Anger may give us a tremendous sense of power, but at the same time it undermines the happiness of ourselves and others. As Gedundrup, the First Dalai Lama, said in a prayer to the female Buddha, Tara:
Driven by the wind of inappropriate attention,
Amidst a tumult of smoke-clouds of misconduct,
It has the power to burn down forests of positive potential,
The fire of anger—save us from this danger!
Anger is inaccurate in its assessment of reality because, by definition, it is based on exaggeration or superimposition of negative qualities. However, when we are angry, we don’t feel that we’re exaggerating or superimposing anything. We feel that we’re right! In fact, the angry mind seems to be very clear: “I’m right. You’re wrong. You need to change.”
Under the influence of anger, we select a few negative details and form a limited view that we are then reluctant to change. For example, Diana worked in the same organization as Harry, and although she didn’t know him very well, they supported the same goals. One day he canceled a workshop she was scheduled to give, and feeling that his action had been unfair, she was angry. For months, every time she saw him or heard his name, something tightened inside her. Then it occurred to her that, based on a half-hour of this person’s forty-five year life, she had formed an opinion of who he was that she was certain was correct. “Surely,” she realized, “he is much more than this one unfortunate encounter we had.” Seeing that her anger was inaccurate, she let go of her fixed opinion of him. Since Diana no longer scowled at him, Harry became friendlier to her and eventually they were able to discuss and resolve the cancellation of her workshop.
Holding onto and nurturing a fixed, inaccurate opinion of someone breeds suspicion and continual unhappiness. When we are mad at someone, everything he does appears wrong, and we take even the simplest act as more evidence that our negative view of him is correct. In the above example, every time Harry made eye contact with Diana and greeted her, she thought he was ridiculing her, taunting her because he had more power. In fact, he knew she was upset and was trying to create a friendly space in which he could talk with her about what had happened.
Psychologists speak of a refractory period that accompanies an emotion. During this time, we are closed to any advice or reasonable interpretation that contradicts our view. We can neither think clearly about a situation nor accept other interpretations of it that well-meaning people offer. The refractory period may be short—just a few seconds—or it may last years and even decades. When the emotion subsides and we are able to look at the event more clearly, we readily see, as Diana did, that anger’s interpretation was inaccurate.
Anger is also inaccurate in its assessment of reality in that it does not perceive a situation in a balanced way, but views it through the distorted filter of “me, I, my, and mine.” Although we think that the way a situation appears to us is how it really exists out there objectively, when we are angry, we are, in fact, viewing it through the filter of our self-centeredness. For example, if the manager criticizes my colleague, I may not get angry. In fact, I may even console my colleague by saying, “Don’t take what the boss said personally. It’s not a big thing. He’s under a lot of pressure and is just venting. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, and he’ll be different tomorrow.” But if the manager criticizes me, I will likely be upset. The situation appears extremely serious to me. I dismiss anything my friends might say and dig myself more deeply into a hostile hole. Actually, no difference exists in the words the manager said to my colleague and to me. Why, then, am I upset when he looks at me while speaking, but not when he looks at my colleague? Because it’s me, and as much as I don’t like to admit it, I feel that what happens to me is much more important than what happens to anyone else.
Due to this ingrained, self-centered view, anything that happens in relation to me seems incredibly important. I spend my time thinking about my problems, not anyone else’s (that is, unless I’m attached to that person). People could be starving in the world, my neighbor could be undergoing a horrible divorce, and another colleague could be diagnosed with cancer, but after cursorily acknowledging their misfortune, I get down to the real crisis: the criticism I received. This may initially seem a trite or flippant description, but if we observe what we spend our time thinking about, we’ll see that our problems, our life—everything related in one way or another to me—takes first place.
We generally consider something beneficial if it promotes happiness. But when we ask ourselves, “Am I happy when I’m angry?” the answer is undoubtedly no. We may feel a surge of physical energy due to physiological reasons, but emotionally we feel miserable. Thus, from our own experience, we can see that anger does not promote happiness.
In addition, we don’t communicate well when we’re angry. We may speak loudly as if the other person were hard of hearing or repeat what we say as if he had a bad memory, but this is not communication. Good communication involves expressing ourselves in a way that the other person understands. It is not simply dumping our feelings on the other. If we scream, others tune us out in the same way that we block out the meaning of words when someone yells at us. Good communication also includes expressing our feelings and thoughts with words, gestures, and examples that make sense to the other person. Under the sway of anger, however, we neither express ourselves as calmly nor think as clearly as usual.
Under the influence of anger, we also say and do things that we later regret. Years of trust built with great effort can be quickly damaged by a few moments of uncontrolled anger. In a bout of anger, we treat the people we love most in a way that we would never treat a stranger, saying horribly cruel things or even physically striking those dearest to us. This harms not only our loved ones, but also ourselves, as we sit aghast as the family we cherish disintegrates. This, in turn, breeds guilt and self-hatred, which immobilize us and further harm our relationships and ourselves. If we could tame our anger, such painful consequences could be avoided.
Further, anger can result in people shunning us. Here, thinking back to a situation in which we were angry can be helpful. When we step out of our shoes and look at ourselves from the other person’s viewpoint, our words and actions appear differently. We can understand why the other was hurt by what we said. While we need not feel guilty about such incidents, we do need to recognize the harmful effects of our uncontrolled hostility and, for the sake of ourselves and others, apply antidotes to calm it.
In addition, maintaining anger over a long time fosters resentment and bitterness within us. Sometimes we meet old people who have stockpiled their grudges over many years, carrying hatred and disappointment with them wherever they go. None of us wants to grow old like that, but by not counteracting our anger, we allow this to happen.
Some people interpret Buddhist teachings on the disadvantages of anger to mean that we’re not supposed to become angry, or are bad and sinful if we do. The Buddha never said this. No judgment is involved. When we’re angry, the anger is just what is at that moment. Telling ourselves we should not be angry doesn’t work, for anger is already present. Further, beating up on ourselves emotionally is not beneficial. The fact that we became angry doesn’t mean we’re bad people. It just means that a harmful emotion temporarily overwhelmed us. Anger, cruel words, and violent actions are not our identity. They are clouds on the pure nature of our mind, and they can be removed or prevented. Although we are not yet well trained in patience, we can gradually develop this quality when we try.
We can notice in our lives the adverse effects of behavior motivated by anger. As The Dhammapada says:
Avoid speaking harshly to others,
Harsh speech prompts retaliation.
Those hurt by your words
May hurt you back.
An ancient story aptly illustrates this. Once there was a king who ruled a great kingdom in India. He enjoyed a happy life, except that his young son would often quarrel with the ministers, servants, and other family members. Everyone found the son’s behavior unbearable, yet no one dared complain to the king. After some time the king himself saw what was happening and sought help. He employed the best therapists, but they could not subdue the boy’s behavior, nor could the local sports heroes, miracle workers, and entertainers. In fact, the child’s behavior became more obnoxious.
One day a monk came to the town to collect alms. The king’s messenger observed him walking gently and mindfully and asked him to come to see the king. The monk, who had high spiritual realizations, declined this opportunity for riches and glory, saying “I am no more bound to the worldly life and therefore have nothing much to discuss with a king in the world.”
Hearing of the purity of the monk’s mind, the king went to pay homage to him and asked if he needed anything. The monk said that he simply wished to stay in the nearby forest, to which the king responded, “That is my forest, so please live there without worry. We will bring you food daily and will not disturb your meditation. I ask only that you allow me to bring my son to visit you. He is a big troublemaker and I’m at a loss as to what to do with him.” The monk nodded in consent.
The next day the king and his son arrived at the royal forest in a chariot. The king returned to the palace, while the monk and the boy walked in the forest. Suddenly they came across a small neem tree, and the monk asked the prince to pluck a leaf and taste it. The boy did so and spit out the bitter leaf in disgust. He bent over and forcefully grabbing the young tree by its trunk, uprooted it.
The monk said to him, “My child, you knew that if this sapling were to continue, it would become a huge tree, which would be even more bitter in the future. For that reason, you plucked it out. In the same way, the ministers, royal officers, and palace residents now think, ‘This young prince is so bitter and angry. When he grows up he will become even more vicious and cruel to us.’ If you are not careful, they will pluck you from the kingship as soon as they can.” Understanding the disturbance he was inflicting on others and its ramifications for himself, the prince decided that he must change his attitude and behavior. Although it required effort, he knew it was for the happiness of all, and as he changed, others ceased their negative reactions to him and came to love and respect him.
In a more modern episode, Floyd told me of his outbursts of road rage. Once, while he was driving on the highway with his fiancee, another driver cut him off. Infuriated, he sped up, overtook the other car, and deliberately lurched in front of it. At such speed, he lost control of the car. It skidded across three lanes and skimmed an embankment before finally coming to a halt. He suddenly realized that his rage had almost killed his fiancee and deep remorse overcame him. He then stopped interpreting others’ poor driving as a personal affront. Who knows how many lives have been saved by his change of attitude?