Minor Dialogues, Together With the Dialogue on Clemency
anger: and as they could find no remedy for it, they wished to
extirpate it. The Peripatetics, on the other hand, declared that
it ought not to be destroyed, but restrained. These I have sufficiently
answered in the sixth book of my ‘Institutiones.’ It is clear that
the philosophers did not comprehend the reason of anger, from the
definitions of it which Seneca has enumerated in the books ‘On
Anger’ which he has written. ‘Anger,’ he says, ‘is the desire of
avenging an injury.’ Others, as Posidonius says, call it ‘a desire
to punish one by whom you think that you have been unjustly injured,’
Some have defined it thus, ‘Anger is an impulse of the mind to
injure him who either has injured you or has sought to injure you.’
Aristotle’s definition differs but little from our own. He says,
‘that anger is a desire to repay suffering,’” etc.
[2] Ovid, “Met.” vii. 545-6.
[3] τὸ ἡγεμονικὸν of the Stoics.
[4] The gospel rule. Matt, xviii. 15.
[5] _Divitis_ (where there might be an army of slaves).
[6] “Lorsque le Préteur devoit prononcer la sentence d’un coupable,
il se depouilloit de la robe pretexte, et se revêtoit alors d’une
simple tunique, ou d’une autre robe, presque usée, et d’un blanc
sale (_sordida_) ou d’un gris très foncé tirant sur le noir (_toga
pulla_), telle qu’en portoient à Rome le peuple et les pauvres
(_pullaque paupertas_). Dans les jours solemnelles et marqués par
un deuil public, les Senateurs quittoient le laticlave, et les
Magistrats la pretexte. La pourpre, la hache, les faisceaux, aucun
de ces signes extérieurs de leur dignité ne les distinguoient alors
des autres citoyens: _sine insignibus Magistratus_. Mais ce n’étoit
pas seulement pendant le temps ou la ville étoit plongée dans le
deuil et dans I’affliction, que les magistrats s’habilloient comme
le peuple (_sordidam vestem induebant_); ils en usoient de même
lorsqu’ils devoient condamner à mort un citoyen. C’est dans ces
tristes circonstances qu’ils quittoient la prétexte et prenoient
la robe de deuil _perversam vestem_. (No doubt “inside out.”—J. E.
B. M.) ”On pourroit supposer avec assez de vraisemblance que par
cette expression, Séneque a voulu faire allusion à ce changement .
. . . . Peut-être les Magistrats qui devoient juger à mort un
citoyen, portoient ils aussi leur robe renversée, ou la jettoient
ils de travers ou confusément sur leurs épaules, pour mieux peindre
par ce desordre le trouble de leur esprit. Si cette conjecture est
vraie, comme je serais assez porté à croire, l’expression _perversa
vestis_ dont Séneque s’est servi ici, indiqueroit plus d’un simple
changement d’habit,” &c, (La Grange’s translation of Seneca, edited
by J, A. Naigeon. Paris, 1778.)
[7] “Ceci fait allusion à une coutume que Caius Gracchus prétend
avoir été pratiquée de tout tems à Rome, ‘Lorsqu’un citoyen,” dit
il, “avoit un procès criminel qui alloit à la mort, s’il refusoit
d’obéir aux sommations qui lui étoient faites; le jour qu’on devoit
le juger, en envoyoit des le matin à la porte de sa maison un
Officier I’appeller au son de la trompette, et jamais avant que
cette cérémonie eût été observée, les Juges ne donneroient leur
voix contre lui: tant ces hommes sages,’ ajoute ce hardi Tribun,
‘avoient de retenue et de precaution dans leurs jugements, quand
il s’agissoit de la vie d’un citoyen.’”
“C’étoit de même au son de la trompette que l’on convoquoit le
peuple, lorsqu’on devoit faire mourir un citoyen, afin qu’il fût
témoin de ce triste spectacle, et que la supplice du coupable pût
lui servir d’exemple. Tacite dit qu’un Astrologue, nommé P. Marcius,
fût exécuté, selon l’ancien usage, hors de la porte Esquiline, en
presence du peuple Romain que les Consuls firent convoquer au son
de la trompette.” (Tac. Ann. II. 32.) L. Grom.
[8] _I.e._ not only for counsel but for action.
[9] _Prorsus parum certis_ (_i.e._, the thunderbolts missed their
aim in not striking him dead).
{76}
THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED
TO NOVATUS.
OF ANGER.
Book II.
My first book, Novatus, had a more abundant subject: for carriages
roll easily down hill:[1] now we must proceed to drier matters. The
question before us is whether anger arises from deliberate choice
or from impulse, that is, whether it acts of its own accord or like
the greater part of those passions which spring up within us without
our knowledge. It is necessary for our debate to stoop to the
consideration of these matters, in order that it may afterwards be
able to rise to loftier themes; for likewise in our bodies the parts
which are first set in order are the bones, sinews, and joints,
which are by no means fair to see, albeit they are the foundation
of our frame and essential to its life: next to them come the parts
of which all beauty of face and appearance consists; and after
these, colour, which above all else charms the eye, is applied last
of all, when the rest of the body is complete. There is no doubt
that anger is roused by the appearance of an injury {77} being done:
but the question before us is, whether anger straightway follows
the appearance, and springs up without assistance from the mind,
or whether it is roused with the sympathy of the mind. Our (the
Stoics’) opinion is, that anger can venture upon nothing by itself,
without the approval of mind: for to conceive the idea of a wrong
having been done, to long to avenge it, and to join the two
propositions, that we ought not to have been injured and that it
is our duty to avenge our injuries, cannot belong to a mere impulse
which is excited without our consent. That impulse is a simple act;
this is a complex one, and composed of several parts. The man
understands something to have happened: he becomes indignant thereat:
he condemns the deed; and he avenges it. All these things cannot
be done without his mind agreeing to those matters which touched
him.
II. Whither, say you, does this inquiry tend? That we may know what
anger is: for if it springs up against our will, it never will yield
to reason: because all the motions which take place without our
volition are beyond our control and unavoidable, such as shivering
when cold water is poured over us, or shrinking when we are touched
in certain places. Men’s hair rises up at bad news, their faces
blush at indecent words, and they are seized with dizziness when
looking down a precipice; and as it is not in our power to prevent
any of these things, no reasoning can prevent their taking place.
But anger can be put to flight by wise maxims; for it is a voluntary
defect of the mind, and not one of those things which are evolved
by the conditions of human life, and which, therefore, may happen
even to the wisest of us. Among these and in the first place must
be ranked that thrill of the mind which seizes us at the thought
of wrongdoing. We feel this even when witnessing the mimic scenes
of the stage, or when reading about things that happened long ago.
We often {78} feel angry with Clodius for banishing Cicero, and
with Antonius for murdering him. Who is not indignant with the wars
of Marius, the proscriptions of Sulla? who is not enraged against
Theodotus and Achillas and the boy king who dared to commit a more
than boyish crime?[2] Sometimes songs excite us, and quickened
rhythm and the martial noise of trumpets; so, too, shocking pictures
and the dreadful sight of tortures, however well deserved, affect
our minds. Hence it is that we smile when others are smiling, that
a crowd of mourners makes us sad, and that we take a glowing interest
in another’s battles; all of which feelings are not anger, any more
than that which clouds our brow at the sight of a stage shipwreck
is sadness, or what we feel, when we read how Hannibal after Cannae
beset the walls of Rome, can be called fear. All these are emotions
of minds which are loth to be moved, and are not passions, but
rudiments which may grow into passions. So, too, a soldier starts
at the sound of a trumpet, although he may be dressed as a civilian
and in the midst of a profound peace, and camp horses prick up their
ears at the clash of arms. It is said that Alexander, when Xenophantus
was singing, laid his hand upon his weapons.
III. None of these things which casually influence the mind deserve
to be called passions: the mind, if I may so express it, rather
suffers passions to act upon itself than forms them. A passion,
therefore, consists not in being affected by the sights which are
presented to us, but in giving way to our feelings and following
up these chance promptings: for whoever imagines that paleness,
bursting into tears, lustful feelings, deep sighs, sudden flashes
of the eyes, and so forth, are signs of passion and betray the {79}
state of the mind, is mistaken, and does not understand that these
are merely impulses of the body. Consequently, the bravest of men
often turns pale while he is putting on his armour; when the signal
for battle is given, the knees of the boldest soldier shake for a
moment; the heart even of a great general leaps into his mouth just
before the lines clash together, and the hands and feet even of the
most eloquent orator grow stiff and cold while he is preparing to
begin his speech. Anger must not merely move, but break out of
bounds, being an impulse: now, no impulse can take place without
the consent of the mind: for it cannot be that we should deal with
revenge and punishment without the mind being cognisant of them. A
man may think himself injured, may wish to avenge his wrongs, and
then may be persuaded by some reason or other to give up his intention
and calm down: I do not call that anger, it is an emotion of the
mind which is under the control of reason. Anger is that which goes
beyond reason and carries her away with it: wherefore the first
confusion of a man’s mind when struck by what seems an injury is
no more anger than the apparent injury itself: it is the subsequent
mad rush, which not only receives the impression of the apparent
injury, but acts upon it as true, that is anger, being an exciting
of the mind to revenge, which proceeds from choice and deliberate
resolve. There never has been any doubt that fear produces flight,
and anger a rush forward; consider, therefore, whether you suppose
that anything can be either sought or avoided without the participation
of the mind.
IV. Furthermore, that you may know in what manner passions begin
and swell and gain spirit, learn that the first emotion is involuntary,
and is, as it were, a preparation for a passion, and a threatening
of one. The next is combined with a wish, though not an obstinate
one, as, for example, “It is my duty to avenge myself, because I
have been injured,” {80} or “It is right that this man should be
punished, because he has committed a crime.” The third emotion is
already beyond our control, because it overrides reason, and wishes
to avenge itself, not if it be its duty, but whether or no. We are
not able by means of reason to escape from that first impression
on the mind, any more than we can escape from those things which
we have mentioned as occurring to the body: we cannot prevent other
people’s yawns temping us to yawn:[3] we cannot help winking when
fingers are suddenly darted at our eyes. Reason is unable to overcome
these habits, which perhaps might be weakened by practice and
constant watchfulness: they differ from an emotion which is brought
into existence and brought to an end by a deliberate mental act.
V. We must also enquire whether those whose cruelty knows no bounds,
and who delight in shedding human blood, are angry when they kill
people from whom they have received no injury, and who they themselves
do not think have done them any injury; such as were Apollodorus