Previous page of Seneca on anger.
Be assured that the same rule applies both to public and private life: simple and manageable undertakings proceed according to the pleasure of the person in charge of them, but enormous ones, beyond his capacity to manage, are not easily undertaken. When he has got them to administer, they hinder him, and press hard upon him, and just as he thinks that success is within his grasp, they collapse, and carry him with them: thus it comes about that a man's wishes are often disappointed if he does not apply himself to easy tasks, yet wishes that the tasks which he undertakes may be easy. Whenever you would attempt anything, first form an estimate both of your own powers, of the extent of the matter which you are undertaking, and of the means by which you are to accomplish it: for if you have to abandon your work when it is half done, the disappointment will sour your temper. In such cases, it makes a difference whether one is of an ardent or of a cold and unenterprising temperament: for failure will rouse a generous spirit to anger, and will move a sluggish and dull one to sorrow. Let our undertakings, therefore, be neither petty nor yet presumptuous and reckless: let our hopes not range far from home: let us attempt nothing which if we succeed will make us astonished at our success.
Since we know not how to endure an injury, let us take care not to receive
one: we should live with the quietest and easiest-tempered persons, not with
anxious or with sullen ones: for our own habits are copied from those with
whom we associate, and just as some bodily diseases are communicated by touch,
so also the mind transfers its vices to its neighbors. A drunkard leads even
those who reproach him to grow fond of wine; profligate society will, if
permitted, impair the morals even of robust-minded men; avarice infects those
nearest it with its poison. Virtues do the same thing in the opposite
direction, and improve all those with whom they are brought in contact: it is
as good for one of unsettled principles to associate with better men than
himself as for an invalid to live in a warm country with a healthy climate.
You will understand how much may be effected this way, if you observe how even
wild beasts grow tame by dwelling among us, and how no animal, however
ferocious, continues to be wild, if it has long been accustomed to human
companionship: all its savageness becomes softened, and amid peacefl scenes is
gradually forgotten.
We must add to this, that the man who lives with quiet people is not only
improved by their example, but also by the fact that he finds no reason for
anger and does not practise his vice: it will, therefore, be his duty to avoid
all those who he knows will excite his anger. You ask, who these are: many
will bring about the same thing by various means; a proud man will offend you
by his disdain, a talkative man by his abuse, an impudent man by his insults,
a spiteful man by his malice, a quarrelsome man by his wrangling, a braggart
and liar by his vaingloriousness; you will not endure to be feared by a
suspicious man, conquered by an obstinate one, or scorned by an ultra-refined
one. Choose straightforward, good-natured, steady people, who will not provoke
your wrath, and will bear with it.
Those whose dispositions are yielding, polite, and suave will be of even
greater service, provided they do not flatter, for excessive obsequiousness
irritates bad-tempered men. One of my own friends was a good man indeed, but
too prone to anger, and it was as dangerous to flatter him as to curse him.
Caelius the orator, it is well known, was the worst-tempered man possible. It
is said that once he was dining in his own chamber with an especially
long-suffering client, but had great difficulty when thrown thus into a man's
society to avoid quarreling with him. The other thought it best to agree to
whatever he said, and to play second fiddle, but Caelius could not bear his
obsequious agreement, and exclaimed, "Do contradict me in something, that
there may be two of us!" Yet even he, who was angry at not being angry, soon
recovered his temper, because he had no one to fight with.
If, then, we are conscious of an irascible disposition, let us especially
choose for our friends those who will look and speak as we do: they will
pamper us and lead us into a bad habit of listening to nothing that does not
please us, but it will be good to give our anger respite and repose. Even
those who are naturally crabbed and wild will yield to caresses: no creature
continues either angry or frightened if you pat him. Whenever a controversy
seems likely to be longer or more keenly disputed than usual, let us check its
first beginnings, before it gathers strength. A dispute nourishes itself as it
proceeds, and takes hold of those who plunge too deeply in it; it is easier to
stand aloof than to extricate oneself from a struggle.
Irascible men ought not to meddle with the more serious class of
occupations, or, at any rate, ought to stop short of weariness in the pursuit
of them.; their mind ought not to be engaged upon hard subjects, but handed
over to pleasing arts: let it be softened by reading poetry, and interested by
legendary history: let it be treated with luxury and refinement. Pythagoras
used to calm his troubled spirit by playing upon the lyre; and who does not
know that trumpets and clarions are irritants, just as some airs are lullabies
and soothe the mind? Green is good for wearied eyes, and some colors are
grateful to weak sight, while the brightness of others is painful to it. In
the same way cheerful pursuits soothe unhealthy minds.
We must avoid law courts, pleadings, verdicts, and everything else that
aggravates our fault, and we ought no less to avoid bodily weariness; for it
exhausts all that is quiet and gentle in us, and rouses bitterness. For this
reason those who cannot trust their digestion, when they are about to transact
business of importance always allay their bile with food, for it is peculiarly
irritated by fatigue, either because it draws the vital heat into the middle
of the body, and injures the blood and stops its circulation by the clogging
of the veins, or else because the worn-out and weakened body reacts upon the
mind: this is certainly the reason why those who are broken by ill health or
age are more irascible than other men. Hunger also and thirst should be
avoided for the same reason; they exasperate and irritate men's minds: it is
an old saying that "a weary man is quarrelsome": and so also is a hungry or a
thirsty man, or one who is suffering from any cause whatever: for just as
sores pain one at the slightest touch, and afterwards even at the fear of
being touched, so an unsound mind takes offense at the slightest things, so
that even a greeting, a letter, a speech, or a question provokes some men to
anger.
That which is diseased can never bear to be handled without complaining: it
is best, therefore, to apply remedies to oneself as soon as we feel that
anything is wrong, to allow oneself as little license as possible in speech,
and to restrain one's impetuosity: now it is easy to detect the first growth
of our passions: the symptoms precede the disorder. Just as the signs of
storms and rain come before the storms themselves, so there are certain
forerunners of anger, love, and all the storms which torment our minds. Those
who suffer from epilepsy know that the fit is coming on if their extremities
become cold, their sight fails, their sinews tremble, their memory deserts
them, and their head swims: they accordingly check the growing disorder by
applying the usual remedies: they try to prevent the loss of their senses by
smelling or tasting some drug; they battle against cold and stiffness of limbs
by hot fomentations; or, if all remedies fail, they retire apart, and faint
where no one sees them fall.
It is useful for a man to understand his disease, and to break its strength
before it becomes developed. Let us see what it is that especially irritates
us. Some men take offense at insulting words, others at deeds: one wishes his
pedigree, another his person, to be treated with respect. This man wishes to
be considered especially fashionable, that man to be thought especially
learned: one cannot bear pride, another cannot bear obstinacy. One thinks it
beneath him to be angry with his slaves, another is cruel at home, but gentle
abroad. One imagines that he is proposed for office because he is unpopular,
another thinks himself insulted because he is not proposed. People do not all
take offense in the same way; you ought then to know what your own weak point
is, that you may guard it with especial care.
It is better not to see or to hear everything: many cause of offense may
pass by us, most of which are disregarded by the man who ignores them. Would
you not be irascible? then be not inquisitive. He who seeks to know what is
said about him, who digs up spiteful tales even if they were told in secret,
is himself the destroyer of his own peace of mind. Some stories may be so
construed as to appear to be insults: wherefore it is best to put some aside,
to laugh at others, and to pardon others. There are many ways in which anger
may be checked; most things may be turned into jest. It is said that Socrates,
when he was given a box on the ear, merely said that it was a pity a man could
not tell when he ought to wear his helmet out walking.
It does not matter so much how an injury is done, as how it is borne; and I do
not see how moderation can be hard to practise, when I know that even despots,
though success and impunity combine to swell their pride, have sometimes
restrained their natural ferocity. At any rate, tradition informs us that
once, when a guest in his cups bitterly reproached Pisistratus, the despot of
Athens, for his cruelty, many of those present offered to lay hands on the
traitor, and one said one thing and one another to kindle his wrath, he bore
it coolly, and replied to those who were egging him on, that he was no more
angry with the man than he should be with one who ran against him
blindfold.
A large part of mankind manufacture their own grievances either by
entertaining unfounded suspicions or by exaggerating trifles. Anger often
comes to us, but we often go to it. It ought never to be sent for: even when
it falls in our way it ought to be flung aside. No one says to himself, "I
myself have done or might have done this very thing which I am angry with
another for doing." No one considers the intention of the doer, but merely the
thing done: yet we ought to think about him, and whether he did it
intentionally or accidentally, under compulsion or under a mistake, whether he
did it out of hatred for us, or to gain something for himself, whether he did
it to please himself or to serve a friend. In some cases the age, in others
the worldly fortunes of the culprit may render it humane or advantageous to
bear with him and put up with what he has done.
Let us put ourselves in the place of him with whom we are angry: at present an
overweening conceit of our own importance makes us prone to anger, and we are
quite willing to do to others what we cannot endure should be done to
ourselves. No one will postpone his anger: yet delay is the best remedy for
it, because it allows its first glow to subside, and gives time for the cloud
which darkens the mind either to disperse or at any rate to become less dense.
Of these wrongs which drive you frantic, some will grow lighter after an
interval, not of a day, but even of an hour: some will vanish altogether. Even
if you gain nothing by your adjournment, still what you do after it will
appear to be the result of mature deliberation, not of anger.
If you want to find out the truth about anything, commit the task to time:
nothing can be accurately dsicerned at a time of distrurbance. Plato, when
angry with his slave, could not prevail upon himself to wait, but straightway
ordered him to take off his shirt and present his shoulders to the blows which
he meant to give him with his own hand: then, when he perceived that he was
angry, he stopped the hand which he had raised in the air, and stood like one
in act to strike. Being asked by a friend who happened to come in, what he was
doing, he answered: "I am making an angry man expiate his crime." He retained
the posture of one about to give way to passion, as if struck with
astonishment at its being so degrading to a philosopher, forgetting the slave,
because he had found another still more deserving of punishment. He therefore
denied himself the exercise of authority over his own household, and once,
being rather angry at some fault, said, "Speusippus, will you please correct
that slave with stripes; for I am in a rage." He would not strike him, for the
very reason for which another man would have struck him. "I am in a rage,"
said he; "I should beat him more than I ought: I should take more pleasure
than I ought in doing so: let not that slave fall into the power of one who is
not in his own power." Can anyone wish to grant the power of revenge to an
angry man, when Plato himself gave up his own right to exercise it? While you
are angry, you ought not to be allowed to do anything. "Why?" do you ask?
Because when you are angry there is nothing that you do not wish to be allowed
to do.
Fight hard with yourself and if you cannot conquer anger, do not let it
conquer you: you have begun to get the better of it if it does not show
itself, if it is not given vent. Let us conceal its symptoms, and as far as
possible keep it secret and hidden. It will give us great trouble to do this,
for it is eager to burst forth, to kindle our eyes and to transform our face;
but if we allow it to show itself in our outward appearance, it is our master.
Let it rather be locked in the innermost recesses of our breast, and be borne
by us, not bear us: nay, let us replace all its symptoms by their opposites;
let us make our countenance more composed than usual, our voice milder, our
step slower. Our inward thoughts gradually become influenced by our outward
demeanor.
With Socrates it was a sign of anger when he lowered his voice, and became
sparing of speech; it was evident at such times he was exercising restraint
over himself. His friends, consequently, used to detect him acting thus, and
convict him of being angry; nor was he displeased at being charged with
concealment of anger; indeed, how could he help being glad that many men
should perceive his anger, yet that none should feel it? they would, however,
have felt it had not he granted to his friends the same right of criticising
his own conduct which he himself assumed over theirs. How much more needful is
it for us to do this? let us beg all our best friends to give us their opinion
with the greatest freedom at the very time when we can bear it least, and
never to be compliant with us when we are angry.
While we are in our right senses, while we are under our own control, let us
all call for help against so powerful an evil, and one which we regard with
such unjust favor. Those who cannot carry their wine discreetly, and fear to
be betrayed into some rash and insolent act, give their slaves orders to take
them away from the banquet when they are drunk; those who know by experience
how unreasonable they are when sick give orders that no one is to obey them
when they are in ill health. It is best to prepare obstacles beforehand for
vices which are known, and above all things so to tranquilize our mind that it
may bear the most sudden and violent shocks either without feeling anger, or,
if anger be provoked by the extent of some unexpected wrong, that it may bury
it deep, and not betray its wound.