Saturday

How to Understand the Two Angers in Oneself

  

 Reprinted from The Right of Aesthetic Realism to Be Known

I believe that anger has been understood truly and comprehensively by Eli Siegel. In his lecture Aesthetic Realism and Anger, he defined anger as “pain, with the desire to destroy the cause of it” (TRO 893). And he has shown that there are two kinds, which come from different sources in the self. “A good anger has like of the world in it, has respect for the world in it; and a bad or hurtful anger has dislike of the world in it, or contempt for the world in it” (TRO 188).

I Had These Two Angers

As a child on the island of Puerto Rico, I was in a terrific mix-up between good and bad anger. When I was ten, a school in the countryside was damaged by a hurricane. I was angry that the local government was slow to help, and volunteered to collect supplies and books for the children. This anger came from my hope to respect people and affect them well, and I felt proud.

Meanwhile, as the first son and grandson in my family, I was doted on by my parents, grandparents, and aunts, and few things were denied me. I was given specially prepared meals, trips, plenty of toys, and many compliments. I used all this to feel superior, and was angry when other people—shopkeepers, teachers, children—seemed not to see the immense value I had. I wanted things on my terms and got annoyed (for example) that math was so complicated, or if I had to wait in line, or had to walk more than three blocks to buy something.

I was a little tyrant. After just three piano lessons I insisted that I needed an organ. When my parents said it would be better to wait until I improved, I threw a tantrum and got the organ. But after a few weeks it became an unused piece of furniture. I angrily felt, “It’s too hard to learn all those notes!” And for years, the sight of the organ made me feel ashamed and angry.

As I grew older, I could be outwardly affable and seem easygoing, yet inwardly I often seethed. Since I thought angry people were unlikable and rude, I cultivated an inner life that never saw the light of day, in which I made fun of people, felt that persons who had opinions different from mine were ignorant, felt that the world was one impediment after another.

In the lecture from which I quoted, Mr. Siegel describes a “quiet” anger: “the kind that is smooth disappointment—where we act as if the world will never really please us.” One form this quiet anger took in me was the way I collected grievances in my mind: I never forgot or forgave what I saw as an insult. In a consultation early in my study of Aesthetic Realism, I was asked whether the desire to hold on to grudges and go over them in my mind made me weaker or stronger.

Consultants. For example, when you’re nourishing a grudge, how does the world look to you? Does anything else exist besides the person you have a grievance against?

JT. No. Everything else is in the background.

Consultants. And at that time, are you interested in whether the person has any accurate criticism of you?

JT. That is the last thing in my mind.

Those questions and others I heard were liberating. I began to reconsider my grudges, my nurturing of them, and my sense that they made me superior and noble. I began to see that among the consequences of my unjust anger were my feeling separate and my inability to care much for anything or anyone.

Anger Interferes with Love

A mistake men make about love—and it’s a huge one—is using a person as a haven, a consolation in a world the man sees as against him. And men have gotten very angry when the loved one acts clearly like something other than an adoring adjunct.

When I met Donita Ellison, a tall, beautiful woman from Missouri, who was a teacher using the Aesthetic Realism Teaching Method, she affected me very much. I was swept by the passionate way she spoke about education and her students, combined with her easy Midwestern manner. With every conversation, the world looked better to me. And when I asked Donita to marry me, she said yes.

But (like men throughout history) I also resented having to think deeply about my wife. I resented the fact that she had opinions different from mine and even sometimes had the nerve to offer some useful criticism of me. I’d seemingly agree with a criticism she gave me, but would battle with her in my mind, telling myself, “I’m a good husband—I provide well, don’t drink or smoke or stay out late, and I’m doing good work. She should be happy with this good husband!” I was angry—and wasn’t proud of my anger.

When I told about this in an Aesthetic Realism class on ethics, Ellen Reiss, Aesthetic Realism Chair of Education, spoke to me in a way that changed deeply how I felt. For instance, she asked if I thought the ideal of many people was to be completely adored and completely unbothered, and if that was my ideal. It was. I said that I sometimes didn’t even want to talk with Donita about work that I care for very much—in behalf of a just healthcare system, something Donita is also very much for. Ms. Reiss said:

ER. The thought about a woman’s inner life can seem very different from thinking about what is fair to people in a large way.

JT. Yes, I think I’ve seen them as too different.

And she asked: What is the relation between trying to understand the depths of a person close to one, and fighting hard so that people everywhere get the justice they deserve? She explained: Good will, the desire to have someone else stronger, is the purpose that relates the personal and the wide, care for one person and justice to people in general.

I’m grateful to be in the midst of this thrilling study with my wife, whom I love very much.

Dr. Jaime Torres is a co-founder of Latinos for Healthcare Equity and an active advocate for justice in healthcare