BOOK ONE

1.   You have asked me, Novatus, to write on the subject of how anger may be alleviated, and it seems to me that you had a good reason to fear in an especial degree this, the most hideous and frenzied of all the emotions.  For the other emotions have in them some element of peace and calm, while this one is wholly violent and has its being in an onrush of resentment, raging with a most inhuman lust for weapons, blood, and punishment, giving no thought to itself if only it can hurt another, hurling itself upon the very point of the dagger, and eager for revenge though it may drag down the avenger along with it.  

    Certain wise men, therefore, have claimed that anger is temporary madness.  For it is equally devoid of self-control, forgetful of decency, unmindful of ties, persistent and diligent in whatever it begins, closed to reason and counsel, excited by trifling causes, unfit  to discern the right and true-the very counterpart of a ruin that is shattered in pieces where it overwhelms.  But you have only to behold the aspect of those possessed by anger to know that they are insane.  For as the marks of a madman are unmistakable-a bold and threatening mien, a gloomy brow, a fierce expression, a hurried step, restless hands, an altered color, a quick and more violent breathing-so likewise are the marks of the angry man; his eyes blaze and sparkle, his whole face is crimson with the blood that surges from the lowest depths of the heart, his lips quiver, his teeth are clenched his hair bristles and stands on end, his breathing is forced and harsh, his joints crack from writhing, he groans and bellows, bursts out into speech with scarcely intelligible words, strikes his hands together continually, and stamps the ground with his feet; his whole body is excited and "performs great angry threats"; it is an ugly and horrible picture of distorted and swollen frenzy-you cannot tell whether this vice is more execrable or more hideous.  

    Other passions may be concealed and cherished in secret; anger shows itself openly and appears in the countenance, and the greater it is, the more visibly it boils forth.  Do you not see how animals of every sort, as soon as they bestir themselves for mischief, show premonitory signs, and how their whole body, forsaking its natural state of repose, accentuates their ferocity?  Wild boars foam at the mouth and sharpen their tusks by friction, bulls toss their horns in the air and scatter the sand by pawing, lions roar, snakes puff up their necks when they are angry, and mad dogs have a sullen look.  No animal is so hateful and so deadly by nature as not to show a fresh access of fierceness as soon as it is assailed by anger.  And yet I am aware that the other emotions as well are not easily concealed; that lust and fear and boldness all show their marks and can be recognized beforehand.  For no violent agitation can take hold of the mind without affecting in some way the countenance.  Where, then, lies the difference?  In this-the other emotions show, anger stands out.

2.   Moreover, if you choose to view its results and the harm of it, no plague has cost the human race more dear.  You will see bloodshed and poisoning, the vile countercharges of criminals, the downfall of cities and whole nations given to destruction, princely persons sold at public auction, houses put to the torch, and conflagration that halts not within the city-walls, but makes great stretches of  the country glow with hostile flame.  Behold solitudes stretching only for many miles without a single dweller-anger laid them waste.  Behold all the leaders who have been handed down to posterity as instances of an evil fate-anger stabbed this one in his bed, struck down this one amid the sanctities of the feast, tore this one to pieces in the very home of the law and in full view of the crowded forum, forced this one to have his blood spilled by the murderous act of his son, another to have his royal throat cut by the hand of a slave, another to have his limbs stretched upon the cross. 

    And so far I have mentioned the sufferings of individual persons only; what if leaving aside these who singly felt the force of anger's flame, you should choose to view the gatherings cut down by the sword, the populace butchered by soldiery let loose upon them, and whole peoples condemned to death in common ruin as if either forsaking our protection, or despising our authority.  Tell me, why do we see the people grow angry with gladiators, and so unjustly as to deem it an offence that they are not glad to die?  They consider themselves affronted, and from mere spectators transform themselves into enemies, in looks, in gesture, and in violence.  Whatever this may be, it is not anger, but mock anger, like that of children who, if they fall down, want the earth to be thrashed, and who often do not even know why they are angry- they are merely angry, without any reason and without being injured, though not without some semblance of injury and not without some desire of exacting punishment.  And so they are deceived by imaginary blows and are pacified by the pretended tears of those who beg forgiveness, and mock resentment is removed by a mock revenge.

poet:  The quote which follows is from Ovid's Metamorphoses 7.545.

3.   "We often get angry," some one rejoins, "not at those who have hurt us, but at those who intend to  hurt us; you may, therefore, be sure that anger is not born of injury."  It is true that we do get angry at those who intend to hurt us, but by the very intention they do hurt us; the man who intends to do injury has already done it.  "But," our friend replies, "that you may know that anger is not the desire to exact punishment the weakest men are often angry at the most powerful, and if they have no hope of inflicting punishment, they have not the desire."  In the first place, I spoke of do so; moreover, men do desire even what they cannot attain.  In the second place, no one is so lowly that he cannot hope to punish even the loftiest of men; we all have power to do harm.  

    Aristotle's definition differs little from mine; for he says that anger is the desire to repay suffering.  To trace the difference between his definition and mine would take too long.  In criticism of both it may be said that wild beast become angry though they are neither stirred by injury nor bent on the punishment or the suffering of another; for even if they accomplish these ends, they do not seek them.  But our reply must be that wild beasts and all animals, except man, are not subject to anger; for while it is the foe of reason, it is nevertheless, born only where reason dwells. Wild beasts have impulses, madness, fierceness, aggressiveness; but they no more have anger than they have luxuriousness.  Yet in regard to certain pleasures they are less self-restrained than man.  You are not to be believe the words of the poet:

The boar his wrath forgets, the hind her trust in flight,                           

Nor bears will now essay the sturdy kind to fight.

Their being aroused and spurred to action he calls their "wrath"; but they know no more how to be wroth than to pardon.  Dumb animals lack the emotions of man, but they have certain impulses similar to these emotions.  Otherwise, if they were capable of love and hate, they would also be capable of friendship and enmity, discord and harmony; and some traces of these qualities do appear in them also, but the qualities of good and bad are peculiar to the human breast.  Wisdom, foresight, diligence, and reflection have been granted to no creature but man, and not only his virtues but also his faults have been withheld from the animals.  As their outward form is wholly different from that of man, so is their inner nature; its guiding and directing principle is cast in a different mould.  They have a voice, it is true, but it is unintelligible, uncontrolled, and incapable of speech; they have a tongue, but it is shackled and not free to make many different movements.  So in fineness and precision.  Consequently, while it forms impressions and notions of the things that arouse it to action, they are clouded and indistinct.  It follows, accordingly, that while they have violent outbreaks and mental disturbances, they do not have fear and  anxiety, sorrow and anger, but certain states similar to them.  These, therefore, quickly pass and change to the exact reverse, and animals, after showing the sharpest frenzy and fear, will begin after showing the sharpest frenzy and fear, will begin to feed, and their frantic bellowing and plunging is immediately followed by repose and sleep....

some think:  this is clearly a reference to the followers of Aristotle who believe that the life of virtue entails moderating the passions. 

7.  Although anger be contrary to nature, may it not be right to adopt it, because it has often been awful?  It rouses and incites the spirit, and without it bravery performs no splendid deed in war-unless it supplies the flame, unless it acts as a goad to spur on brave men and send them into danger.  Therefore some think that the best course is to control anger, not to banish it, and by removing its excesses to confine it within beneficial bounds, keeping, however, that part without which action will be inert and the mind's force and energy broken.

    In the first place, it is easier to exclude harmful passions than to rule them, and to deny them admittance than, after they have been admitted, to control them; for when they have established themselves in possession, they are stronger than their ruler and do not permit themselves to be restrained or reduced.  On the second place, Reason herself, to whom the reins of power have been entrusted, remains mistress only so long as she is kept apart from the passions: if  once she mingles with them and is contaminated, she becomes unable to hold back those whom she might have cleared from her path.  for when once the mind has been aroused and shaken, it becomes the slave of the disturbing agent.  There are certain things which at the start are under our control, but later hurry us away by their violence and leave us no retreat.  As a victim hurled from the precipice has no control of his body, and once cast off, can neither stop not stay, but, speeding or irrevocably, is cut off from all reconsideration and repentance and cannot now avoid arriving at the goal toward which he might once have avoided starting, so with the mind-if it plunges into anger, love, or the other passions, it has no power to check its impetus; its very weight and the downward tendency of vice needs must hurry it on, and drive it to the bottom.

8.    The best course is to reject at once the first incitement to anger, to resist even its small beginnings, and to take pains to avoid falling into anger.  For if it begins to lead us astray, the return to the safe path id difficult, since, if once we admit the emotion and by our own free will grant it any authority, reason becomes of no avail; after that it will do, not whatever you let it, but what ever it chooses.  The enemy, I repeat, must be stopped at the very frontier; for if he has passed it, and advanced within the city-gates, he will not respect any bounds set by his captives.  For the mind is not a member apart, nor does it view the passions merely objectively, thus forbidding them to advance farther than they ought, but it is itself transformed into the passion and is, therefore, unable to recover its former useful and saving power when this has once been betrayed and weakened.  For, as I said before, these two do not dwell separate and distinct, but passion and reason are only the transformation of the mind toward the better or the worse. How, then, will the reason, after it has surrendered to anger, rise again, assailed and crushed a s it is by vice? Or how shall it free itself from the motley combination in which a blending of all the worse qualities makes them supreme? 

    "But," says someone, "there are those who control themselves even in anger." You mean, then, that they do none of the things that anger dictates, or only some of them? If they do none, it is evident that anger is not essential to the transactions of life, and yet you were advocating it on the ground that it is something stronger than reason. I ask, in fine, is anger more powerful or weaker than reason? If it is more powerful, how will reason be able to set limitations upon it, since, ordinarily, it is only the less powerful thing that submits? If it is weaker, then reason without it is sufficient in itself for the accomplishment of our tasks, and requires no help from a thing less powerful. Yet you say: There are those who, even though angry, remain true to themselves and are self-controlled." But when are they so? Only when anger gradually vanishes and departs of its own accord, not when it is at white heat; then it is the more powerful of the two. "What then?" you say; "do not men sometimes even in the midst of anger allow those whom they hate to get off safe and sound and refrain from doing them injury?" They do; but when? When passion has beaten back passion, and either fear or greed has obtained its end. Then there is peace, not wrought through the good offices of reason, but trough a treacherous and evil agreement between the passions.

10.  Consequently, reason will never call to its help blind and violent impulses over which it will itself have no control, which it can never crush save by setting against them equally powerful and similar impulses, as fear against anger, anger against sloth, greed against fear. May virtue be spared the calamity of having reason ever flee for help to vice! It is impossible for the mind to find here a sure repose; shattered and storm-tossed it must ever be if it depends upon its worst qualities to save it, if it cannot be quiet without being afraid-such is the tyranny under which that man must live who surrenders to the bondage of any passion. Is it not a shame to degrade the virtues into dependence upon the vices? Again, reason ceases to have power if it has no power apart from passion, and so gets to be on the same level with passion and like unto it. For what difference is there, if passion without reason is a thing as unguided as reason without passion is ineffective? Both are on the same level, if one cannot exist without the other. Yet who would maintain that passion is on a level with reason? 

    "Passion," someone says, "is useful, provided that it is moderate." No, only by its nature can it be useful. If, however, it will not submit to authority and reason, the only result of its moderation will be that the less there is of it, the less harm it will do. Consequently moderate passion is nothing else than a moderate evil.  

Cimbrians and the Teutons:  In 101-102 BC the Teutons and the Cimbrians, two Germanic Tribes--- were defeated by the Romans after they had tried to Invade Gaul and Northern Italy.

Fabius:  In 216 BC the Roman army had been defeated by the Carthaginian general, Hannibal.  Under the leadership of Fabius (who was known as the "Delayer"), however, the Roman were eventually able to turn the tide of battle against the Carthaginians by fighting a defensive battle.

The two Scipios referred to here are are  Scipio Africanus Major and Scipio Africanus Minor (father and son) who were responsible for ultimately defeating the Carthaginians in 204 and 134 BC. 

11.   "But against the enemy," it is said, "anger is necessary." Nowhere is it less so; for there the attack ought not to be disorderly, but regulated and under control. What else is it, in fact, but their anger-its own worst foe-that reduces to impotency the barbarians, who are so much stronger of body than we, and so much better able to endure hardship? So, too, in the case of gladiators skill is their protection, anger their undoing. 

    Of what use, further, is anger, when the same end may be accomplished by reason? Think you the hunter has anger toward wild beasts? Yet when they come, he takes them, and when they flee, he follows, and reason does it all without anger. The Cimbrians and the Teutons who poured over the Alps in countless thousands-what wiped them out so completely that even the news of the great disaster was carried to their homes, not by a messenger, but only by rumor, except that they substituted anger for valor? Anger, although it will sometimes overthrow and lay low whatever gets in the way, yet more often brings destruction on itself. Who are more courageous than the Germans? Who are bolder in a charge? Who have more love of the arms to which they are born and bred, which to the exclusion of all else become their only care? Who are more hardened to endurance of every kind, since they are, in large measure, provided with no protection for their bodies, with no shelter against the continual rigor of the climate? Yet these are they whom the Spaniards and the Gauls and men of Asia and Syria, uninured to war, cut down before they could even glimpse a Roman legion, the victims of nothing else than anger. But mark you, once give discipline to those bodies, give reason to those minds that are strangers still to pampered ways, excess, and wealth, and we Romans-to mention nothing further-shall assuredly be forced to return to the ancient Roman ways. 

    How else did Fabius restore the broken forces of the state but by knowing how to loiter, to put off, and to wait-things of which angry men know nothing? The state, which was standing then in the utmost extremity, had surely perished if Fabius had ventured to do all that anger prompted. But he took into consideration the well-being of the state, and, estimating its strength, of which now nothing could be lost without the loss of all, he buried all thought of resentment and revenge and was concerned only with expediency and the fitting opportunity; he conquered anger before he conquered Hannibal. 

    And what of Scipio? Did he not leave behind him Hannibal and the Carthaginian army and all those with whom he had reason to be angry, and dally so long in transferring the war to Africa that he gave to evil-minded people the impression that he was a sensualist and a sluggard? What, too, of the other Scipio? Did he not sit before Numantia, idling much and long, and bear unmoved the reproach to himself and to his country that it took longer to conquer Numantia than to conquer Carthage? But by blockading and investing the enemy he forced them to such straits that they perished by their own swords. Anger, therefore, is not expedient even in battle or in war; for it is prone to rashness, and while it seeks to bring about danger, does not guard against it. The truest form of wisdom is to make a wide and long inspection, to put self in subjection, and then to move forward slowly and in a set direction.  

Theophrastus of Eresos succeeded Aristotle as head of the Peripathetic school

12.    "What then?" you ask; "will the good man not be angry if his father is murdered, his mother outraged before his eyes?" No, he will not be angry, but he will avenge them, will protect them. Why, moreover, are you afraid that filial affection, even without anger, may not prove a sufficiently strong incentive for him? Or you  might as well say: "What then? if a good man should see his father or his son under the knife, will he not weep, will he not faint?" But this is the way we see women act whenever they are upset by the slightest suggestion of danger. The good man will perform his duties undisturbed and unafraid; and he will in such a way do all that is worthy of a good man as to do nothing that is unworthy of a man. My father is being murdered-I will defend him; he is slain-I will avenge him, not because I grieve, but because it is my duty. "Good men are mad angry by the injuries to those they love." 

    When you say this, Theophrastus, you seek to make more heroic doctrine unpopular-you turn from the judge to the bystanders. Because each individual grows angry when such a mishap comes to those he loves, you think that men will judge that what they do is the right thing to be done; for as a rule every man decides that that is a justifiable passion which he acknowledges as his own. But they act in the same way if they are not well supplied with hot water, if a glass goblet is broken, if a shoe gets splashed with mud. Such anger comes, not from affection, but from a weakness-the kind we see in children, who will shed no more tears over lost parents than over lost toys. To feel anger on behalf of loved ones is the mark of a weak mind, not of a loyal one. For a man to stand forth as the defender of parents, children, friends, and fellow-citizens, led merely by his sense of duty, acting voluntarily, using judgment, using foresight, moved neither by impulse nor by fury-this is noble and becoming. Now no passion is more eager for revenge than anger, and for that very reason is unfit to take it; being unduly ardent and frenzied, as most lusts are, it blocks its own progress to the goal toward which it hastens. 

    Therefore it has never been of advantage either in peace or in war; for it makes peace seem like war, and amid the clash of arms it forgets that the War-god shows no favor  and, failing to control itself, it passes into the control of another. Again, it does not follow that the vices are to be adopted for use from the fact that they have sometimes been to some extent profitable. For a fever may bring relief in certain kinds of sickness, and yet it does not follow from this that it is not better to be altogether free from fever. A method of cure that makes good health dependent upon disease must be regarded with detestation. In like manner anger, like poison, a fall, or a shipwreck, even if it has sometimes proved an unexpected good, ought not for that reason to be adjudged wholesome; for often poisons have saved life.

13.    Again, if any quality is worth having, the more of it there is, the better and the more desirable it becomes. If justice is a good, no one will say that it becomes a greater good after something has been withdrawn from it; if bravery is a good, no one will desire it to be in any measure reduced. Consequently, also, the greater anger is, the better it is; for who would oppose the augmentation of any good? And yet, it is not profitable that anger should be increased; therefore, that anger should exist either. That is not a good which by increase becomes an evil. 

     "Anger is profitable," it is said, "because it makes men more warlike." By that reasoning, so is drunkenness too; for it makes men forward and bold, and many and many have been better at the sword because they were the worse for drink. By the same reasoning you must also say that lunacy and madness are essential to strength, since frenzy often makes men more powerful. But tell me, does not fear, in the opposite way, sometimes make a man bold, and does not the terror of death arouse even arrant cowards to fight? But anger, drunkenness, fear, and the like, are base and fleeting incitements and do not give arms to virtue, which never needs the help of vice; they do, however, assist somewhat the mind that is otherwise slack and cowardly. No man is ever made brave through anger, except the one who would never have been brave without anger. It comes, then, not as a help to virtue, but as a substitute for it. And it is not true that if anger were a good, it would come naturally to those who are the most perfect? But the fact is, children, old men, and the sick are most prone to anger, and weakness of any sort is by nature captious.

15.   And so the man who does wrong ought to be corrected both by admonition and by force, by measures both gentle and harsh, and we should try to make him a better man for his own sake, as well as for the sake of others, stinting, not our reproof, but our anger. For what physician will show anger toward a patient? "But," you say, "they are incapable of being reformed, there is nothing pliable in them, nothing that gives room for fair hope." Then let them be removed from human society if they are bound to make worse all that they touch, and let them, in the only way this is possible, cease to be evil-but let this be done without hatred. 

     For what reason have I for hating a man to whom I am offering the greatest service when I save him from himself? Does a man hate the members of  his own body when he uses the knife upon them? There is no anger there, but the pitiful desire to heal. Mad dogs we knock on the head; the fierce and savage ox we slay; sickly sheep we put to the knife to keep them from infecting the flock; unnatural progeny we destroy; we drown even children who at birth are weakly and abnormal. Yet it is not anger, but reason that separates the harmful from the sound. For the one who administers punishment nothing is so unfitting as anger, since punishment is all the better able to work reform  if it is bestowed  with judgment. This is the reason Socrates says to his slaves: "I would beat you if I were not angry." The slave's reproof he postponed to a more rational moment; at the time it was himself he reproved. Will there be any one, pray, who has passion under control, when even Socrates did not dare to trust himself to anger?

16.   Consequently, there is no need that correction be given in anger in order to restrain the erring and the wicked. For since anger is a mental sin, it is not right to correct wrong-doing by doing wrong. "What then?" you exclaim; "shall I not be angry with robber? Shall I not be angry with a poisoner?" No; for I am not angry with myself when I let my own blood. 

     To every form of punishment will I resort, but only as a remedy. If you are lingering as yet in the first stage of error and are lapsing, not seriously, but often, I shall try to correct you by chiding, first in private, then in public. If you have already advanced so far that words can no longer bring you to your senses, then you shall be held in check by public disgrace. Should it be necessary to brand you in more drastic fashion, with a punishment you can feel, you shall be sent into exile, banished to an unknown region. Should your wickedness have become deep-rooted, demanding harsher remedies to meet your case, to chains and the state prison we shall have resort. 

     If with mind incurable you link crime to crime and are actuated no longer by the excuses which will never fail the evil man, but wrong-doing itself becomes to you pretext enough for doing wrong; if you have drained the cup of wickedness and its poison has so mingled with your vitals that it cannot issue forth without them; if, poor wretch! you have long desired to die, then we shall do you good service-we shall take from you  that madness by which, while you harass others, you yourself are harassed, and to you who have long wallowed in the suffering of yourself and others we shall gladly give the only boon still still left for your death! Why should I be angry with a man to whom I am giving the greatest help? Sometimes the truest form of pity is to kill. If with the training of an expert physician I had entered a hospital or a rich man's household, I should not have prescribed the same treatment to all, when their diseases differed. Diverse, too, are the ills I see in countless minds, and I am called to cure the body politic; for each man's malady the proper treatment should be sought; let this one be restored by his own self-respect, this one by a sojourn abroad, this one by pain, this one by poverty, this one by the sword! 

     Accordingly, even if as a magistrate I must put on my robe awry and summon the assembly by the trumpet, I shall advance to the high tribunal, not in rage nor in enmity, but with the visage of the law, and as I pronounce those solemn words my voice will not be fierce, but rather grave and gentle, and not with anger, but with sternness, I shall order the law to be enforced. And when I command a criminal to be beheaded, or sew up a parricide in the sack, or send a soldier to his doom, or stand a traitor or a public enemy upon the Tarpeian Rock, I shall have no trace of anger, but shall look and feel as I might if I were killing a snake or any poisonous creature. 

     "We have to be angry," you say, "in order to punish." What! Think you the law is angry with men it does not know, whom it has never seen, who it hopes will never be? The spirit of the law, therefore, we should make our own-the law which shows not anger but determination. For if it is right for a good man to be angry at the crimes of wicked men, it will also be right for him to be envious of their prosperity. And what, indeed, seems more unjust than that certain reprobates should prosper and become the pets of fortune-men for whom there could be found no fortune bad enough? But the good man will no more view their blessings with envy than he views their crimes with anger. A good judge condemns wrongful deeds, but he odes not hate them. 

    "What then?" you say; "when the wise man shall have something of this sort to deal with, will not his mind be affected by it, will it not be moved from its usual calm?" I admit that it will; it will experience some slight and superficial emotion. For as Zeno says: "Even the wise man's mind will keep its scar long after the wound has healed." He will experience, therefore, certain suggestions and shadows of passion, but from passion itself he will be free. 

17.   Aristotle says that certain passions, if one makes a proper use of them, serve as arms. And this would be true if, like the implements of war, they could be put on and laid aside at the pleasure of the user. But these "arms" which Aristotle would grant to  virtue fight under their own orders; they await no man's gesture and are not possessed, but possess. Nature has given to us an adequate equipment in reason; we need no other implements. This is the weapon she has bestowed; it is strong, enduring, obedient, not double-edged or capable of being turned against its owner. Reason is all-sufficient in itself, serving not merely for counsel, but for action as well. What, really is more foolish than that reason should seek protection from anger-that which is steadfast from which that which  is wavering, that which is trustworthy from that which is untrustworthy, that which is well from that which is sick? 

    Even in matters of action, in which alone the help of anger seems necessary, is it not true that reason, if left to itself, has far more power? For reason, having decided upon  the necessity of some action, persists in her purpose, since  she herself can discover no better thing to put in her place; therefore her determinations, once made, stand. But anger is often forced back by pity; for it has no enduring strength, but is a delusive inflation, violent at the outset. It is like the winds that rise from off earth; generated from streams and marshes they have vehemence, but do not last. So anger begins with a mighty rush, then breaks down from untimely exhaustion, and though all its thoughts had been concerned with cruelty and unheard-of forms of torture, yet when the time is ripe for punishment it has already become crippled and weak. Passion quickly falls, reason is balanced. But even if anger persists, it will often happen that having taken the blood of two or three victims it will cease to slay, although there are more who deserve to die. Its first blows are fierce; so serpents when they first crawl from their lair are charged with venom, but their fangs are harmless after they have been drained by repeated biting. 

    Consequently, not all who have sinned alike are punished alike, and often he who has committed the smaller sin receives the greater punishment, because he was subjected to anger when it was fresh. And anger is altogether unbalanced; it now rushes farther than it should, now halts sooner than it ought. For it indulges its own impulses, is capricious in judgment, refuses to listen to evidence, grants no opportunity for defense, maintains whatever position it has seized, and is never willing to surrender its judgment even if it is wrong.

Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso was appointed governor of Syria in 17 AD and was subsequently accused of killing Germanicus Caesar.  He was known for being a thoroughly loathsome and violent character. 

18.    Reason grants a hearing to both sides, then seeks to postpone action, even its own, in order in order that it may gain time to sift out the truth; but anger is precipitate. Reason wishes the decision that it gives to be just; anger wishes to have the decision which it has given  seem the just decision. Reason considers nothing except the question at issue; anger is moved by trifling things that lie outside the case. An overconfident demeanor, a voice too loud, boldness of speech, foppishness in dress, a pretentious show of patronage, popularity with the public-these inflame anger. Many times it will condemn the accused because it hates his lawyer; even if the truth is piled up before its very eyes, it loves error and clings to it; it refuses to be convinced, and having entered upon wrong it counts persistence to be more honorable than penitence.

    There was Gnaeus Piso, whom I can remember; a man free from many vices, but misguided, in that he mistook inflexibility for firmness. Once when he was angry he ordered the execution of a soldier who had returned from leave of absence without his comrade, on the ground that if the man did not produce his companion, he had killed him; and when the soldier asked for a little time to institute a search, the request was refused. The condemned was led outside the rampart, and as he was in the act of presenting his neck, there suddenly appeared the very comrade who was supposed to have been murdered. Hereupon the centurion in charge of the execution bade the guardsman sheathe his sword, and led the condemned man back to Piso in order to free Piso from blame; for Fortune had freed the soldier. A huge crowd amid great rejoicing in the camp escorted the two comrades locked in each other's arms. Piso mounted the tribunal in rage, and ordered both soldiers to be led to execution, the one who had done no murder and the one who had escaped it! Could anything have been more unjust than this? Two were dying because one had been proved innocent. But Piso added also a third; for he ordered the centurion who had brought back the condemned man to be executed as well. On account of the innocence of one man three were appointed to die in the self-same place. O how clever is anger in devising excuses for its madness! "You," it says, "I order to be executed because you were condemned; you, because you were the cause of your comrade's condemnation; you, because you did not obey your commander when you were ordered to kill." It thought out three charges because it had grounds for none....

BOOK TWO

1.   My first book, Novatus,  had  a more bountiful theme; for easy is the descent into the downward course of vice. Now we must come to narrower matters; for the question is whether anger originates from choice or from impulse, that is, whether it aroused of its own accord, or whether, like much else that goes on within us, it does not arise without our knowledge. But the discussion must be lowered to the consideration of these things in order that it may afterwards rise to the other, loftier, themes. For in our bodies, too, there comes first the system of bones, sinews, and joints, which form the framework of the whole and are vital parts, yet are by no means fair to look upon; next the parts on which all the comeliness of face and appearance depend, and after all these, when the body is now complete, there is added last that which above all else captivates the eye, the color.

    There can be no doubt that anger is aroused by the direct impression of an injury; but the question is whether it follows immediately upon the impression and springs up without assistance from the mind, or whether it is aroused only with the assent of the mind. Our opinion is that it ventures nothing by itself, but acts only with the approval of the mind. For to form the impression of having received  an injury and to long avenge it, and then to couple together the two propositions that one ought not to have been wronged and that one ought to be avenged-this is not a mere impulse of the mind acting without our volition. The one is a single mental process, the other a complex one composed of several elements; the mind has grasped something, has become indignant, has condemned the act, and now tries to avenge it. These processes are impossible unless the mind has given assent to the impressions that move it.

Clodius: the events described in this section were some famous acts of injustice that took place in the first century BC as the Roman Republic began its decline.

2.   "But," you ask, "what is the purpose of such an inquiry?" I answer, in order that we may know what anger is; for it arises against our will, it will never succumb to reason. For all sensations that do not result from our own volition are uncontrolled and unavoidable, as, for example, shivering when we are dashed with cold water and recoilment from certain contacts; bad news makes the hair stand on end, vile language causes a blush to spread, and when one looks down from a precipice, dizziness follows. Because none of these things lies within our control, no reasoning can keep them from happening. But anger may be routed by precepts; for it is a weakness of the mind that is subject to the will, not one of those things that result from some condition of the general lot of man and therefore befall even the wisest, among which must be placed foremost that mental shock which affects us after we have formed the impression of a wrong committed. 

    This steals upon us even from the sight of plays upon stage and from reading of happenings of long ado. How often we seem to grow angry with Clodius for banishing Cicero, with Antony for killing him! Who is not aroused against the arms which Marius took up, against the proscription which Sulla used? Who is not incensed against Theodotus and Achillas, and the himself who dared an unchildish crime? 

    Singing sometimes stirs us, and quickened rhythm, and the well-known blare of the War-god's trumpets; our minds are perturbed by a shocking picture and by the  melancholy sight of punishment even when it is entirely just; in the same way we smile when others smile, we are saddened by a thong of mourners, and are thrown into a ferment by the struggles of others. Such sensations, however, are no more anger than that is sorrow which furrows the brow at sight of a mimic shipwreck, no more anger than that is fear which thrills our minds when we read how Hannibal after Cannae beset the walls of Rome, but they are all emotions of a mind that would prefer not to be so affected; they are not passions, but the beginnings that are preliminary to passions. So, too, the warrior in the midst of peace, wearing now his civilian dress, will prick up his ears at the blast of a trumpet, and army horses are made restive by the clatter of arms. It is said that Alexander, when Xenophantus played the flute, reached for his weapons.

12.   "Wickedness," it is said, "must be eliminated from the scheme of nature, if you would eliminate anger; neither, however, is possible." In the first place, one can avoid being cold although  in the scheme of nature it is winter, and can avoid being hot although the hot months are here. A man may either be protected against the inclemency of the season by a favorable place of residence, or he may by physical endurance subdue the sensation of both heat and cold. In the second place, reverse this statement: A man must banish virtue from his heart before he can admit wrath, since vices do not consort with virtues, and a man can no more be both angry and good at the same time than he can be sick well. 

    "But it is not possible," you say, "to banish anger altogether from the heart, nor does the nature of man permits it." Yet nothing is so hard and  difficult that it cannot be conquered by the human intellect and be brought through persistent study into intimate acquaintance, and there are no passions so fierce and self-willed that they cannot be subjugated by discipline. Whatever command the mind gives to itself holds its ground. Some have reached the point of never smiling, some have cut themselves off from wine, others from sexual pleasure, others from every kind of drink; another, satisfied by short sleep, prolongs his waking hours unwearied; some have learned to run on very small and slanting ropes, to carry huge burdens that are scarcely within the compass of human strength, to dive to unmeasured depths and to endure the sea without any drawing of breath. There are a thousand other instances to show that persistence surmounts every obstacle and that nothing is really difficult which the mind enjoins itself to endure. 

    The men I mentioned a little while ago had either no reward for their unflagging zeal or none worthy of it-for what glory does he attain who has trained himself to walk a tight rope, to carry a huge load upon his shoulders, to withhold his eyes from sleep, to penetrate to the bottom of the sea?-and yet by effort they attained the end for which they worked although the remuneration was not great. Shall we, then, not summon ourselves to endurance when so great a award awaits us-the unbroken calm of the happy soul? How great a blessing to escape anger, the greatest of all ills, and along with it madness, ferocity, cruelty, rage, and the other passions that attend danger!

14.  Anger is therefore never permitted; sometimes we must pretend to possess it if we have to arouse the sluggish minds of our hearers, just as we apply goads and brands to arouse horses that are slow in starting upon  their course. Sometimes we must strike fear into the hearts of those with whom reason is of no avail; yet it is no more expedient to be angry than to be sad or to be afraid. 

    "What then?" you say; "do not incidents occur which provoke anger?" Yes, but it is then most of all that we must grapple with it hand to hand. Nor is it difficult to subdue the spirit, since even athletes, concerned as they are with man's basest part, nevertheless endure blows and pain in order that they may drain the strength of their assailant and strike, not when anger, but when advantage, prompts. Phyrrhus, the most famous trainer for gymnastic contests, made it a rule, it is said, to warn those whom he was training against getting angry; for anger confounds art and looks only for a chance to injure. Often, therefore, reason counsels patience, but anger revenge, and when have been able to escape our first misfortunes, we are plunged into greater ones. Some have been cast into exile because they could not bear calmly one insulting word, and those who had refused to bear in silence a slight wrong have been crushed with the severest misfortunes, and, indignant at any diminution of the fullest liberty, have brought upon themselves the yoke of slavery.