What defines a true warrior? Assuming there is a collective of strengths and mastered craft that makes up one of these, where is the comprehensive list of those? What if there are fifteen things on that list and one who calls himself a warrior has only mastered eleven of them, is he still a warrior? Or are they posers and “wannabes” until they show themselves capable in all the necessary warrior criteria?

The world in which we live, sometimes a difficult place to find peace in, almost requires that each of us becomes a warrior in order to establish that peace. Because that’s why we war, don’t we? To have peace. To create a defensible position from which we and those we go to war for, besides ourselves, can live harmoniously with each other and our environments.

Ah, but usually, though, as we seek out those collective strengths and craft that makes for good warriors, what we discover is the ever long list of vulnerabilities, weaknesses, and gaps that allow the trouble into our defensible position, before we’ve become proficient enough in war to effectively keep it out. We are forced to confront the nefarious enemies of all we defend from a compromised position, doing the best we can with what we know. Sometimes that doesn’t work well and then we, along with everyone we’re trying to protect, has to compromise and adapt. Messy business war is, and far-reaching are its effects.

So, calling it an art, as in the ‘Art of War’ seems flippant and whimsically inaccurate. But is it?

I’ve watched a friend who is an artist, or is he a warrior? Both, I’ve presumed. Anyway, I’ve watched him paint wondrously gorgeous paintings, many of which grace our home, and in so doing there is always a circle of chaos around him. Colors so spattered and mixed on easels, aprons, clothing, and skin, that you almost feel sorry for him. He puzzles and broods over every stroke. Some of his best works have the history of their lesser equivalents, which fell short of his own conceived perfection, lying underneath the finished product by a few thin layers of paint.

Consider the writers of old with the tiny shreds of graphite, lead, and rubber eraser lying around them, or the brick layer whose work shoes are no longer flexible beneath accumulating layers of mortar, or the mother who collapses into her bed each night with the myriad messes that befit small children, lying barely atoned for just feet away. One-of-a-kind masterpieces, victories, and defensible security is the common goal of each and every brand of warfare, clearly visible to their warriors, on a horizon which lies on the other side of the battlefield.

And, so, we war.