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But how does one go about creating a perfectly good enmity, one that will bud and flower and last? A direct insult is effective on occasion, especially if the insult is housed in a witticism that the prospective enemy does not quite get. This affords two offenses at once. A demonstration of superiority will do even better, particularly when accompanied by one's earnest desire not to belittle one's opponent. (The opponent will always be aware of this, and despise you more for the effort.) Ingratitude, treachery, a difference of opinion or principle, these things make enemies too; but suprisingly they tend to wear away fairly soon, perhaps because they are blatant offenses and thus offer greater chance of amelioration by being discrete and defined. True enmities are subtler. Indeed, a very good way to make an enemy is often simply to be oneself, since many enemies genuinely enjoy the idea of being enemies and are keenly on the lookout for enemies of their own.
If Othello had not existed, for instance, lago would surely have had to invent him; otherwise lago would have had no guiding purpose for his mischief, no reason to realize his full potential for troublemaking. In the same way, Richard Nixon undoubtedly needed his enemies list more for self-definition than for self-protection. Some people are not themselves without a multitude of targets for their bile or fears, so they deliberately ensure their own supply. Gossips are in this category. Gossips never lack for enemies. Since they are born envying the universe, they inevitably regard it as hostile.
For such reasons it is easier to make an enemy than to preserve one, though, as in the making, there are established ways to prevent one's enemies from slipping away. Proximity helps considerably. Neighbors and schoolmates make excellent antagonists because the frequent sight of each other enhances mutual contempt; the eyes narrow so eloquently in the halls. Injury is useful as well. There is nothing like an enemy's knowledge that he has done you harm to make him loathe you all the more. Forget not success either. Your achievement of anything, including momentary cheer, will keep the enemy seething like a Doberman. Nor put away charity. The effect of kindness on an enemy is absolutely devastating, and the advantage of employing it is that one might achieve revenge and sainthood simultaneously.
Of course the purest way to keep an enemy at a boil is to ignore him entirely. Howard Roark, the Nietzschean architect of Ayn Rand's mesmerizing nutwork, The Fountainhead, produces a stunning effect when he is confronted by his archenemy, Ellsworth Toohey. Alone with Roark, Toohey asks: "Why don't you tell me what you think of me?" Roark replies: "But I don't think of you." This tactic has two disadvantages, however. First, in order for it to work, it has to come naturally, and very few people are so thoroughly self-absorbed as to pay their enemies no heed whatever. Second, there is something positive to be gained by acknowledging one's enemies. Like all God's creatures, enemies have a purpose in the world. They offer a criticism of one's conduct (albeit unsought) that is not always provided by friends. They also encourage selfesteem. How would we know the magnitude of our own worth without someone so worthless attacking it?