Some Are Born To Fight

The Absurdity of Violence, the Illusion of Peace, and the Weight of an Absurd Fate

The Fight That Finds Them

Some don't ask for the fight, it finds them. Not the kind waged on battlefields alone, though many have walked those, but the fight that never ends. The one that demands one to stand when others fall, hold the line when others waver, step into the fray when no one else will. It is not a calling, nor a choice. It is a condition of being.

For centuries, the image of those who stand in the chaos of violence has been cast in the shape of men, but history tells a different story. Women, too, have borne this burden of fate. Standing in the fray when called, holding the line when no one else would. They have fought in shadows and on open battlefields, not for glory, but because necessity demanded it. The weight of protection, of sacrifice, does not belong to men alone. It belongs to those who cannot turn away.

It starts early, sometimes in childhood, a sense that the world is fragile, that someone must be ready to protect what is worth protecting. It is not a learned behavior; it is woven into the fabric of their existence. These men are not drawn to chaos, but chaos finds them nonetheless, whether in the form of violence, injustice, or the silent burdens others refuse to carry.

There has always been and always will be a need for these ill fated. Not because their existence justifies violence, but because the realities of the world demand it. Conflict is not a matter of morality but of inevitability. The presence of those willing to stand guard is not an endorsement of violence, but an acknowledgment that history is cyclical, that threats never truly disappear, only change form. The necessity of such men is not a celebration of their burden but a recognition of the role they play in maintaining the fragile balance of civilization. Not because it is right or wrong, not because it is a virtue or a vice, but because nature itself demands it. The strong will always be called upon to defend the weak.

Civilization may dress itself in the trappings of progress, in the illusion of safety, but beneath it, the primal laws of survival remain unchanged. Conflict is not an anomaly, it is the rhythm of existence, an inescapable truth etched into the marrow of history. And so, these men persist, not because they seek battle, but because nature does not afford them the luxury of turning away.

The Silent Sacrifice

We tell stories about these men. We cheer for them in movies, revel in their sacrifice when it costs them their lives. The fallen hero, the last stand, the martyr's glory, it makes for good stories. But the truth is, most sacrifices do not end in death. The weight of them is carried in silence. No medals, no funerals, no grand speeches. Just a life lived in service to something greater than self, a readiness that never fades, a peace that can never be fully grasped.

What is rarely acknowledged is the toll of a life spent in constant readiness. The unseen scars, the loneliness of carrying burdens that cannot be shared, the quiet suffering of knowing that the world moves on while they remain where they must be, always watching, always prepared. The greatest sacrifices are often the ones no one ever sees.

These men do not relish violence, nor do they wish for its necessity. They loathe its presence, knowing full well what it destroys, what it demands from those who must use it and the toll it exacts on those who suffer its force. And yet, to pretend it does not exist, to deny its role in shaping the world, would be the height of absurdity. The laws of nature are indifferent to human sentiment, conflicts arise, whether welcomed or not, and someone must stand to meet it. That is the cruel paradox: to despise the very thing one must always be ready to deliver.

The Difference Between

There are those who sell the fight, men who wear war as a brand, who speak of violence as if it is a thing to be worshiped. They boast of their toughness, their readiness to spill blood, their eagerness to step into battle. But the ones who truly understand it do not revel in it. They know what it brings. They know its cost. And still, they stand ready. Not eager, not proud, just prepared.

I’ve known men, some who were considered brothers, that built their identity around their exploits, who speak of violence as if it were a currency by which they measure their worth. They recite their deeds with bravado, convincing themselves that their past is something to be worn as armor. But beneath the stories, behind the loud voices and exaggerated gestures, their inner world is shattered. The war never ended for them; it simply changed forms. They do not celebrate violence because they believe in it; they cling to it because it is all they have left.

It is not a mark of pride but a symptom of loss, an echo of a past that refuses to let go. They are trapped in a cycle where identity is tied to destruction, where the only way to mask the emptiness within is to glorify the very thing that hollowed them out. It is not strength, but a form of survival. It is not conviction, but the inability to face what comes after the fight. The world sees them as battle hardened warriors, but inside, they are ruins of the chaos they endured. To admit otherwise would be to face the abyss of their own emptiness, the quiet realization that they were shaped by something that will never let them go.

To be a warrior in a garden is not a poetic fantasy. It is a burden. A choice made over and over again. To pick up the axe only when there is no other option. To wield it without joy, without vanity, without the intoxication of power. To return it to the earth when the work is done, knowing it will be needed again. True warriors do not seek the fight, but they will never turn away from it when the moment comes.

The Fragility of Peace

Have no illusions about peace. It is fragile, easily broken, often illusory. But that does not mean it is worthless. The men who are born to fight do not fight because they love conflict. They fight because they love peace enough to suffer for it. They see the cost, they know the horrors, and yet they still believe it is worth defending. They bear the burden so others do not have to, knowing full well that peace is fleeting, that violence waits in the shadows, that there will always be another fight to come.

The history of violence is often taught with a purpose, bent to fit the needs of those in power. It becomes a tool for propaganda, a method of shaping minds rather than revealing truth. Victors write history, and in their accounts, violent conflicts are often painted with honor, necessity, or inevitability. But for those who have stood on the other side of peace, for those who have seen the wreckage left behind, they know that no story is ever as simple as two sides locked in opposition. Every violent conflict is a tangled web of motives, ambitions, and unintended consequences. The fight is rarely good versus evil, it is often chaos, decisions made in desperation, choices dictated by survival. To see violent conflicts through unfiltered eyes is to recognize its absurdity, its tragedy, and the cycles it endlessly feeds.

Those who truly understand this do not simply become disillusioned; they are forced to decide how to carry that knowledge forward. Some retreat, seeking solace in the illusion that detachment brings peace. Others embrace the fight in a different way, not as aggressors but as guardians, choosing to stand between chaos and those who cannot defend themselves. Understanding the nature of violence does not make one immune to it, but it does allow one to see beyond the simplistic narratives of heroism and villainy. It forces one to accept the weight of history, the inevitability of conflict, and the responsibility that comes with the choice to act.

An Absurd Fate

It is an absurd fate, to know that peace will never hold, that there will always be another battle, another line to defend. To know that history does not bend toward justice or resolution, only toward repetition, with different faces filling the same roles. The world does not change, only the men who bear its burdens, inheriting a duty that is never truly passed down, only rediscovered.

This endless cycle echoes the myth of Sisyphus, as explored by Albert Camus.¹ Like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill, only to watch it roll down again, these men prepare for and engage in conflicts, knowing full well that their efforts will never bring lasting peace. Yet, in this absurd struggle, they find meaning. As Camus suggests, "The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart."²

And yet, despite knowing this, they continue. Not for glory, not for recognition, but because there is no one else. To stand in defiance of a world that will never remember their names, to struggle against a tide that will never recede, to uphold values that will never be universally understood. It is the grand absurdity, to fight not for victory, but because surrender is inconceivable. To accept a fate that offers no reward, only the quiet knowledge that for one more day, for one more hour, the line has held.

In this acceptance, these men embody what Camus called "lucid indifference."³ They see the meaninglessness of their struggle in the grand scheme of things, yet they choose to engage fully, to revolt against the absurd by continuing to fight. Their actions, while seemingly futile, become an affirmation of life and human dignity in the face of an indifferent universe.

Therefore, some men are just born to fight, not as conquerors or seekers of glory, but as those who carry a burden few can understand. It is not a call to arms, not an endorsement of violence, but an acknowledgment of those who stand so that others do not have to. Their fate is not one they chose, but one that was woven into them, an acceptance of duty in a world that will always need guardians.

In embracing this absurd fate, these men find a paradoxical form of freedom. They are free from the illusion that their actions will bring about a final, lasting peace. Instead, they find purpose in the constant vigilance, in the readiness to face whatever comes. Their existence becomes a form of rebellion against the meaninglessness of the universe, a defiant yes in the face of life's inherent no.

This is the essence of the absurd hero, to persist in the face of futility, to find meaning in the struggle itself. These men, born to fight, become living embodiments of this philosophical stance. They do not fight because they believe they will change the world forever, but because the act of fighting, of standing ready, is itself an affirmation of human dignity and resilience in an indifferent cosmos.

1. Camus, A. (1991). The myth of Sisyphus (J. O’Brien, Trans.). Vintage International. (Original work published 1942)

2. Camus, A. (1991). The myth of Sisyphus (J. O’Brien, Trans.). Vintage International. (Original work published 1942).

3. Camus, A. (1989). The stranger (M. Ward, Trans.). Vintage International. (Original work published 1942)