The ancient Greeks had it right. In his book Combat Sports in the Ancient World, classicist Michael B. Poliakoff describes how sports like wrestling, boxing and stick fighting arose to take the place of actual warfare:

"Not long after Homer's time, it became virtually impossible for anyone to excel in war the way Achilleus and Ajax had done, as the era of heroic single combat yielded to the superior power of the tightly organized and unified phalanx," he writes. "Thus the battlefield was no longer a proving ground for maverick skill and honor, and the city became the arbiter of glory and reward."

Is it unreasonable to expect, in our age of increasingly impersonal, remote-controlled-bombing wars, that we find our heroes in the realm of combat sports instead?

What the Greeks understood is that consuming violence as a spectator can be a healthy and positive experience. By watching highly trained, willing participants hack and slash at each other, we're able to explore aspects of our own personalities in a safe environment. Fear, anger and rage are essential human emotions—better that we experience them vicariously and come to understand them through the actions of others than to deny them and have them spill out on unwilling victims.

"Although frustration and anger may not be eliminated at the ballpark, other emotions can and do get a vigorous workout," wrote D.L. Wann, a psychology professor at Murray State University, in a 2001 paper on violence in sports. "To the extent sports fans choose to express their emotions, freely and openly, they and society are the better for it."

So to what end does this all lead? Should we encourage fights to the death? Perhaps. Allowing willing participants to risk life and limb should be accepted if it is the informed decision of all participants. There's a legal principle called volenti non fit injuria—"to a willing person, no injury is done." It holds true for athletes as well. If a person wants to risk death in the pursuit of fame, they should be allowed to do so.

And of course, they already do. Every time a boxer enters the ring or a quarterback faces 300-pound linebackers, they are taking their lives in their hands. Gladiatorial combat is simply more honest about the risks the competitors are taking.

Two thousand years ago, the philosopher Philo wrote, "I know wrestlers and [fighters] often persevere out of love for honor and zeal for victory to the point of death, when their bodies are giving up and they keep drawing breath and struggling on spirit alone, a spirit which they have accustomed to reject fear scornfully. ... Among these competitors, death for the sake of an olive or celery crown is glorious."