Minor Dialogues, Together With the Dialogue on Clemency
betake themselves straightway to fire and sword, and proclaim a war
against their neighbours or wage one against their countrymen. Whole
houses are burned with the entire families which they contain, and
he who but lately was honoured for his popular eloquence now finds
that his speech moves people to rage. Legions aim their darts at
their commander; the whole populace quarrels with the nobles; the
senate, without waiting for troops to be levied or appointing a
general, hastily chooses leaders, for its anger chases well-born
men through the houses of Rome, and puts them to death with its own
hand. Ambassadors are outraged, the law of nations violated, and
an unnatural madness seizes the state. Without allowing time for
the general excitement to subside, fleets are straightway launched
and laden with a hastily enrolled soldiery. Without organization,
without taking any auspices, the populace rushes into the field
guided only by its own anger, snatches up whatever comes first to
hand by way of arms, and then atones by a great defeat for the
reckless audacity of its anger. This is usually the fate of savage
nations when they plunge into war: as soon as their easily excited
minds are roused by the appearance of wrong having been done them,
they straightway hasten forth, and, guided only by their wounded
feelings, fall like an avalanche upon our legions, without either
discipline, fear, or precaution, and wilfully seeking for danger.
They {118} delight in being struck, in pressing forward to meet the
blow, writhing their bodies along the weapon, and perishing by a
wound which they themselves make.
III. “No doubt,” you say, “anger is very powerful and ruinous: point
out, therefore, how it may be cured.” Yet, as I stated in my former
books, Aristotle stands forth in defence of anger, and forbids it
to be uprooted, saying that it is the spur of virtue, and that when
it is taken away, our minds become weaponless, and slow to attempt
great exploits. It is therefore essential to prove its unseemliness
and ferocity, and to place distinctly before our eyes how monstrous
a thing it is that one man should rage against another, with what
frantic violence he rushes to destroy alike himself and his foe,
and overthrows those very things whose fall he himself must share.
What, then? can any one call this man sane, who, as though caught
up by a hurricane, does not go but is driven, and is the slave of
a senseless disorder? He does not commit to another the duty of
revenging him, but himself exacts it, raging alike in thought and
deed, butchering those who are dearest to him, and for whose loss
he himself will ere long weep. Will any one give this passion as
an assistant and companion to virtue, although it disturbs calm
reason, without which virtue can do nothing? The strength which a
sick man owes to a paroxysm of disease is neither lasting nor
wholesome, and is strong only to its own destruction. You need not,
therefore, imagine that I am wasting time over a useless task in
defaming anger, as though men had not made up their minds about it,
when there is some one, and he, too, an illustrious philosopher,
who assigns it services to perform, and speaks of it as useful and
supplying energy for battles, for the management of business, and
indeed for everything which requires to be conducted with spirit.
Lest it should delude any one into thinking that on certain occasions
and in certain positions it may be useful, we must show its {119}
unbridled and frenzied madness, we must restore to it its attributes,
the rack, the cord, the dungeon, and the cross, the fires lighted
round men’s buried bodies, the hook[1] that drags both living men
and corpses, the different kinds of fetters, and of punishments,
the mutilations of limbs, the branding of the forehead, the dens
of savage beasts. Anger should be represented as standing among
these her instruments, growling in an ominous and terrible fashion,
herself more shocking than any of the means by which she gives vent
to her fury.
IV. There may be some doubt about the others, but at any rate no
passion has a worse look. We have described the angry man’s appearance
in our former books, how sharp and keen he looks, at one time pale
as his blood is driven inwards and backwards, at another with all
the heat and fire of his body directed to his face, making it
reddish-coloured as if stained with blood, his eyes now restless
and starting out of his head, now set motionless in one fixed gaze.
Add to this his teeth, which gnash against one another, as though
he wished to eat somebody, with exactly the sound of a wild boar
sharpening his tusks: add also the cracking of his joints, the
involuntary wringing of his hands, the frequent slaps he deals
himself on the chest, his hurried breathing and deep-drawn sighs,
his reeling body, his abrupt broken speech, and his trembling lips,
which sometimes he draws tight as he hisses some curse through them.
By Hercules, no wild beast, neither when tortured by hunger, or
with a weapon struck through its vitals, not even when it gathers
its last breath to bite its slayer, looks so shocking as a man
raging with anger. Listen, if you have leisure, to his words {120}
and threats: how dreadful is the language of his agonized mind!
Would not every man wish to lay aside anger when he sees that it
begins by injuring himself? When men employ anger as the most
powerful of agents, consider it to be a proof of power, and reckon
a speedy revenge among the greatest blessings of great prosperity,
would you not wish me to warn them that he who is the slave of his
own anger is not powerful, nor even free? Would you not wish me to
warn all the more industrious and circumspect of men, that while
other evil passions assail the base, anger gradually obtains dominion
over the minds even of learned and in other respects sensible men?
So true is that, that some declare anger to be a proof of
straight-forwardness, and it is commonly believed that the best-natured
people are prone to it.
V. You ask me, whither does all this tend? To prove, I answer, that
no one should imagine himself to be safe from anger, seeing that
it rouses up even those who are naturally gentle and quiet to commit
savage and violent acts. As strength of body and assiduous care of
the health avail nothing against a pestilence, which attacks the
strong and weak alike, so also steady and good-humoured people are
just as liable to attacks of anger as those of unsettled character,
and in the case of the former it is both more to be ashamed of and
more to be feared, because it makes a greater alteration in their
habits. Now as the first thing is not to be angry, the second to
lay aside our anger, and the third to be able to heal the anger of
others as well as our own, I will set forth first how we may avoid
falling into anger; next, how we may set ourselves free from it,
and, lastly, how we may restrain an angry man, appease his wrath,
and bring him back to his right mind. We shall succeed in avoiding
anger, if from time to time we lay before our minds all the vices
connected with anger, and estimate it at its real value: it must
be prosecuted {121} before us and convicted: its evils must be
thoroughly investigated and exposed. That we may see what it is,
let it be compared with the worst vices. Avarice scrapes together
and amasses riches for some better man to use: anger spends money;
few can indulge in it for nothing. How many slaves an angry master
drives to run away or to commit suicide! how much more he loses by
his anger than the value of what he originally became angry about!
Anger brings grief to a father, divorce to a husband, hatred to a
magistrate, failure to a candidate for office. It is worse than
luxury, because luxury enjoys its own pleasure, while anger enjoys
another’s pain. It is worse than either spitefulness or envy; for
they wish that some one may become unhappy, while anger wishes to
make him so: they are pleased when evil befalls one by accident,
but anger cannot wait upon Fortune; it desires to injure its victim
personally, and is not satisfied merely with his being injured.
Nothing is more dangerous than jealousy: it is produced by anger.
Nothing is more ruinous than war: it is the outcome of powerful
men’s anger; and even the anger of humble private persons, though
without arms or armies, is nevertheless war. Moreover, even if we
pass over its immediate consequences, such as heavy losses, treacherous
plots, and the constant anxiety produced by strife, anger pays a
penalty at the same moment that it exacts one: it forswears human
feelings. The latter urge us to love, anger urges us to hatred: the
latter bid us do men good, anger bids us do them harm. Add to this
that, although its rage arises from an excessive self-respect and
appears to show high spirit, it really is contemptible and mean:
for a man must be inferior to one by whom he thinks himself despised,
whereas the truly great mind, which takes a true estimate of its
own value, does not revenge an insult because it does not feel it.
As weapons rebound from a hard surface, and solid substances hurt
{122} those who strike them, so also no insult can make a really
great mind sensible of its presence, being weaker than that against
which it is aimed. How far more glorious is it to throw back all
wrongs and insults from oneself, like one wearing armour of proof
against all weapons, for revenge is an admission that we have been
hurt. That cannot be a great mind which is disturbed by injury. He
who has hurt you must be either stronger or weaker than yourself.
If he be weaker, spare him: if he be stronger, spare yourself.
VI. There is no greater proof of magnanimity than that nothing which
befalls you should be able to move you to anger. The higher region
of the universe, being more excellently ordered and near to the
stars, is never gathered into clouds, driven about by storms, or
whirled round by cyclones: it is free from all disturbance: the
lightnings flash in the region below it. In like manner a lofty
mind, always placid and dwelling in a serene atmosphere, restraining
within itself all the impulses from which anger springs, is modest,
commands respect, and remains calm and collected: none of which
qualities will you find in an angry man: for who, when under the
influence of grief and rage, does not first get rid of bashfulness?
who, when excited and confused and about to attack some one, does
not fling away any habits of shamefacedness he may have possessed?
what angry man attends to the number or routine of his duties? who
uses moderate language? who keeps any part of his body quiet? who
can guide himself when in full career? We shall find much profit
in that sound maxim of Democritus which defines peace of mind to
consist in not labouring much, or too much for our strength, either
in public or private matters. A man’s day, if he is engaged in many
various occupations, never passes so happily that no man or no thing
should give rise to some offence which makes the mind ripe for
anger. Just as when one hurries through the crowded parts of the
city {123} one cannot help jostling many people, and one cannot
help slipping at one place, being hindered at another, and splashed
at another, so when one’s life is spent in disconnected pursuits
and wanderings, one must meet with many troubles and many accusations.
One man deceives our hopes, another delays their fulfilment, another
destroys them: our projects do not proceed according to our intention.
No one is so favoured by Fortune as to find her always on his side
if he tempts her often: and from this it follows that he who sees
several enterprises turn out contrary to his wishes becomes
dissatisfied with both men and things, and on the slightest provocation