At the turn of the century, an ancient Native American man was asked how a loosely organized tribe was able to control it's young warriors.
The man replied that his tribe really had no way to control such people. They were capable of surviving indefinitely without the support of others. While there were occasionally other warriors of superior ability (not always), their only recourse would be to kill the young upstart because there was no prison to put him in, and nothing of value to take away from him. So the tribe just let him go.
These men would leave for long periods of time. It can be assumed that they attacked other people from other tribes, because that is what strangers often did. They worked alone or in small groups, usually picking a time and place where some woman or child or elder was vulnerable. They could be savage and ruthless. They did great harm. All the people were constantly on alert for such men and the tribe united to fight against them.
Occasionally one of these young men would find his way home. Always he had aged beyond his years, with a distant and faraway look in his eyes. Always he wore scars from battles he never sang about.
These men, so arrogant in their power, so independent, needed the tribe more than anyone else. They hungered for human companionship. Starved for the smile from someone who knew their name, their parents, and their childhood. To these men, the common rituals and observances of the tribe took on new meaning. Sometimes they became respected elders after that. Although they usually died fairly young.
These men teach us two very valuable lessons about living. That peace is better than war. And that it is more important to have something to fight for, than something to fight against.
These lessons are best learned from someone else, rather than on your own.