M. Anger, too, when it disturbs the mind any time, leaves no room to doubt its being madness: by the instigation of which we see such contention as this between brothers:
“Where was there ever impudence like thine?
Who on thy malice ever could refine?”
You know what follows: for abuses are thrown out by these brothers with great bitterness in every other verse; so that you may easily know them for the sons of Atreus, of that Atreus who invented a new punishment for his brother:
“I who his cruel heart to gall am bent,
Some new, unheard-of torment must invent.”
Now, what were these inventions? Hear Thyestes:
“My impious brother fain would have me eat
My children, and thus serves them up for meat.”
To what length now will not anger go? Even as far as madness. Therefore, we say, properly enough, that angry men have given up their power, that is, they are out of the power of advice, reason, and understanding; for these ought to have power over the whole mind.
Now, you should put those out of the way whom they endeavor to attack till they have recollected themselves; but what does recollection here imply but getting together again the dispersed parts of their mind into their proper place?
Or else you must beg and entreat them, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another opportunity, until their anger cools.
But the expression of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in opposition to reason; from which consideration that saying of Archytas is commended, who being somewhat provoked at his steward “How would I have treated you,” said he, “if I had not been in a passion?"
“Where was there ever impudence like thine?
Who on thy malice ever could refine?”
You know what follows: for abuses are thrown out by these brothers with great bitterness in every other verse; so that you may easily know them for the sons of Atreus, of that Atreus who invented a new punishment for his brother:
“I who his cruel heart to gall am bent,
Some new, unheard-of torment must invent.”
Now, what were these inventions? Hear Thyestes:
“My impious brother fain would have me eat
My children, and thus serves them up for meat.”
To what length now will not anger go? Even as far as madness. Therefore, we say, properly enough, that angry men have given up their power, that is, they are out of the power of advice, reason, and understanding; for these ought to have power over the whole mind.
Now, you should put those out of the way whom they endeavor to attack till they have recollected themselves; but what does recollection here imply but getting together again the dispersed parts of their mind into their proper place?
Or else you must beg and entreat them, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another opportunity, until their anger cools.
But the expression of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in opposition to reason; from which consideration that saying of Archytas is commended, who being somewhat provoked at his steward “How would I have treated you,” said he, “if I had not been in a passion?"
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.36
Even as I can distinguish between the nature of different emotions, they are invariably bound up together in daily living, each one feeding into another. It is no accident, for example, that lust and anger are so closely aligned, since the failure to acquire what I crave will soon be turned into wrath, and my disappointment with myself is redirected toward blaming someone else.
Indeed, the degree of the grudge is often in a direct proportion to the degree of the longing. That lost love of my life is now so livid that she refuses to acknowledge me when we pass on the street, though, to be fair, she once pointed her finger at me and laughed hysterically. I instinctively feel the pain, of course, but then I remember how I can choose not to wallow in gloom or to stew in resentment.
I am sometimes asked why the Stoic model of the passions doesn’t have a separate place for anger, and I can only suggest that any sort of hatred is also just another perversion of love. Instead of wishing the good for another, I somehow perceive a benefit in another suffering harm: it can be called anger when I still hope for a bitter satisfaction, and malice when I finally take my nasty delight.
And how swiftly it can drive us to insanity! I cannot bear to dwell for too long on most of the things I thought were out of joy and love, though they were really symptoms of gratification and lust. That I wince at the thought of them can, I suppose, be taken as a good sign, for at least something of my conscience remains intact.
I should never mock the lover when he is infatuated, or later denounce him when he is vengeful, because I have hardly done any better myself; though it is self-inflicted, it is nevertheless a sort of madness.
I have learned so much from the tragic tales of the House of Atreus, and yet these, too, make me shudder, such that I almost become consumed by the intensity of the feeling, no longer knowing right from wrong. I need to forget about who started it, and to focus on who is going to have the decency to finish it without any spite.
We rightly advise a period of “cooling off” when we feel angry, though in the worst cases a passage of time might only make the hostility more ferocious. Whatever the severity of the rage, however, the key is always in recovering a control over our judgments, and thereby taming our emotions, which is properly a return to our natural state.
Even as I can distinguish between the nature of different emotions, they are invariably bound up together in daily living, each one feeding into another. It is no accident, for example, that lust and anger are so closely aligned, since the failure to acquire what I crave will soon be turned into wrath, and my disappointment with myself is redirected toward blaming someone else.
Indeed, the degree of the grudge is often in a direct proportion to the degree of the longing. That lost love of my life is now so livid that she refuses to acknowledge me when we pass on the street, though, to be fair, she once pointed her finger at me and laughed hysterically. I instinctively feel the pain, of course, but then I remember how I can choose not to wallow in gloom or to stew in resentment.
I am sometimes asked why the Stoic model of the passions doesn’t have a separate place for anger, and I can only suggest that any sort of hatred is also just another perversion of love. Instead of wishing the good for another, I somehow perceive a benefit in another suffering harm: it can be called anger when I still hope for a bitter satisfaction, and malice when I finally take my nasty delight.
And how swiftly it can drive us to insanity! I cannot bear to dwell for too long on most of the things I thought were out of joy and love, though they were really symptoms of gratification and lust. That I wince at the thought of them can, I suppose, be taken as a good sign, for at least something of my conscience remains intact.
I should never mock the lover when he is infatuated, or later denounce him when he is vengeful, because I have hardly done any better myself; though it is self-inflicted, it is nevertheless a sort of madness.
I have learned so much from the tragic tales of the House of Atreus, and yet these, too, make me shudder, such that I almost become consumed by the intensity of the feeling, no longer knowing right from wrong. I need to forget about who started it, and to focus on who is going to have the decency to finish it without any spite.
We rightly advise a period of “cooling off” when we feel angry, though in the worst cases a passage of time might only make the hostility more ferocious. Whatever the severity of the rage, however, the key is always in recovering a control over our judgments, and thereby taming our emotions, which is properly a return to our natural state.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Anonymous, Atreus and Thyestes (c. 1410)
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