We are here to encounter the most outrageous, brutal, dangerous, and intractable of all passions; the most loathsome and unmannerly; nay, the most ridiculous too; and the subduing of this monster will do a great deal toward the establishment of human peace. It is the method of physicians to begin with a description of the disease, before they meddle with the cure: and I know not why this may not do as well in the distempers of the mind as in those of the body.
We are here to face the most outrageous, brutal, dangerous, and stubborn of all passions. It is the most disgusting and rude passion. It is also the most ridiculous. Conquering this monster will do much to establish human peace. Doctors start by describing a disease before they try to cure it. I don't see why this approach wouldn't work as well for disorders of the mind as it does for those of the body.
The Stoics will have anger to be a “desire of punishing another for some injury done.” Against which it is objected, that we are many times angry with those that never did hurt us, but possibly may, though the harm be not as yet done. But I say, that they hurt us already in conceit: and the very purpose of it is an injury in thought before it breaks out into act. It is opposed again, that if anger were a desire of punishing, mean people would not be angry with great ones that are out of their reach; for no man can be said to desire any thing which he judges impossible to compass. But I answer to this, That anger is the desire, not the power and faculty of revenge; neither is any man so low, but that the greatest man alive may peradventure lie at his mercy.
The Stoics define anger as "a desire to punish another for some injury done." Critics object to this definition. They point out that we often get angry with people who have never hurt us but might in the future, even though no actual harm has occurred yet. But I say those people hurt us already in our minds. The very intention to harm us is an injury in thought before it becomes action. Critics raise another objection. If anger were truly a desire to punish, they argue, ordinary people wouldn't get angry with powerful people who are beyond their reach. After all, no one can desire something they believe is impossible to achieve. I answer this way: anger is the desire for revenge, not the power or ability to get it. Besides, no person is so lowly that even the most powerful person alive might not someday be at their mercy.
Aristotle takes anger to be, “a desire of paying sorrow for sorrow;” and of plaguing those that have plagued us. It is argued against both, that beasts are angry; though neither provoked by any injury, nor moved with a desire of any body’s grief or punishment. Nay, though they cause it, they do not design or seek it. Neither is anger (how unreasonable soever in itself) found anywhere but in reasonable creatures. It is true, the beasts have an impulse of rage and fierceness; as they are more affected also than men with some pleasures; but we may as well call them luxurious and ambitious as angry. And yet they are not without certain images of human affections. They have their likings and their loathings; but neither the passions of reasonable nature, nor their virtues, nor their vices. They are moved to fury by some objects; they are quieted by others; they have their terrors and their disappointments, but without reflection: and let them be never so much irritated or affrighted, so soon as ever the occasion is removed they fall to their meat again, and lie down and take their rest. Wisdom and thought are the goods of the mind, whereof brutes are wholly incapable; and we are as unlike them within as we are without: they have an odd kind of fancy, and they have a voice too; but inarticulate and confused, and incapable of those variations which are familiar to us.
Aristotle defines anger as "a desire to pay back sorrow for sorrow" and to hurt those who have hurt us. But this definition has problems. Animals get angry too, even when they haven't been injured or wronged. They don't want to cause grief or seek punishment. They may cause harm, but they don't plan it or seek it out. Anger, no matter how unreasonable, only exists in thinking creatures. Animals do have impulses of rage and fierceness. They're also more affected by certain pleasures than humans are. But we might as well call them greedy and ambitious as angry. Still, they do show something like human emotions. They have likes and dislikes, but they don't have the passions of thinking beings. They don't have virtues or vices either. Some things make them furious, others calm them down. They feel fear and disappointment, but without reflection. No matter how irritated or frightened they get, once the cause is gone, they go back to eating and sleeping. Wisdom and thought belong to the mind. Animals are completely incapable of these things. We're as different from them on the inside as we are on the outside. They have a strange kind of imagination, and they have voices too. But their sounds are unclear and confused. They can't make the variations that come naturally to us.
Anger is not only a vice, but a vice point-blank against nature, for it divides instead of joining; and in some measure, frustrates the end of Providence in human society. One man was born to help another; anger makes us destroy one another; the one unites, the other separates; the one is beneficial to us, the other mischievous; the one succors even strangers, the other destroys even the most intimate friends; the one ventures all to save another, the other ruins himself to undo another. Nature is bountiful, but anger is pernicious: for it is not fear, but mutual love that binds up mankind.
Anger is not just a vice, but a vice that goes directly against nature. It divides instead of bringing people together. In some ways, it works against what Providence intended for human society. One person was born to help another. Anger makes us destroy each other. Love unites, but anger separates. Love benefits us, but anger harms us. Love helps even strangers, but anger destroys even our closest friends. Love risks everything to save another person, but anger ruins itself just to undo someone else. Nature is generous, but anger is destructive. What binds humanity together is not fear, but mutual love.
There are some motions that look like anger, which cannot properly be called so; as the passion of the people against the gladiators, when they hang off, and will not make so quick a dispatch as the spectators would have them: there is something in it of the humor of children, that if they get a fall, will never leave bawling until the naughty ground is beaten, and then all is well again. They are angry without any cause or injury; they are deluded by an imitation of strokes, and pacified with counterfeit tears. A false and a childish sorrow is appeased with as false and as childish a revenge. They take it for a contempt, if the gladiators do not immediately cast themselves upon the sword’s point. They look presently about them from one to another, as who should say; “Do but see, my masters, how these rogues abuse us.”
Some behaviors look like anger, but they aren't really anger at all. Take how crowds react to gladiators who hesitate and won't finish their fights as quickly as the audience wants. This is like children who fall down and keep crying until someone pretends to punish the "naughty ground" that hurt them. Then suddenly everything is fine again. The crowd gets angry without any real cause or injury. They're fooled by fake sword strikes and calmed down by fake tears. False, childish grief gets soothed by equally false and childish revenge. They feel insulted if the gladiators don't immediately throw themselves on their swords. They look around at each other as if to say, "Look how these scoundrels are cheating us!"
To descend to the particular branches and varieties would be unnecessary and endless. There is a stubborn, a vindictive, a quarrelsome, a violent, a froward, a sullen, a morose kind of anger; and then we have this variety in complication too. One goes no further than words; another proceeds immediately to blows, without a word speaking; a third sort breaks out into cursing and reproachful language; and there are that content themselves with chiding and complaining. There is a conciliable anger and there is an implacable; but in what form or degree soever it appears, all anger, without exception, is vicious.
Breaking down all the specific types and variations would be unnecessary and endless. There is stubborn anger, vindictive anger, quarrelsome anger, violent anger, contrary anger, sullen anger, and bitter anger. Then we have these types mixed together too. One person stops at words. Another immediately resorts to violence without saying anything. A third type breaks out into cursing and harsh language. Others are satisfied with scolding and complaining. There is anger that can be resolved and anger that cannot be appeased. But whatever form or degree it takes, all anger, without exception, is wrong.