War (n.) is always the war of sovereigns: there is no war without Warlords.
War (n.) is the Event par excellence: not one more date in the list of victories and treaties, but the sovereign event that halts the course of history and starts it again.
War (n.) comes back as a figure out of an exasperated hunger for legitimacy and purpose, just when no one can believe any longer that economics has an end of its own.
War (n.) is perhaps like a film even before a film imitates war.
War (n.) fought with missiles is no better and no worse than war fought with catapults — it is still war, just as fiber-optics leave open what communication means.
War (n.) as ‘the continuation of politics by other means’ quietly demotes it from sovereignty’s supreme act to a tool — a shift that, carried through to the end, might be the end of war.
War (n.) borders on art — not the strategist’s art but art in the modern sense: Being finishing itself in the explosive brilliance of the beautiful and the sublime; it is the monument, the festival, the somber sign of a community in its sovereignty.
War (n.) today involves no mêlée at all: it begins by wiping out hand-to-hand combat and then spreads everywhere, gassing, irradiating and infecting the whole civilian space.