“Comrade, I did not want to kill you.
If you jumped in here again, I would not do it, if you would be sensible too.
But you were only an idea to me before,
an abstraction that lived in my mind and called forth its appropriate response.
It was that abstraction I stabbed.
But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me.
I thought of your hand grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle;
now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship.
Forgive me comrade.
We always see it too late.
Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us,
that your mothers are just as anxious as ours,
and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony
– forgive me comrade; how could you be my enemy?”
Erich Maria Remarque
All Quiet on the Western Front
On Sunday, I took a moment to reflect on Armistice Day, drawing on the above extract from Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front. Today, I am taking a few moments to translate the passage above for the family:
“Beloved, I did not want to snap at you.
If you did the same again, I would not snap at you, if you too would hold back.
But you had become an idea to me before,
an abstraction that lived in my mind and called forth an appropriate response.
I snapped at that abstraction.
But now again – maybe even for the first time – I see you;
I see that you are human, like me.
I thought of your shortcomings and felt the pain they stimulated in me;
now I see your face, your place in our family and my own.
Forgive me.
I always see it too late.
Why did they never tell me that you are human just as I am,
that you, too, feel the pain of misunderstandings,
and that we both fear the loss of identity and needs unmet as we negotiate family life
– forgive me beloved; how could you be my enemy?”