Yesterday, I walked into a discussion in which a couple of my feminist-inclined friends were talking about things men do that make them angry. They asked me what men do that make me angry. It seemed to me an odd question. I couldn’t think of anything that men, to the exclusion of women, do that makes me angry. I think I would be just as startled if someone asked me what Jews or Blacks do to make me angry. More to the point, when I think of men as a group distinct from women, many positive thoughts crowd my mind. I find I really love men. My view and experience are decidedly positive.
After laughing at the idea of me getting angry, my friends continued to consider things drivers do to make them angry. Still I found myself in an awkward position, unable to engage fully in the conversation. Sure, I become irritated, but that is a much weaker reaction than anger and does not express itself in anything more than a brief spell of griping—no yelling, no flipping people off. Am I such a pacifist? How is it that I find myself relatively free of anger, when it is commonplace among human beings? Am I too bland and boring to take a stance? I’m afraid I can’t take that latter question to heart: I figure the moment I start worrying about whether or not I am interesting is the moment I become dull, and that the interest a person brings to the world is the amount of interest that person finds in the world. Who are the most interesting people in the world, the most fun to be around? The ones who delight in the world, who help others see the good and the excitement of being alive! Would anyone argue with me?
Admittedly, I’m not an irate person. Of all my vices, anger is not typically one of them. I do occasionally become incensed, but against what I perceive to be a grave injustice.
The problem is, I just love humanity too much, and I am aware of it.
No truly, I think we all love humanity this much, but perhaps we are not all so aware of it. What if all the people that made us angry were no longer on the earth? Would we be happy? Remove men—is that a better world? Even, dare I say, remove all the people that offend us—is that a better world? Perhaps some people would answer these questions with “yes,” and in which case I think they are operating more on the level of responding to a deep hurt in their hearts rather on the level of reason and love.
I have been hurt by people before. Sometimes the hurt has been deep enough that it has taken me years to let go and fully forgive to the point of loving them again with my whole (and more mature) heart. I would never in sincerity extend my feelings of anger towards a whole group my transgressors belong to, though. And why? Two reasons, I think:
First, we are all human beings. We have all hurt others. We have all let our own brokenness break another. I learned this first with my siblings, and I learned with them how important it is to forgive and to love anew for there to be happiness and peace. The infliction of hurt does not belong to any one group: it belongs commonly to every single human being. Therefore, it does not make sense to make a scapegoat of anyone except on the basis of being human—and if we rage against humanity, then we hate ourselves. I can think of no better way to live in hell than that.
Secondly, I recognize that the person who has hurt me the most is myself. If I am to live with myself, I must be compassionate towards myself. Otherwise, yes: life is hell.
So if we are all united in a common humanity, and if we do not wish to live in our own hell but have compassion on ourselves and find forgiveness for our own failings, we must extend this compassion and understanding to others. Why have I acted the way I have? Out of reaction according to my past, out of ignorance, out of weakness. Others, too, have pasts and ignorance and weaknesses. Are they not deserving of as much compassion? This is why it is my habit to try to think up excuses for others hurting me. By which I mean to say that I try to think of reasons they might be acting as they are, not so as to excuse their behaviour, but so that I might be compassionate. As my mother loves to quote the variously attributed phrase, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
The only answer for avoiding hell is love. This is a lesson my family taught me. Human beings are happy when there is peace and when there is love. This is practically cliché for a reason. Hell-avoiding love cannot be of the naïve, self-indulgent variety that is popularly paraded about today in which we seek first the satisfaction of our own desires, in which we say we love but our love stops where it becomes difficult and we have to face hurts and forgive. We must face the ugliness in the world, in others, and in ourselves. And then, starting with the conviction that to make heaven rather than hell on earth, we must forgive ourselves and others and the world.
Why be angry? Anger that is a reaction to personal injury at best harms the person fostering it, and at worst tries to harm many others as well.
But love, and be happy! Hell is a choice. So is heaven.
Reluctant Scholar 