The Ineptness of Anger

Sreenivasan's subtle analysis in "The Aptness of Anger" (here for full pdf) draws attention to an injustice those who are oppressed face with respect to this emotion: does one choose to be angry when anger is a fitting emotional response to injustice (granted that anger can be apt), or does one relinquish anger for the sake of bettering one's situation (since responding in anger is often counterproductive) - or in other words, does one choose to appreciate the world as it is or to make the world as it should be (133). She calls this a form of "affective injustice" and it places the locus of responsibility for fixing the problem on the victim, rather than the perpetrator (133-5).

Her argument seems correct. And it challenges the reality of rational politics, to which many pay lip service for reasons of self-interest (141). Asking the victim to deny their well-founded emotions to play by the rules of an unjust system is, well, unjust. Despite the insightful argument, Sreenivasan suggests a highly idealized picture of this emotion (think of emotion in the etymological sense, a disturbance). The problem with anger is that it is unwieldy and unintelligent; while it may be easy to identify a target for anger, it is difficult to trace its source and therefore to know if one has found the correct target for the anger unleashed. This might be why classic philosophers are reluctant to grant anger their moral endorsement. It’s also why the Stoics, perhaps at times too focused on virtues appropriate to good governance (whether local or cosmic), opt for the ideal of a sober judge over a passionate protestor.

I'll briefly discuss three examples that suggest anger is not a friend of humane politics. These are notes, really, and leave a lot to be developed. But it's helpful to jot some scenarios down for further thought and revision. I leave to one side whether anger may be rational - I think it may - since I'm more concerned with what it more frequently is and becomes. I also don't think we need to be afraid of expressions of anger. We shouldn't necessarily prevent or withhold it. Anger can be instructive. But we should be cautious about granting it too much value or license in our politics and relationships.

The first example is of family politics. Post-2016, it's safe to say that most North American families have experienced strife over some form of (often deep) political or cultural disagreement. For many this was intensified in the pandemic. The problem is that it's difficult to contain or direct this anger to its appropriate domain or target. Anger from one issue often spreads to another issue, often unconsciously. Consider the child upset with their parents over conservative social views which prevent them from endorsing the child's alternative lifestyle. The pandemic comes and the (conservative) parents take a libertarian stance toward certain Covid-related policies (say, the more austere policies surrounding social gatherings). The child becomes intensely angry at this stance. But their anger in this latter case exceeds what is fitting - anger at previous disagreements is transferred onto this one. Could an ideally rational agent pull the appropriate expressions of anger apart; how many can attain this level of insight into their emotions? Or is it even possible to discern between anger resulting from one issue and anger resulting from another, especially in the heat of the moment? This might be an impossible task. It appears here that anger is amorphous, unintelligent, and inept.

The second example is a political one and concerns the Hong Kong protests of 2019. Let's accept the protests as politically justified. Anger here is apt. The difficulty is that it is hard to control or contain (not from the point of view of authorities but of protestors). Protest gives way to frustration, which gives way to helplessness, which apparently gave way to fury. To the point that a young student is willing to throw bricks at innocent bystanders, according to eyewitness reports. By this point in the movement, many involved lost a clear idea of what they aimed to achieve. There is much that could be said here and I want to put political issues aside. But it seems that while there is apt anger in this case, it is in part fuelled by deeper, more nebulous existential issues surrounding social mobility, housing availability, personal meaning, and frustration with a changing society. To the point that it is difficult to distinguish between apt and misguided anger. Anger again appears to be amorphous and, ultimately, inept. And it threatens to facilitate harm of the innocent, for example, bystanders.

There is a third example of apt anger that channels other forms of anger, which may be independently justified but whose target is not. This can lead to harm of the innocent, whether that harm is physical or emotional. In a recent essay for the LRB, Julia Laite reviews the book by Susan Carruthers, Dear John: Love and Loyalty in Wartime America. The book reveals how women were (are) often brutalized by men at war (who were themselves brutalized by war), looking for an object on which to release feelings of isolation, abandonment, rejection - and anger. Often the proximal cause of these feelings is an unfaithful spouse of lover. However, this person's lack of faith - to which anger seems a fitting response - unleashes a load of other feelings of the same nature (e.g., isolation, abandonment, and rejection from - and anger toward - a homeland). One instance of apt anger triggers additional anger, and the proximal subject (person) is overwhelmed by more than what they deserve. An obvious response to this is to say that this excessive anger is not apt. But how do we measure the magnitudes of apt versus inapt anger? It's difficult to draw boundaries around something so subjective. And anger appears to be just that - subjective - further, it progresses quickly and without warning. Though apt anger may exist, it appears we are here faced with an epistemic problem, how do we know when we have an instance of it?

Perhaps the Stoics were right after all.