Where Do Enemies Come From?

On the surface, this seems like a "no der" kind of question, and let's face it, it really is. However, I feel like being philosophical today, so I'm going to talk about it anyway.

I've been brainstorming ideas for a new story the past couple of days when I stumbled upon this question. I have two characters who are enemies, but I couldn't think of an interesting reason why. So I googled the question to see if it would get my creative juices flowing better. The first thing I found was some forum where a person asked this question and, surprisingly, the answers people posted were pretty thoughtful. Some people posed the idea that there are just some people out there were innately meant to hate. From the moment we see them, we're put off for no apparent reason. Others suggested that enemies and hatred arise when people descend below the three hold of humanity (i.e. they commit murder, rape, abuse, etc.). But there was one post that had only one word in it that I remember: enmity. 

I think that stuck out to me because I had a seminary lesson all about that very word. My teacher defined it's origins as three things: Hatred, hostility and opposition. These in turn all stem from one simple thing. Pride. He even drew us a picture.

So, are enmity and pride pretty much the same thing?

Why do we hate things? Well, that's a philosophical question all it's own, but I"m going to give it my own answer anyway. We hate things because they get in our way. I learned in a health class once that conflict between people arises when basic needs are being cut off; like if someone make you feel like you don't belong or limits your power, something like that. Is the birth of hatred so different? Look at the people you dislike and ask yourself why you do. Can any of us say that it's fora  reason other than they make us feel inferior or they keep us from what we want or they defy our morals? We hate people because they get in the way of who we are.

So why are we hostile? I'm no expert, but I bet if you asked a psychologist or an anthropologist or someone else who studies people, they may say something along the lines of hostility arising from our caveman days. Look at it this way. If a lion is trying to attack and eat your family, what would you do? Probably shoot it, right? I think our primal instinct is to protect ourselves when we're being hurt or attacked and that often takes the form of hostility. Are we ever hostile to the people we love? Not when we love them. Hostility and hatred are closely linked.

Finally, there's opposition. I don't really know what question to ask about this because opposition can be a good thing. So I'll just skip the thoughtful question and get straight tot my point. Opposition can be good because it teaches us to value the harmony in our lives. That being said, does that give us the right to nurture opposition (hey look! I found a question)? I mean, is opposition really something we should seek out? Hmmm, maybe I don't know what my point is here. Opposition has a fine line between being good or bad. Maybe it's when we let opposition make us angry that it gets bad. Anger just encourages hostility and hatred.

So I come back to my original question: Where do enemies come from? In truth, I don't know, but I think enmity and pride play a large role. When we stop thinking of others and start viewing our own needs as the most important, its as if the figurative veil thickens. Suddenly, we can't remember that we were all once brothers and sisters in the premarital world. We can't remember that our imperfections are what make us equal, for none of us are perfect. We can't see in each other the part that Heavenly Father loves because our eyes are too filled with ourselves. I don't think it's wrong that enemies exist because those who turn towards the wrong should be resisted. I do, however, think that hatred is an unnatural thing. We all loved each other once. Isn't that a better thing to have than hatred?

Emptying my Brain

Sometimes I have random story ideas that I have to get out of my head before I can focus on whatever story I'm writing at the time. This scene and these characters I came up with while watching CW's "Beauty and the Beast", season 2. I haven't read over this or edited it at all, I just wrote it down and now I'm putting it up here. :)

It was in a hospital that Marella opened her bleary eyes. She didn’t know it yet, but she had been there all night. She’d had intensive surgery to remove a bullet from her abdomen. She was going to live. The bullet hadn’t done any damage to her insides that the skilled surgeons couldn’t repair. Besides, her body had been through worse.

Indeed, perhaps that was why she seemed so surprised when she came to. She had blacked out before being found. She had been sure that she would bleed out before anyone would find her. Yet, she found herself alive, in a hospital bed with oxygen tubes in her nose. She knew she was alive because she could still feel soreness in her belly, but with all the painkillers in her system, she mostly felt a little woozy. But her biggest surprise was yet to come.

She blinked to clear her eyes and tried to look around the room. Even that small effort made her dizzy. Her eyes fell on a figure sitting beside her bed – a man, leaning on his knees and watching her over clenched hands. Marella had to rub her eyes and blink a few more times before her eyes were clear enough to see who it was.

The soreness in her belly seemed to vanish along with everything else in there as shock enveloped her. She felt as if her limbs had gone numb, for she could no longer move. All her senses were forced onto the man beside her; a man with short, dark hair, eyes filled with intensity and scruff all around his jaw. He didn’t seem able to move either as his gaze met her’s without blinking.

Marella barely found her voice. “. . . Dad . . .” her voice came out a whisper.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t move at all, as if he was still trying to figure out if he was in a dream or not. Marella frowned at him. “Dad . . .?” she said again, a little stronger.

She lifted a trembling hand. The man’s eyes flicked to it for a moment before looking back at her. Marella swallowed and closed her eyes again. Her fingertips found the scruff on his cheek. Her breathing was unsteady as she slowly traced her fingers across the contours of his face. She nearly stopped breathing altogether when she knew where all the dips and curves would be before she felt them. She knew this face. She had memorized it long ago.

“Daddy,” this time her voice broke.

The man took her hand away from his face and clasped it between both of his. She hadn’t realized how cold her’s were until he did. He placed a rough kiss on her knuckles.

“Hey there, kiddo,” was all he could manage to say. Emotion of every sort welled so high in his chest and throat that it was a miracle he could speak clearly at all. Marella didn’t dare open her eyes for fear he would vanish if she did.

She felt the warmth of his hands spreading through her entire form like a soothing current. Yet, even so, she could speak with no more ease than he could.

“Are you –” she sniffed. “Are you really here?”

“Yeah, I’m right here, bud. I’m not going anywhere.”

The cragginess of his voice had never sounded so sweet.

“Is it time to go home now?” Marella’s words barely came out as a breath.

Her dad brushed stray hair off her brow like he’d always done to her out-of-control bangs as a child. “Almost,” he said. “I promise I’m going to take you home soon.”

Marella let out a sob. She rolled onto her side as best she could and reached out to hold her father’s hand in both of hers. Still she didn’t open her eyes as she wept in her pillow. Her father kept smoothing her hair away in the softest caress his rough hands could manage. It brought such warmth to Marella’s heart, yet it made her cry even harder. She didn’t know why. She didn’t quite understand all these feelings bursting within her now. There was only one thing she recognized and she was holding tightly to it with both hands.

For the first time it what felt like an eternity to them both, they were together.

Outside the room, the cop who had found her and called her father in walked past. She glanced in the window, not intending to pry, just checking in, but the sight in the room made her smile. Though she couldn’t see the father’s face, she could feel something coming from him – something that could only be described as joy, yet even that word seemed so lacking. She wiped a stray tear from her eye and turned around, giving them some privacy. She smiled for a long while too.