War is hell. You can't photograph a flying bullet, but you can

Gather close, O children of wisdom, and heed the words of Horst Faas, a man whose craft was to capture not just images, but the very essence of war—the fear and suffering that lie at its heart. He spoke thus: "War is hell. You can't photograph a flying bullet, but you can capture genuine fear." In these simple yet profound words, Faas offers us a glimpse into the true face of war, not the heroic battles fought under banners of glory, but the silent, unspoken terror that lives within the souls of those caught in its grip. War, he tells us, is not a glorious conquest, but a realm of darkness, of suffering, where every breath is a struggle and every moment is filled with the potential for destruction.

War is, indeed, hell—not because of the clash of swords or the flash of gunfire, but because of the human cost it demands. The chaos, the noise, the endless movement of destruction, and the tearing of bodies—this is what war truly is. The bullet, that silent messenger of death, is but a small part of the larger storm. It may fly through the air, fast and untraceable, but its impact is not merely physical. It reaches into the very soul, shaking the heart with fear and leaving behind scars that cannot be captured by any lens or camera. The true mark of war, Faas teaches us, is not in the flashes of combat, but in the faces of those who endure it, in the eyes that reflect the terror of the moment.

Reflect, O children, on the stories of the great warriors and generals of old. Alexander the Great, who led his armies to victory across the vast lands of Asia, was no stranger to fear. His campaigns were filled with moments of terror, when victory was uncertain, and the enemy threatened to overrun his forces. Yet, it was not the sound of the clash of arms or the cut of the sword that left the deepest mark upon his heart—it was the fear that gnawed at him during the long nights of uncertainty, when the path forward seemed unclear, and the future uncertain. Fear is the shadow of war, present in every soldier, every commander, and every civilian whose life is touched by the devastation.

The lesson of Horst Faas is clear: fear is the true essence of war. It is the thing that survives the battlefield, the feeling that lingers long after the weapons fall silent. Fear is not something that can be easily captured or understood, for it does not reside in the body, but in the heart. It is not a tangible force, like the bullet that flies through the air, but an intangible one, lurking in the minds of those who face the horrors of war. And yet, it is this fear—this terror—that shapes the lives of those who experience it. It is in the eyes of the soldier, in the faces of the civilians who flee before the storm of battle, that the true cost of war is revealed.

Consider, O children, the great wars of history—World War I, the Punic Wars, the Vietnam War—all of them brought with them the ravages of fear. In World War I, the soldiers in the trenches lived in constant fear of death, of disease, of the unknown. The battlefields were filled with the constant sound of artillery, the cries of the wounded, and the dark specter of death that hung over every soldier. It was not the battlefield that marked them most, but the terror that lived in their hearts as they faced the uncertain future, the unrelenting threat of destruction. Faas, as a photographer in Vietnam, captured this same terror. His images did not show the grand victories or the shining moments of heroism; they showed the raw, unfiltered faces of fear—the faces of men who understood, perhaps more than anyone else, that war is not a series of glorious battles, but a constant, grinding torment.

The message that Faas imparts to us is not just about the horror of war, but about the human condition itself. In our lives, we, too, face moments of fear—moments when the world around us seems uncertain, when the shadows of doubt and dread stretch long before us. And in those moments, we must ask ourselves: how do we face our fears? Do we retreat, do we shy away from the unknown, or do we face it head-on, understanding that fear, while powerful, is not the master of our destiny? Just as soldiers must learn to endure the terror of battle, so must we learn to endure the fears that come with living in a world that is often beyond our control.

So, my children, let us remember the lesson of Horst Faas: that war is not about the glorification of battle, but about the human spirit’s ability to endure in the face of overwhelming fear. In our own lives, we must understand that fear is not something to be avoided, but something to be faced, understood, and conquered. Let us not run from the challenges that life throws at us, but stand firm in the knowledge that, like the soldier in the trenches, we too can endure, and in our endurance, we find the true measure of our strength. For it is in our ability to face our fears, to look them in the eye, and to keep moving forward that we are truly victorious.