Enemies—fabricated, projected, chosen

The world we inhabit is aching. Violence—once shocking—has become the background hum of our politics, our religious rhetoric, and our entertainment. We see it, hear it, absorb it until it begins to feel normal. But it is not. It has never been.

And more and more, the violence we inflict is turned inward—on our bodies, our spirits, our communities. Still, we cling to what theologians call the myth of redemptive violence—the belief that if someone harms us, the way to set things right is to harm them in return.

They shoot at us, so we bomb them.
They mock our candidate, so we mock theirs.
They hurt our pride, so we strike back—online, in the pulpit, in policy.

But has this ever brought us closer to the world of our dreams?

As Thich Nhat Hanh taught,

“Violence is never the answer. It brings more violence, more hatred, more misunderstanding. Only understanding and compassion can dissolve violence.”

When we answer harm with harm, we keep the wheel of suffering spinning. Like children on a teeter-totter, each side tries to push harder, climb higher, win. But no one ever gets off. No one ever learns. And as the cycle deepens, we start to believe in enemies—fabricated, projected, chosen.

Because that’s the painful truth:
We choose who our enemies are.

Every single day, we make that choice.
And the more enemies we create, the more our hearts shrink.
The scar tissue forms.
We mistake it for strength, but it’s only armor.

But there is another way.

Jesus showed us. So did the Buddha. Lao-Tzu, Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, and Martin Luther King Jr. all insisted there is a path that does not demand a sacrificial victim. They were ridiculed, dismissed as naive. And yet their teachings have endured because they speak to something eternal in the human spirit.

Loving-kindness.
Compassion.
Generosity.
Solidarity without enmity.

These are not weak responses to violence.
They are revolutionary.
They are courageous.
They are the only way to truly interrupt the cycle.

Martin Luther King Jr. once said,

“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate… Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

And Thich Nhat Hanh echoed,

“When you love someone, the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?”

We must be present—to our grief, our rage, and our longing for a different kind of world.

So, what if we stopped feeding the machine?
What if we laid down our armor and refused to play the game?
What if we let our wounds teach us tenderness instead of vengeance?

We don’t have to live like this.

Violence—whether in word, policy, action, or silence—has no place in our sacred traditions.
We can step off the wheel.
We can say no to revenge, cruelty, militarism, and bloodshed.
We can break the cycle.

Because there are other forces at work—quieter, yes, but more enduring.

Love.
Compassion.
Kindness.
Presence.

And as Thomas Merton wrote:

“The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves… not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise, we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.”

Let’s begin again—gently, humbly, courageously.

Together, we can imagine a world where no one is made the enemy.
And then we can help bring that world into being.