Foreigners, Enemies, and Empathy Theme Analysis

While Storm of Steel is tightly focused on the experiences of Ernst Jünger and his fellow German soldiers, other people—like British and French soldiers, and French and Flemish civilians in occupied lands—make frequent appearances, too. In most respects, Jünger seems to be a product of his early 20th-century nationalistic culture in his attitudes about distancing himself from conquered people and combatants. But his stories of encounters with non-Germans also shed more light on his individual character than perhaps anything else in the memoir. By portraying himself not just as a soldier among soldiers, but also as a human being finding common ground and empathizing with others, Jünger portrays himself as a sympathetic figure, suggesting than remaining in touch with one’s humanity is actually indispensable for a good soldier.

In one sense, Jünger maintains a careful distance from foreigners and enemies. At other times, however, two opposing sides are able to find common ground. As the German army moves through various destroyed villages, Jünger is not insensitive to the destruction he sees: “The desolation and the profound silence […] were heightened by the sorry impression of devastation. Ripped haversacks, broken rifles, scraps of cloth, counterpointed grotesquely with children’s toys, shell fuses, deep craters from explosions, bottles, harvest implements, shredded books, battered household gear […] all that, with a half-buried communication trench running through it, and all suffused with the smell of burning and decay. Sad thoughts are apt to sneak up on the warrior in such a locale, when he thinks of those who only recently led their lives in tranquillity.” Jünger pointedly juxtaposes implements of war with items, like toys and books, from peacetime life. Even a “warrior” thinks about those whose suffering is silently pictured in such locations—yet, it’s also a warrior’s prerogative not to dwell on such things. While tragic, it’s also not his problem.

Distance between different sides is not absolute, but it always makes relationships complex. Jünger describes friendly acquaintances made while occupying foreign territories: “Before long, all of us had struck up our various friendships and relationships, and on our afternoons off we could be seen striding through the countryside, making for this or that farmstead, to take a seat in a sparkling clean kitchen round one of the low stoves, on whose round tops a big pot of coffee was kept going. We chatted away in a blend of Flemish and Lower Saxon.” This appreciative description shows that occupiers and occupied citizens can share space peacefully, spend pleasant hours around the table, and even converse in linguistically similar tongues. These apparently genuine, warm relations nevertheless wouldn’t have happened if Germany weren’t waging war and occupying other countries—showing the inherently complicated nature of wartime relations.

Recognizing that there is humanity to be found on both sides of any given conflict, Jünger’s openness to others also prompts him to treat them with respect, even sparing the life of an enemy on at least one occasion. Jünger is frank and forthright about his opinion of the enemy, recognizing their common soldierly status: “Throughout the war, it was always my endeavour to view my opponent without animus, and to form an opinion of him as a man on the basis of the courage he showed. I would always try and seek him out in combat and kill him, and I expected nothing else from him. But never did I entertain mean thoughts of him. When prisoners fell into my hands, later on, I felt responsible for their safety, and would always do everything in my power for them.” Part of the warrior’s ethic, in Jünger’s view, is to respect a fellow soldier for the way he comports himself on the battlefield and not to fight out of a sense of hatred. Soldiers know soldiers, in other words.

Jünger shows compassion for civilians, recognizing their common humanity. While quartered with a family in a Flemish village, “the town was once again bombed. I […] switched on my torch to settle the nerves of the little girl, who had been screaming ever since an explosion had knocked out the light. Here was proof again of man’s need for home. In spite of the huge fear these women had in the face of such danger, yet they clung fast to the ground which at any moment might bury them.” He never reflects at length on such people; like his comments on manliness or death, Jünger is restrained in his assessment of other people. But he doesn’t withhold his admiration for these women who remain steadfast in the face of an imminent threat—rather like soldiers holding their ground. Again, he sees something in these foreigners that resonates with his own view of the world.

Finally, Jünger’s recognition of others’ humanity even prompts him to show mercy at times. Near the end of the war, Jünger finds himself holding his pistol to the temple of a British soldier: “With a plaintive sound, he reached into his pocket, not to pull out a weapon, but a photograph which he held up to me. I saw him on it, surrounded by numerous family, all standing on a terrace. It was a plea from another world.” After letting him go, “That one man of all often appeared in my dreams. I hope that meant he got to see his homeland again.” Again, Jünger tersely recognizes the humanity of his British counterpart. Throughout the war, he never hesitates to kill, but in this fleeting instance, the photograph momentarily transplants the two men in the world beyond the war, and this shared moment prompts Jünger to let the man go.

Though the scene with the desperate British soldier is moving, it’s also not completely surprising—Jünger’s appreciative and sometimes compassionate appraisals of foreigners and the enemy serve to prepare the reader for this memorable encounter. As a whole, Jünger’s attitudes toward others make him a fairly sympathetic figure throughout; he is realistic in his loyalty to his country, but not triumphalist, and never wantonly cruel.