A Humanistic Understanding of Anger.

In 1971, that grand old man of psychology, Albert Ellis, was named Humanist of the Year by the American Humanist Association--and he well deserved it. Yet, I dare say that not many readers know his thinking. This essay attempts to provide some understanding of his ideas about emotions, with some emphasis on anger. It will surprise, perhaps dismay, some, but it is humanistic to the core.

One of the great struggles through recorded history--particularly in ethical, moral, and religious writings--was how to reconcile emotion and reason. The assumption was--and is--that emotions are separate from ideas, that they arise in some mysterious fashion, often against the will of the emoter. In early psychology, many believed in a tripartite model of mental experience: cognition (ideas, rules for behavior, perceptions), affection (emotions, feelings, passions), and conation (purpose, desires, goals). These were the irreducible elements of mind and, because they were separate, the possibility of harmonizing them was almost nil, or at least required considerable time and effort. Most psychotherapies were based on this model but not, among some others, on rational-emotive behavior therapy (REBT), created by Ellis.

To be humanists is to accept responsibility for our emotions and behaviors and not accuse others--whether human or supernatural--for our reactions. Yet, we all struggle with how to understand our emotions and how to fit them into our lives. There is an assumption that emotions, particularly strong ones, have some merit and that a life without emotion is less full, empty in some significant way. That, of course, makes sense, though the ancient Stoics were very much leery of how emotions can lead us into absurdity.

For example, we all espouse love, yet think how frequently love has wrecked lives. Think of the stupidities in which you (or your friends or loved ones) have engaged in the name of love. After the emotional storm, think of the regret you felt at how you damaged your life. Society's strong moral prohibition against promiscuity and divorce, after all, comes down to the protection of marriage against intemperate love that leads life partners astray. We are all susceptible. This is not an argument against divorce but against mindlessness.

The word emotion has too much excess meaning; therefore, in this essay I will use the term feeling. This change is significant because it places the locus of action in our bodies, whereas emotion connotes a mental event. An emotion is nothing more than how our body feels when it is aroused. We feel our body in a state of arousal and say we have feelings about something. Most of the time we tie the experience to some event--past, present, potential future, or even fantasized (God loves me; I was stolen from wealthy parents; I could have been a contender).

A reasonable rule of thumb is thus: as the intensity of an emotion goes up, the capacity for intelligent thinking goes down. Think back to your idiotic behaviors. I bet they were mostly caused by an excess of emotion that made clear thinking impossible. You loved the wrong person; you feared taking steps that might have bettered your life; you became angry and lashed out to harm someone, often someone you love.

Anger is a life-saving emotion--or, at least, evolution "designed" it to be so. In a dangerous environment, it is necessary to be able to stop or destroy the danger. When we feel angry, we mean that we have perceived a threat and plan to do something about it before it does us in. Our bodies prepare for violent behavior. All of this occurs with the speed of thought, most often out of awareness. Our cognitions, internal or external, mobilize our bodies to respond in some destructive way. We kill the saber-toothed tiger and feel damn glad afterward, both because of the excess of adrenaline and the sweet reinforcement we get when gazing at its mangled body.

That is appropriate. Danger needed to be thwarted lest the human animal not survive. But is anger appropriate in our life-styles? Think about how frequently you have been angry. I don't mean only verbally or physically abusive but those many times you had the feeling called anger but kept yourself restrained. Clearly, you have had that feeling multitudes of times compared to the times you actually behaved in angry ways. But back to the question: is anger appropriate in our life-styles? The thrust of this essay is that, except for rare instances, it is not.

If we start from the proposition that we evolved into creatures who fought to survive (running away is another essay), the question arises: how frequently has your survival been the issue when you became angry. Hardly ever. Compared to the number of times you had the feeling of anger, the number of times you have faced a survival issue is miniscule and for many nonexistent. Do you get it? You, I, everyone reacts to certain kinds of social situations as if we faced physical danger, but we did not.

The feeling called anger then is mostly inappropriate. We overwhelmingly apply it to situations that we do not like or of which we disapprove. If you consider the destructive consequences--always to one's body, frequently to loved ones or to social institutions--the cost/benefit ratio is skewed in the wrong direction. Yet, many people--perhaps most--will justify their anger as if implacable, external forces had imposed it on them. Or they will argue that, given the circumstances, the anger made sense.

Scientists who have studied anger conclude there are two kinds of occasions in which anger arises. The first is around coercion. Accept it; much of the anger you feel is associated with hurting others (or the suppressed wish to hurt others) in order to force them to change in a direction you believe is more suitable. "That person won't do it my way. I wish I could whip him or her and force that SOB to change!" That kind of thinking makes sense if a saber-toothed tiger is raiding your camp. Kill it! Now! Does it make sense if your child doesn't study?

The second occasion is when there seems to be a need to redress some grievance. The profound sense that he or she must not be permitted to get away with the misdeed permeates our thinking. "That person rejected me and has no right to laugh at me. I've got to get revenge for what that SOB said or did!" But in anger? Does it make sense to treat people as if they were sabertoothed tigers because they gained an advantage over you? Does revenge ever make sense?

The message of anger is: "You must treat me with respect. You must do things my way or else." It is a grandiose attitude akin to Zeus hurling thunderbolts at mortals who have ignored his commands. Put the cap back on the toothpaste tube--or thunderbolt. Drive the way I command--or thunderbolt. Don't wear that shirt--or thunderbolt. Don't speak up--or thunderbolt. Give up abortion--or thunderbolt. There aren't enough trees to provide the paper on which to provide an inclusive list.

People who become angry often accuse their antagonists of forcing it on them: "The abortion doctor forced me to kill him." Or, if a bit more self-aware, they agree that the anger is their fault but deny any responsibility to control themselves: "You know when you do that it makes me angry, so you have to stop doing it." The other person then must modify her or his behavior in deference to the angry person's inability to assume self-responsibility: "Your Honor, I told her that, if she burned the toast one more time, I wouldn't be able to control myself. It's all her fault." Humbug!

Anger (except for rare chemical disorders) is primarily one's personal responsibility. The reasons to become angry exist in our heads. We are the grandiose ones who believe in the shoulds, shalts, and musts. You should not act that way. I must not fail. The universe has to ... (fill in the blank), or I have a right to attack.

Albert Ellis devised a simple yet profound way of understanding how feelings arise. We do not respond to events; we respond to what we make of them. If something happens we do not like, we leap in with demands. It is the demand that we do something about the event that arouses our bodies and produces feelings--or what we call emotions--and, if we do not restrain ourselves, usually produces detestable behavior.

Because we are fallible, a solution can only be partial. Yet, if you accept that your anger (whether expressed or covert) is your personal responsibility, you will have made a good beginning. Then you can raise a question with yourself: "Who put me in charge such that it's okay to hurt someone in order to get my way? Am I Hitler or Stalin or the Inquisition?" The response is obvious. Then counter it with: "I better accept that people will do as they prefer and the only thing I can try is persuasion. If persuasion fails, too bad!I better learn to live with it." (Unless you face violence. Don't construe any of this as passivity in the face of physical threat.)

The alternative to this way of thinking is wishing to attack others--and sometimes doing so. Notice the humanistic aspects to this understanding of the feeling we call anger. It means that assaulting people in nonthreatening situations--physically or verbally--makes no sense. It means that covert nastiness is not appropriate. It means that we can learn to think clearly in difficult situations. It means we can talk with others about their behavior that we do not like and try to reach some accommodation.

Some argue that anger is appropriate and should be expressed--but you know the problems you have created by expressing your anger. Or they argue to make the anger work in your favor. Sure, you can try to coerce people; but if they refuse, watch out for their counteranger. Some will respond that anger mobilizes them to action: "I became angry and wrote a letter" or learned Spanish, and so forth. However, if those activities are worth doing, what's the point of the anger? Usually it is to counter passivity and procrastination. Yet, would it not be better to work on passivity and learn the value of getting things done rather than to work yourself up in order to be effective?

The few times anger worked for you pale in comparison to the multitude of times it made things worse. It is far better not to produce the anger than to experience it. If you do create anger, it is far better to dissolve it by thinking clearly than to stuff it. Get rid of your Zeusian delusions of grandeur and get on with the business of working with life as it is.

Bertram Rothschild is a recently retired clinical psychologist and a Fellow at the Albert Ellis Institute for Rational-Emotive Behavior Therapy.