September 27
The mind must be called to account every day. Sextius did so: at the end of the day he asked himself — Which of your ills have you healed today? Which fault have you resisted? In what have you become better? Anger grows milder when it knows it must come before the judge every day. And what sleep follows this review!
On Anger III,36
Listening mode
The mind must be called to account every day. Sextius did so: at the end of the day he asked himself — Which of your ills have you healed today? Which fault have you resisted? In what have you become better? Anger grows milder when it knows it must come before the judge every day. And what sleep follows this review!
A curt remark from the afternoon makes itself heard as soon as the light is out. You play the scene through again, then again, and each time the other person answers a little differently. Sometimes you find you were in the right, sometimes that you were impossible. After an hour you are tired and still no wiser.
This looks like conscientiousness. It is more like a trial without a verdict. You are prosecution and defence at once, and neither is allowed the last word. As long as the hearing goes on, the matter stays strangely fluid, as if more careful thought could still change it.
A verdict demands something less comfortable: that you acknowledge the remark was made and stays made. Perhaps it was unfair, perhaps half justified and only too loud. Tomorrow you can apologise or let it be. Nothing more can be decided tonight.
What is strange is how hard this very conclusion is to reach, even if it turned out to be lenient. Perhaps it is not the guilt that keeps you awake, but the hope of still thinking it away.
