification—only the expectation that war was part of a ruler’s role.

The Greeks and Romans took a more sophisticated view: they engaged in war for the glory of it. A man’s worth, they believed, was measured by the honor he earned on the battlefield. Aristophanes questioned this ethic in Lysistrata, a play in which women withhold sex until the Peloponnesian War ends. It was for naught. Despite his satire, the ideal of battlefield glory endured. Plato and Aristotle continued to praise military valor as the measure of manhood—an ideal that lasted for centuries, and still lingers today.

Let me be clear: war does reveal tremendous courage and bravery. Such acts deserve our respect. Some are even examples of profound moral virtue. But each act must be honored on its own merits—not as a measure of personal worth.

There are many valid reasons for men and women to join the military. Intending to die should not be one of them. We rightly honor our veterans for doing their duty on behalf of the nation. But it is not their duty to judge the moral grounds of going to war. That responsibility lies with our national leaders. It is the soldier’s role to carry out policy within what we euphemistically call “the rules of war.”

On Memorial Day, we remember those who gave all. But let us also remember those who survived—but not whole. And let us commit ourselves to asking, with utmost seriousness, whether the sacrifices we ask are worthy of the cost we impose.