A finger pointing

I’m in the habit of scribbling down things I’ve heard. Today I came across a saying someone told me: “Remember that when you point one finger in anger, there are three fingers pointing back at you.”

Well I’ve been thinking a lot about anger recently. Partly because I’m reading Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Anger, Buddhist wisdom for cooling the flames; partly because of a situation at work; partly because I’ve been very aware of my own anger recently.

And just as I was beginning to write this post on anger, Northwoods Contemplative referred to an excellent and thoughtful article by Susan Windley-Daoust about the Amish school shooting tragedy a year ago.

What are our experiences of anger? Is there good (we might say righteous) anger? I often wish I could flame out in anger. Throw a few plates, perhaps. My anger tends to be of the unexpressed, slow-burning kind that shows itself in bitterness and contempt for others. I rather envy those who can yell and forget. But should I?

In her article, Susan writes:

Most of us are loath to admit the real trouble with anger: anger feels good. Deliriously good. We feel righteously indignant. We feel deeply. We feel strong. We are alive, aware, on watch. And there are so many, many injustices, personal and global, worth our just wrath. It isn’t until later—and not much later—that the anger corrodes into something more like bitterness. Prophecy becomes acrimony. Taking a stand becomes self-interested pride. Anger at an act becomes hatred against a person. And we become so attached to the power of anger, we leave no space for the power of God.

And Thich Nhat Hanh tells us:

According to the Buddha’s teachings, the most basic condition for happiness is freedom. Here we do not mean political freedom, but freedom from the mental formations of anger, despair, jealousy and delusion…As long as these poisons are still in our heart, happiness cannot be possible.

Yes, perhaps righteous anger can be the catalyst for action, for moving against injustice, but it changes so quickly to hatred. And I wonder if hatred can co-exist with compassion. I don’t see how.

Perhaps part of the problem is we (or perhaps only I) think of compassion as an impulse which has less power, less energy, than anger. Yet I’m reminded of a retreat I attended a few years back in which one of the participants described her inner vision of compassion as of a hugely powerful force, scarlet like flame or billowing red silk. Our work is probably to replace anger and hatred with compassion for ourselves and others, and let our compassion fuel our energy for change. After all, the word ends in ‘passion’.

As Christians our history is littered with shameful violence in the name of our God, but listen to this from Susan’s article:

There is only one war left to fight, and that is the battle for your own heart.

(Desert Father) Abba Antony

And Thich Nhat Hanh tells us:

To understand and transform anger, we must learn the practice of compassionate listening and using loving speech.

Compassionate listening. To our own hearts and to those of others. And of course I’m reminded again and again of the first word of the Rule of Benedict: Listen…