Anzac Day and Qohelet

I often feel guilty on Anzac day. I've never fought in war; my immediate line includes only a grandfather who went to Darwin a bit too late for anything of consequence. For 30 years I've stayed away from the marches; even then I was on duty for any of the onlookers who might need a bandaid. I occasionally watch the Gallipoli dawn service, because at least that's on at a reasonable hour. But for the last few years,  nothing. 

But as the years go by, so increases my cynicism. I saw a picture of my cousin marching - why? For whom? Where did he get those medals? And why is the only mention of this rich history he feels he belongs to a secret the rest of the year, discoverable only through a facebook post? (He may have good reason - we've just never talked about it!)

But then I think about the causes of war, and with the rare exception, they're meaningless. Chasing land, resources, energy, prestige. At best, a principle misunderstood by most and forgotten not long into it. At least in the good old days, the kings and generals were in the fight and a loss would mean their life. 

But wars are fought and won and lost and life just goes on around it all. Death, disease, rape, pillage, destruction, PTSD, buried and forgotten landmines, retributive attacks… and then, once you've buried your dead, you are all supposed to get back to whatever life is left to you. 

I don't mean to say war isn't inevitable, but when is it ever best? When does it ever achieve what it's supposed to? Seriously, think back to any war you can, and when did it achieve good? It may have gone some ways to halting great evil, but did it bring about good? 

Reading the book of Ecclesiastes these last weeks has forced me to reflect on what we can actually grasp hold of - what is not just a chasing after wind? And whatever it is we seek in war, it always turns out to be such a task - trying to hold on to something intangible and elusive. 

So today we had lunch with family and friends. We made the most of life under the sun, because, despite the glory of the Commando comics I devoured as a child, war is hell, and life is too short to spend it fighting someone else's fight.