Losing My Anger: Understanding Why People Do What They Do

During these divisive times of tariffs and tension, there’s still one thing most Americans have in common—anger. Unfortunately, our anger is often directed at each other, inflamed by the issues that divide us.

But what would happen if we lost our anger?

That’s a question I’ve been sitting with a lot lately; a question arising from the direct challenge posed by the Stoic philosopher Epictetus; a question that cuts to the heart of our relationships, our values, and our sense of justice.

As I understand him, Epictetus sees anger as an energy to eliminate, not channel or tame. That’s a tough view for me to accept, especially since anger often is my motivation to speak or act. Even if it were possible to give up my anger, would that really be a good thing? Wouldn’t I be giving up something vital—some inner fire that defends against slights and resists real injustice, whether aimed at me or those I care about?

If you’re having a similar reaction, I hear you. However, one mark of any philosophy of life worth adopting is that it inevitably challenges our current understanding of reality and how we should live our lives.  If Epictetus teaches that anger is harmful and should be eliminated, then I owe it to myself to hear him out.   I trust you want to hear him out as well.

That brings us to today’s post, which marks the beginning of what I intend to be a multi-part series exploring Discourses Book 1, Chapter 18 where Epictetus takes a hard look at the roots of judgment, desire, and yes, anger.

Our focus for Part One will be the first two sections of Chapter 18:

“If it is true, as the philosophers say, that it is for one and the same reason that all people give their assent, namely, because they feel that something is the case, or refuse their assent, namely, because they feel that something is not the case, or, by Zeus, that they suspend judgement, because they feel that the matter is uncertain, and so also, regarding motivation towards something, because I feel that it conduces to my advantage, and that it is impossible to judge one thing to be advantageous and yet desire another—if all of this is in fact true, why is it that we’re still angry with so many people?" (n.1)

Let’s unpack this, shall we.

What I Hear Epictetus Saying

Right from the jump, Epictetus lets us know that if we truly understood why people do what they do, we would not become angry with them. Now, before we agree or disagree with that conclusion, we need to evaluate the premises upon which it is based.  If I read him correctly, Epictetus makes three main points:

1. We give assent to those things that appear true to us.

   The word commonly translated as assent is a technical term in Stoic thought, and Epictetus uses it here to describe the act of accepting a proposition as true or affirming the truth of a particular impression. (n.2)

   
   

   Consider three different individuals responding to controversial issues in public discourse. One believes that voter ID laws are primarily intended to suppress turnout among marginalized groups; they assent to that claim because it appears true to them. Another person denies that vaccines are effective; to them, that statement appears false. A third individual is unsure whether genetically modified foods pose long-term health risks—they suspend judgment, because the truth of the matter still seems unclear.

   
   

   According to Epictetus, each of these people is responding in accordance with what appears true to them. Their conclusions may be right or wrong—but the act of assent (or refusal to assent) is consistent with how their mind is interpreting the world. And if that’s the case, then perhaps anger toward them is less justified than we might initially think.

   
   

2. We act based on what we judge to be good or beneficial.

   According to Epictetus, the impulse to act doesn’t come from emotion, but from judgment. A person is moved to act because something appears appropriate, desirable, or advantageous. (n.3) On this view, when someone acts, it’s because the action seems good or beneficial to them at the time. Even if they’re mistaken, they aren’t knowingly pursuing something they believe will cause harm. 

   
   

   This idea—that people act based on what seems good to them—can be seen in all sorts of real-life decisions. One person protests outside a government building because they believe they’re standing up for democratic principles. Another chooses to cross a picket line because they believe their personal responsibility to work outweighs the collective action of a strike. A third chooses not to vaccinate their child, not out of malice or ignorance, but because they sincerely believe it’s the safer path.

   
   

   In each case, the action may be controversial—or even harmful—but the underlying motivation arises from what appears good or right to the person acting. From Epictetus’s perspective, this doesn’t excuse harmful outcomes, but it does challenge the instinct to respond with anger.

   
   

3. No one deliberately chooses what they believe to be false or harmful.

   To me, this is the key premise in Epictetus’s argument and perhaps the most controversial. The rational mind doesn’t affirm what it believes to be false, nor does it pursue what it judges to be harmful. According to the Stoics, all voluntary human behavior flows from internal judgments: this is true, this is good, this is appropriate. (n.4) So, when someone acts badly or holds a mistaken belief, it’s not because they see the truth and reject it—it’s because they’ve made an error in judgment. And if that’s the case, Epictetus asks, why are we angry? Wouldn’t pity make more sense?

Where I Agree—and Where I Push Back

 I find the first two points fairly persuasive. In most cases, I think people really do believe what they say they believe. If someone argues that voter ID laws are a form of voter suppression, or that vaccine mandates are a violation of personal freedom, they’re likely expressing what genuinely appears true to them. Even when someone lies—saying they believe something they really don’t—it’s often because they’re assenting to a different, competing proposition: it’s better to protect my standing in the group than to speak what I truly believe. In that case, the lie isn’t irrational; it reflects what appears more important or beneficial in the moment.

The second idea—that we pursue what seems good—is just an extension of the first and also feels right to me. In general, we don’t chase what we think will harm us.

However, Epictetus’s third point—that it’s impossible to judge one thing as good and yet pursue another—strikes me as either incomplete or in need of clarification.  Take this blog, for example. In one moment, I assent to the proposition that working on it is a meaningful and worthwhile use of my time. But in another moment, I might assent to the opposite—that it’s a waste of time, that no one’s reading, that the effort isn’t worth it. My inconsistent behavior stems from moment-to-moment or day-to-day shifts in what appears to be true or advantageous in that moment or for that day.

If that’s true, then the battle isn’t really between what I feel and what I know—it’s between two competing judgments. Epictetus would likely say that my feeling of boredom or distraction doesn’t arise on its own; it’s an indicator that I’m assenting to a particular thought—this blog isn’t worth the effort, I’m wasting my time. The feeling follows the thought. And if that’s the case, then the real work lies in examining the thoughts I’m agreeing to, moment by moment. And if that’s true of me, then perhaps it’s true of others as well—even those whose actions or beliefs make me angry.

Conclusion: What’s at Stake in Giving Up Anger

What if we characterized the people we disagree with not as evil, corrupt, or malicious, but just wrong? What if, like us, they are simply acting on what seems true or good to them—even when they’re mistaken?

If that’s the case, then how useful is anger really? Perhaps what’s needed is understanding. Or correction. Or distance. Or boundaries. But anger? Rage? Definitely not, says Epictetus.

In the next post, we’ll follow him as he takes that argument even further, but for now, I’ll leave you with the question that won’t leave me alone:

Have I ever done anything in anger that couldn’t have been done better without it?

Notes:

1.  Epictetus. Discourses, Fragments, Handbook (Oxford World's Classics) (p. 41). OUP Oxford. Kindle Edition.

2. In Stoic philosophy, assent translates the Greek term συγκατάθεσις (sunkatathesis), which refers to the rational act of affirming an impression as true. See Margaret Graver, Stoicism and Emotion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), Kindle edition, Chapter 1, “A Science of the Mind.”

3. In Stoic thought, the internal push to act is called ὁρμή (hormē), commonly translated as impulse. It is a rational movement based on the judgment that an action is appropriate (καθῆκον, kathēkon) or beneficial (συμφέρον, sumpheron). Stoics distinguished this from desire (ὄρεξις, orexis), which is similarly directed at what appears good. See John Sellars, Stoicism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), Kindle edition, Chapter 5, “Psychology,” section on Impulse.

4. See A.A. Long and David Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, Vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), Kindle edition, Part 1, Section 41B. The Stoics taught that all intentional actions proceed from judgments made by the rational mind—what appears true, good, or appropriate. Even moral error results not from knowingly choosing evil, but from holding a false belief about what is good.