The Fire of Anger in Forging a More Thrivable World

What is truly needed in these times?

This was the question at the heart of last month’s Community Campfire, a virtual conversation open to anyone drawn to contribute to a more thrivable world. Around 40 people came (and even more had registered), and together we discerned that what is needed most is:

• Seeding change locally,
• Gathering in community,
• Bridging to others,
• Taking care of ourselves.

There is deep truth in these, a clear recipe for care and co-creation.

And yet… I couldn’t help wondering: what about things that need to be resisted and rejected? Indeed, what about the things that spark our anger, or even our rage? What place do these fiercer emotions have in our practice of thrivability and regeneration?

That became the topic of this month’s Campfire call. And it turns out: very few in my circles want to talk about anger, which surprises me a little given the predominance of this emotion in our public (and presumably private) lives these days. Is anger just not something people talk about in polite company? Do we not give ourselves permission to acknowledge this aspect of the human experience? Are we simply exhausted from the endless cycle of baited online fury? Or do most of us believe, as I’ve encountered regularly within the (predominantly white, privileged) regenerative movement, that anger is unconstructive, unenlightened and harmful, something to be transcended?

As it turned out, an intrepid handful did join the Campfire, offering thoughtful perspectives on these questions. From that conversation and my own reflections, my growing sense is that embracing our anger is actually at the core of cultivating a more thrivable world. And the general aversion to anger may be a bigger problem than the emotion itself.

As Audre Lorde observed, “anger is loaded with information and energy.” It activates our discernment of something that may be harmful to life’s ability to thrive. As one Campfire participant pointed out: “there’s motion in emotion.” It can mobilize us. And like a campfire, it can bring us together in a spirit of solidarity.

There is plenty to trigger this strong emotion in these times. The mantra is: if you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention. Activist Lierre Keith adds: “Whatever you love, it's under assault." CS Lewis proposed that anger’s “real name is grief.”

Buddhist activist Joanna Macy offers further affirmation:

Don't apologize for the sorrow, grief, and rage you feel. It is a measure of your humanity and your maturity. It is a measure of your open heart, and as your heart breaks open there will be room for the world to heal. That is what is happening as we see people honestly confronting the sorrows of our time.

This seems to be an often unacknowledged dimension within the work of regeneration: to be a steward of collective action and community healing is to swim in a wild mix of volatile human emotions. If that weren’t the case, there likely wouldn’t be enough passion to hold people together and to do the hard work of scrabbling together some new reality. Indeed, the contexts where I have most concern are those with tepid intentions and bland complacency towards the status quo.

If you don’t expect and embrace this, then your vision of “seeding change locally” and “gathering in community” will evaporate at the first ruffled feather. Anger happens. “Bridging to others” has to take this into account. If our efforts are to be not only generative but regenerative, we need to be able to work with the anger that shows up in us and in others.

I’ve seen this in the real-life stories of “thrivability in action” that will be highlighted in an upcoming workshop series. The description says that the varied storytellers will share “behind the scenes details” of their success. What I’ve heard from each of them is: anger is a universal “behind the scenes detail.” It’s not everything. But it shows up sooner or later.

The key, it seems, is not to shy away from the heat of our anger. Instead, it’s to find ways to work with the fuel behind it without getting burned. For this, we need emotional intelligence and awareness of what triggers us. We need practices to regulate our nervous systems. We need non-violent communication skills. We need humility, curiosity and compassion. We need to be able to recognize the limits of what we are equipped to handle and where a professional is needed instead. This personal work is some large portion of the practice of stewardship.

But this isn’t to say that anger is to be sidelined, shunned or suppressed.

Why is all this important? Why spend all this effort writing in defense of an emotion that risks being toxic and destructive? Because I want us to bring everything we’ve got to this work of cultivating a more thrivable world – all our passion, all our discernment, all our fierceness, all our insistence on justice. I want us to heed Karl Popper’s paradoxical advice to be stridently intolerant of intolerance. I want each of us to be free of the physical and emotional harm that comes from suppressing our strongest emotions. I want us to learn to hold space for each other in all our messiness.

To these ends, we examined our own anger within the Campfire, reflecting on a series of questions:

• What is my relationship with anger?
• What role has it played in my life?
• Is it welcome? Is it frightening?
• Is it a regular presence, or is it rare?
• How do I react to other people’s anger?
• How does my gender shape my relationship with anger?
• What judgments do I have about anger when it shows up, in myself or in someone else?
• Can I think of someone who demonstrates healthy anger, someone I admire? What do they suggest is possible for me and my anger?
• Can I think of a time when anger was exactly the right response and when it guided me to exactly the right action?
• What helps me engage with my anger in healthy ways? Which voices get in the way of that?
• What relationship would I like to have with my anger?

Then each of us identified one thing we currently feel angry about, contemplating and then sharing with another person:

• What do I care about that’s behind this feeling? What is the love at the heart of my anger?
• And what does that tell me about myself? About the situation? About what’s needed?

For most of us, this reflection transmuted the anger from a generalized feeling – often of helplessness – to something more specific, something we could stand FOR, not only against. This seems particularly important for these times, when we’re so often angry at a distant public figure or a broad situation and there is no opportunity simply to speak constructively to the offending person and resolve the issue calmly, as anger management techniques would advise.

With this new perspective, we seemed to be one step closer to what some call “sacred rage,” grounded in “calls for restoration, protection, and a return to harmony with nature,” as one author writes. With the help of AI, she describes three qualities to this:

• “Love: Sacred rage is love-filled because it stems from deep care and compassion for oneself, others, and the world. It is not about destruction for its own sake but about defending what is precious and advocating for what is right. This type of anger is rooted in a desire to protect and nurture, even when it appears fierce and formidable.
• Grace: Sacred rage is grace-filled because it is expressed with dignity and respect. It does not seek to belittle or dehumanize but to assert boundaries and demand justice with a sense of honor. Grace in sacred rage means maintaining integrity and compassion even in powerful emotions.
• Truth: Sacred rage is truth-filled because it is an authentic response to real violations and injustices. It does not hide behind politeness or pretense but speaks openly and honestly about what needs to be addressed. Truth in sacred rage ensures that the anger is directed towards genuine issues and not misplaced or exaggerated.”

If it is possible, such a transmutation is not work that can be done alone. And so, to the list of “what is truly needed in these times” I would add:

Crafting our collective projects as crucibles for our sacred rage.

As practice grounds in which enabling life to thrive can be our shared moral compass.

As brave spaces where we can find the courage to face even our own complicity in the things that enrage us most.

As landscapes for the elemental wildness of our love and our grief.

As an invitation to expand the scope, depth and power of our compassion and our commitment.