That’s my secret, Captain: I’m always angry.

Bruce Banner, The Avengers

[Dear Reader: This is the sixth in a series on the vices as the Desert Fathers understood them. If you haven’t already read them, please begin the series with parts one and two first.]

A couple years ago I assigned students in one of my Church history classes a passage to read and discuss in small groups. It was John Cassian’s treatment of the vice of anger in Book Eight of the Institutes; the version I gave them was from the English translation of the Philokalia, which is itself a heavily abridged Greek paraphrase from the original Latin. Possibly something was lost in translation or possibly Cassian’s argument was just a hard sell, but the reaction from the class was generally skeptical.. While the students agreed with Cassian about the potential dangers of prideful or selfish anger, many wanted to make a distinction between sinful anger and righteous anger. Several countered with Paul’s admonition in Ephesians 4:26 to “be angry, yet do not sin.” Many pre-counseling students expressed concern that Cassian’s attitude required the internalization of anger, an unhealthy outcome likely to result in later, more dangerous outbursts of anger. A very common objection was that even Jesus showed anger in the Temple, flipping the tables of money-changers and driving merchants out with a whip; if Jesus was angry, how can anger be inherently wrong?

Of all the vices so far, I approach this one with the most trepidation (though they are going to get even trickier, believe me), because rarely are serious arguments made that gluttony, lust, or greed have a justifiable and even necessary place in the life of a Christian. Even I have defended the place of righteous anger in the past. But due to the influence of John Cassian, I have come recently to reject my old arguments. Of the many ways this fifth-century monk has influenced me, he has convinced me that—with one limited, carefully defined exception—anger inevitably does violence to my heart and mind, prevents me from exercising sound judgment, fuels and amplifies the effects of other vices in my life, undermines my relationships with the community of Christ, and leaves me unequipped to benefit from God’s presence.

My efforts to constrain my thoughts about this fourth vice have proven futile, so this will go a bit long. But in this trip to the desert I’ll will explore Cassian’s reflections on anger in the Institutes, which are also amplified in Book 16 of the Conferences.

Sunrise, Sunset

Cassian’s treatment of Ephesians 4:26-27 is a good starting point to understanding his teaching on anger. Paul’s command to “be angry, and yet do not sin; and do let the sun go down on your anger, and do not give the devil an opportunity” is often understood to mean that anger may be allowable—though, perhaps, not fully acceptable—but should be resolved quickly (i.e. before that day ends). So a modern reader might be surprised to find that Cassian rejects this interpretation, and does so forcefully. His reasoning goes to the very heart of the matter…which is to say, to the very heart of the Christian.

According to Cassian, it is misleading and dangerous to understand the sun going down on one’s anger as a literal period of time between the appearance of anger and the end of the day. He argues instead that Paul meant this expression to be understood in a moral sense rather than a literal one: In Cassian’s view the “sun” should be recognized as a metaphor for a person’s faculty of reason. Understood this way, the setting of the sun refers to anger’s darkening of reason. A person responding in anger does not act with wisdom and consideration but actually flails in moral incoherence, his judgment horribly compromised. So Cassian does not view anger as a tool, like fire, perhaps, that might be used productively or destructively depending on the disposition of the person who employs it. He views anger as a threat to heart and mind, undermining both humility and sound judgment, having a worse effect on a person’s disposition and decision-making than even an excess of alcohol.

This might seem like creative monkery, redefining what seems to be straightforward language. But Cassian uses what was a common interpretive method of his time, drawing from Old Testament passages in which “sun” is also used in a metaphorical sense. He notes Malachi 4:2 (“But for you who fear My name the sun of righteousness will rise with healing it its wings”) and Amos 8:9 (“’It will come about in that day,’ declares the Lord God, ‘that I shall make the sun go down at noon and make the earth dark in broad daylight’”) as passages in which sunrises and sunsets are used metaphorically. In the first of these passages the “sun” rises in response to obedience and in the second it sets due to disobedience; though opinions vary about what to make of these analogies, in neither case would most interpreters understand these to be literal sunrises or sunsets. Neither then, he insists, should the sunset of Ephesians 4:26 be understood literally; to do so is to miss Paul’s point.

“Patience does not achieve its goal in righteous anger; it consists, rather, in not getting angry at all.”

John Cassian

Cassian’s brilliant contemporary, John Chrysostom, did not completely agree with Cassian’s conclusions. While acknowledging that anger was not preferable and was potentially very dangerous, in light of Ephesians 4:26 he hesitantly allowed for anger in the face of unjust provocation—specifically, lying. But he stressed its exercise must be limited and brief, and its aim must be reconciliation: “Would you have your fill of anger? One hour, or two, or three, is enough for you; let not the sun depart, and leave you both at enmity.” He warns that this anger must be short-lived, for if a cooling of passion and a restoration of fellowship does not take place while the sun is still up, the embers of anger that only appear to have been extinguished overnight will actually be primed to burst into new and more destructive life with each passing day. He does not justify anger so much as he offers what he believes to be a remedy for its predictable appearances.

Cassian would find this remedy to be too dangerous to risk. He echoes Chrysostom’s concern about anger left unresolved, adding that it inevitably poisons the person who is angry even if it never comes to the attention of the person who is the object of that anger. But for Cassian, to allow anger for even “one hour, or two, or three” is to flirt with disaster. “If it is lawful to be angry until sundown, the repletion of our wrath and the vengefulness of our anger will be in a position to bring our harmful and upsetting disturbance to a boil before the sun goes down” (Institutes XII.10). Should that happen (and Cassian suggests it cannot help but happen), there may be no end to it; he points to many examples of monks who became mired in brooding and discordant behavior as a result of their anger (even as they vehemently denied they were angry).

Because anger has such a damaging effect on relationships, Cassian does not allow for its overt external display nor even a “counterfeit patience” which camouflages anger with behavior that appears outwardly benign but is intended to passive-aggressively provoke others. Instead anger must be cut out, not merely suppressed, by the acquisition of patience. Cassian counsels that “patience must be observed not by words but by the inner tranquility of the heart,” a tranquility that does more than restrain the impulse for wrath in one’s own heart; it also forgives and seeks to reconcile those who mistreat us.  But such patience is beyond the reach of a proud person, because it must be preceded by heartfelt humility: “This can by no means be fulfilled by those who utter words of mildness and humility in a proud spirit” (Conferences XVI.22.3-4).

Leave Your Offering

These effects on the heart and disposition of the person who is angry are central to Cassian’s rejection of any expression of anger directed at another person. But also of significant concern to him is the separation from God that results not just from the exercise of anger but the harboring of it in one’s heart.

It is not enough to merely internalize anger and to avoid saying or doing anything regrettable; in fact, Cassian counsels against this very thing as something toxic and counterproductive. While it may be necessary to hold one’s tongue when one is initially provoked to anger, this is a discipline for the moment anger appears rather than a complete remedy. Such silence, once it has allowed time for proper reflection, must immediately give way to an effort at reconciliation. Otherwise silence not only fails to discharge anger but also allows pride to gain entry into the heart and metastasize. Those who behave in this way nurture pride in their hearts, not forgiveness; Cassian warns that “they are heedless of the command of the Lord which says ‘Whoever is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment’” (Conferences XVI.15). (Cassian vehemently rejects the inclusion of “without cause” in the Gospel text to justify some anger, regarding it an inexcusable interpolation inserted by “those who did not understand the intention of Scripture.”)

More alarming than mere silence, however, is any effort to conceal anger by any appearances of spiritually-minded activity. Cassian recalls monks who concealed their anger not only by the “silent treatment” but also the duplicitous singing of psalms, rather than humbly and contritely seeking reconciliation. This leads naturally to his reminder of Jesus’s command in Matthew 5:23-24 to leave one’s offering at the altar and be reconciled with a brother known to have a quarrel with you—even if that quarrel is perceived to be petty or illegitimate. “So greatly, then, does our Lord wish us not to treat someone else’s annoyance as if it were nothing that, if our brother has anything against us, he will not accept our gifts—that is, he will not permit us to offer him our prayers—until by a speedy act of reparation we remove the annoyance from his mind, whether it has been conceived justly or unjustly” (Conferences XVI.16.1).  For Cassian, the burden falls on the brother who is aware of the breach in relationship, even if he is not angry himself or if the cause of the disagreement seems minor or even trivial. So toxic is anger and the division it wreaks that God holds us responsibility to seek reconciliation with those who are angry with us, even if we have done nothing wrong.

Cassian specifically ranks controlling one’s anger as a superior act of spirituality than casting out demons. Of far greater value than exercising spiritual gifts or gaining spiritual knowledge is acquiring the virtue of patience. In fact, without patience anger is merely forestalled or repressed, not eliminated, and to hide anger rather than discharge it through humility is inadequate. “It is quite evident that the heart’s most effective medicine is patience. According to the words of Solomon: ‘The gentle man is the physician of the heart.’ So true is this that it uproots not only all the vices of anger, sadness, acedia, vainglory, and pride, but also that of wantonness along with them” (Conferences XII.6.5). This is key to understanding Cassian’s teaching on anger: The goal of the monk is the transformation of the inner man, resulting in purity of heart, not merely abstinence from external displays of anger. For Cassian, there is no cause which justifies anger towards another person; any attempt at justification undermines the crucial virtue of patience.

Be Angry

If Cassian understands anger in this way, how does he explain Paul’s command to “be angry” In Ephesians 4:26? Obviously Paul issues firm cautions about anger and sets firm limits on its application: do not sin, do not let the sun go down on your anger, do not give the devil an opportunity. But certainly anger is justified in some circumstances, else why would he say “be angry”?

In considering this question, it is worth noting that Cassian not only forbids anger towards other people; it is not even allowable when directed towards inanimate objects. Recalling flashes of anger towards a faulty pen or knife or flint that would provoke cursing even in the solitude of the desert, he notes that “if patience has not first been acquired, a wrathful disposition can also be exercised even against dumb objects; and, if such dwells in our heart, it will permit us neither to possess an enduring state of tranquility nor to be without a residue of vice.” This demonstrates that it is not the damage upon the well-being of another person that is the foundational problem with anger. If that were so, cursing a dull knife or breaking dishes as a therapeutic exercise could be a perfectly acceptable way to discharge anger. But according to Cassian such behavior demonstrates that anger still dwells in our hearts in place of patience, paving the way for breaking dishes to escalate to breaking earthen vessels (see 2 Corinthians 4:7)

So what object of justified anger remains? Cassian leaves only one door open to us: Anger at our own propensity to sin. He argues, in fact, that this is the very reason why the capacity for anger was given to us. He is not describing the kind of anger at one’s self that mires us in self-pity or even self-hatred, a “sorrow that leads to death” (2 Corinthians 7:10). Rather, this is an anger that is grounded in humility, cognizant of our frailties and of our dependence on grace from God for healing. “And so we are commanded to get angry in a healthy way, at ourselves and at the evil suggestions that make an appearance, and not to sin by letting them have a harmful effect” (Institutes VIII.9).

Anger inevitably does violence to my heart and mind, prevents me from exercising sound judgment, fuels and amplifies the effects of other vices in my life, undermines my relationships with the community of Christ, and leaves me unequipped to benefit from God’s presence.

It is important to distinguish between the anger that is directed at one’s own sin as opposed to that directed at the errors of others or the mistreatment one may have suffered at their hands. The first is rooted in humility; the second, at some level, is rooted in pride. The first seeks tranquility of heart; the second, at some level, seeks justification or vengeance. The first recognizes the human inability to exercise wrath justly; the second assumes not only that such a thing possible but also claims that capacity for one’s self. Even the “righteous anger” that stands for the victim against the oppressor assumes “vengeance is mine” to execute; pride, not love, is its animating passion.

Cassian never confuses the notional capacity to responsibly exercise anger towards another person for their sin with what he frequently calls “Gospel perfection.” Such perfection is only, consistently associated with patience. And such patience is to be cultivated not just in spite of the errors and wrongs perpetrated by others; it is to be cultivated through them. “The sum total of our improvement and tranquility, then, must not be made to depend on someone else’s willing, which will never be under our sway . . . and so our not getting angry must derive not from someone else’s perfection but from our own virtue, which is achieved not by another person’s patience but by our own forbearance” (Institutes VIII.7).

Flipping Tables

I have come to thoroughly distrust my ability to exercise anger righteously. I simply lack the capacity; I am convinced that God alone can do it. It’s not that the impulse isn’t there; believe me, anger is far too much at home in my heart. And left unchecked, anger is rocket fuel for the pride and the greed and the lust and the depression that tries to take root there, making the other vices stronger and more dangerous by self-justification and unforgiveness. I literally cannot think of a time when I crusaded in anger, even a self-justified “righteous” anger, and did not cause breathtaking damage in the process. And Cassian warns that it is laughably presumptuous to equate our “lowly human disturbances” with the righteous anger that God alone can justly exercise (Institutes VIII.4.3).

But I also recognize that Cassian’s rejection of anger towards anything except our own sin (and the humility that requires) is not an easy sell. For many Christians drawn to social justice causes, righteous anger is considered to be a significant—even prophetic—motivator. Writing in Relevant magazine, one Christian social activist reflects that “in my short occupation of it, I have learned that social activism can be an angry business. In fact, that’s sort of the appeal, sometimes.” Her article goes on to argue that such activism must always find room for reconciliation and forgiveness and that anger is an imperfect motivation, but maintains that “righteous anger has its rightful place.”

Cassian would not agree that righteous anger should motivate us or, for that matter, that it even exists apart from God alone. “For patience does not achieve its goal in righteous anger; it consists, rather, in not getting angry at all” (Institutes VIII.21). The potential for lasting damage to one’s self, one’s relationship with fellow Christians, and one’s communion with God is too great to allow anger access to our hearts, he would say. He would reject the false choice between unrestrained anger on the one hand and suppressed, unspoken anger on the other; both commit violence, even if only upon the soul of the person who is angry.

The only answer is—by God’s grace—to cultivate patience, which neither denies that offense exists nor allows anger to be internalized to poison from within, but defuses anger through forgiveness and discharges it through reconciliation. Such a thing is not easy; one of my students in the earlier example flatly called it impossible. And Cassian would agree that it is impossible—for the person who is proud. But in humility, patience, and love, there is a better way. For a new generation seeking a holy authenticity, Cassian’s teaching on anger is worth good-faith consideration as a better alternative than flipping tables.

Thanks for reading. And if you thought that vice was rough, what ‘til you see what’s next.

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