He Raises Little Dust

Years past I had the opportunity to study with a Japanese Zen/Taoist master. I spent an hour or so with him every week for a few months, trying to get a grip on life, the world, my place in it. Like many Zen adepts, he loved ambiguity and the inherent indescribability of the universe. He answered questions indirectly, if at all. Often his look was the only response. 

Occasionally I would encounter a man studying with the master at the same time, and we would have tea together. His calmness and peace, his serenity, his gentleness and obvious care for others were amazing. These were traits I very much wanted, and raised the matter with the master. His comment: “Those traits already exist within you. Do not seek to acquire. Search for what you must get rid of to reveal them.”

At our next session, the master was slightly more responsive regarding his other student. The first words were, “He raises little dust.” Mystified, I asked what he meant. “Simple is better than complex. He exists easily in the world. Spend the week meditating on that.” I worked hard on this puzzle, meditating every day in a mindless space. Late in the week, I realized that the man had few or no encumbrances, attachments, or emotionally-infused opinions. Seeking this state myself, I asked him how he arrived at his peace and ease with the world.

“Like a sculptor who saw a block of marble and removed all the unnecessary material, that is what I had to do with myself. I was carrying the weight of all the world, angry at this, frustrated at that, fearful of yet another thing. Nothing went right. To accomplish anything, even the smallest, I felt I had to move mountains, to exert great effort. Everything had to be forced to get what I wanted. At least that is what I thought. I saw the world as resisting me everywhere, exhausting me, emotionally and physically, as I tried to bring it in line with my needs. My wife and family were getting extremely tired of my behavior. But my work with the master brought me to the realization that the fear, anger, frustrations, and unhealthy needs came from within me. I needed only to give that up.”

As I had more conversations with him, I began to see what “raising little dust” meant. He was wide-open, willingly vulnerable, yet without fear. His humility stood out dramatically. He possessed few opinions and those he held lightly, even when important to him. He said that he no longer argued with anyone, seeking instead to engage in understanding. Creating emotional and intellectual safety for the other person mattered a great deal to him. His gentle curiosity about the world and people in it were remarkable. Watching as he interacted with me I could see that he flowed as easily through conversations as water through a channel. I once mentioned that he seemed to embody the Tao. He thanked me, and said, “Early on I was encumbered in all kinds of ways with harmful emotional junk. Losing most of that took ten, often painful and frustrating years. I am thankful to have achieved some modest success.” I have not yet met another like him.

These conversations had a big impact on me. I wanted badly to live lightly in myself and in the world. But the doing was far harder than his caution implied. Even small bits of progress were long in coming. And the work goes on yet. It seems that we become better in the sense of living lighter and being more at peace by becoming less. All areas of life, intellectual, emotional, physical, and spiritual, may need pruning, allowing us to remove our fears, attachments, unhealthy needs, mis-perceptions, and defenses. Above all perhaps, it seems that we must rid ourselves of any need for the world, and other people, to do our bidding, likely our biggest and most unhealthy attachment.

If I have learned anything over the years from this early interaction, it is that we already are what we want to be, an aspect of Eastern wisdom. We have little need to add anything. The challenge is identifying and removing the undesirable accretions adopted over the years, as we would the barnacles on a ship’s hull that impede its speed and functioning. And it is a huge challenge, entailing great courage to even uncover aspects that we would prefer to leave deeply buried. Equally difficult, and far longer lasting, is the effort to overcome decades of severe “dust-kicking.” But the man I met showed that it is doable, if we have the will.

Is Righteous Anger Righteous?

Well, is it? Maybe. It all depends. But first a little about anger in general.

Anger is a natural human emotion. Part of the “flight or fight” syndrome, it is an evolutionary response to a very dangerous existence in our distant past. Today most of us are ambivalent about anger. Sometimes we see it as damaging, and sometimes understandable, even helpful. But at its base, most anger is about resistance to the way things are going or others are acting.

A student whose self-directed anger for doing poorly on an exam could spark her improvement. But if that anger causes only to enduring self-recrimination, then it is damaging. Anger causing emotional or physical abuse is clearly very bad. But anger arising from an insult or wrong we have experienced is understandable. As will that coming from a terrible shock, perhaps an auto injury to a spouse. But it is less understandable if we dwell endlessly on the trouble, or lash out uncontrollably at others.

Regardless of the reason for anger, it is very dangerous if ungoverned or not properly directed. Some even think it is completely unhelpful, as Thich Nhat Hanh implies, “Anger is the energy people use in order to act. But when you are angry, you are not lucid, and you might do wrong things. That is why compassion is a better energy.” Doing wrong things means more than making poor decisions, important though that is. It is also about the harm we do to others when we are not in control of our emotions or actions.

Righteous anger is a bit different from “everyday” anger. It implies a moral need to correct something wrong, evil, unfair. In religious terms, God’s anger---think Sodom and Gomorrah---is always righteous, involving punishment for sins. While we can use the term in a lot of situations, it is often applied to a perceived worthy cause, perhaps a social justice issue. Some argue that righteous anger is needed because of the seriousness of the injustice or wrong.

But Buddhism suggests not, as Alan Wallace says in his fine book, Tibetan Buddhism From the Ground Up:

“Righteous hatred” is in the same category as “righteous cancer” or “righteous tuberculosis.” All of them are absurd concepts. This does not mean that one should never take action against aggression or injustice! Instead, one should try to develop an inner calmness and insight to deal with these situations in an appropriate way. We all know that anger and aggression give rise to anger and aggression.

While Wallace uses “righteous hatred,” it is easy to apply to anger, a lesser form of emotional upset. Having a righteous cause is one thing, and often a very good thing. Seeing ourselves as being righteous and acting righteously in relation to that cause may be very different. Self-righteousness, the sense of moral superiority, can lead to harmful expressions of anger, often reciprocated, as Wallace suggests. The anger is justified by the positive nature of the goal and the “moral backwardness” of those others who cannot see as we do. Being completely right and energized by anger, the self-righteous may well lack humility, undermining compassion and respect. 

Further, constant and unhealthy focusing on the perceived wrong or injustice may cause the righteous anger to become endless and self-justifying, feeding on itself and growing. This can be exacerbated by our becoming attached to both the idea of righteous anger and to the anger itself. Worse, the anger may be seen as the cohesiveness binding a focused group together. Insufficient anger may be seen by group members as a weak commitment to the goal. Outrage easily becomes a virtue, a goal in and of itself---a dangerous condition for both group members and outsiders. For some, righteousness is like an addiction, needing to be fed often with anger and outrage. Aldous Huxley saw the danger: “To be able to destroy with good conscience, to be able to behave badly and call your bad behavior ‘righteous indignation’ is the height of psychological luxury, the most delicious of moral treats.”

So, what is my answer to the title question? I believe that all anger, including righteous anger, is harmful. Why is anger necessary to right a social wrong? Can we not see an injustice and act calmly, if determinedly, on that? Wallace counsels us to acquire “inner calmness and insight” when confronted such a challenge. Some may argue that righteous anger energizes them. Fine. Except that when the energizing force has done its job (moving them to helpful action), the hostile emotion may stay in the person’s repertoire of emoting and acting. Naturally, the anger is visited upon those seen as perpetrators of the wrong, or upon those who do not agree about the wrong or the methods to deal with it.

Martin Luther King, Jr, said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” His life was dedicated to overcoming enormous hate-filled obstacles and people, to changing society for the good. His impact, even today, is immeasurable. Did he rage against the horrors of racial injustice and those who perpetrated it, a righteous cause if ever there was one? No, he did not. He approached everything and everyone with peace and non-violence. He understood, as those captured by righteous anger may not, that like darkness and hate, anger begets only anger. His lack of anger certainly did not enervate or incapacitate him, nor did it keep him from accomplishing great things.

Someone once posed a dilemma scenario for The Dalai Lama, a man as committed to non-violence as anyone. He is in a hut meditating. A man enters who wants to harm him, perhaps even kill him. The Dalai Lama happens to have a pistol (I love that, but it’s only a scenario). The question is posed, “Your Holiness, what would you do?” As he was being attacked, the Dalai Lama says he would remain calm and shoot the man in the leg, and then go bandage his wound. Anger is not needed even to save his life; he is hardly paralyzed without it.