On Anger

On Anger

As I write this, there's a lunatic running around Southern California. A fired police officer who is taking out his rage by shooting his former coworkers. And their fiancee's. And their children.

He posted a manifesto, justifying his violence. He recounts every wrong done to him, every decision, every fight, going back to his school days. He urges reporters to follow up on the corruption that drove him off the deep end. He calls all former fellow officers "high value targets" with a separate paragraph for different races and sexual orientations How he justifies the murder of caucasians, africans, hispanics, asians, lesbians. And he gives Hillary Clinton a 2016 endorsement.

What a guy.

Anger is an emotion I am well familiar with. That, and grudges. I've held onto grudges my whole life. It's a vanity, you know. It's a way of allowing ourselves to be right, and to hell with the rest of the world. I am right, so I do not need to listen. I was a victim, so I do not need to be merciful. After all, I have Justice, and Right, at my side.

What a vanity.

But I know rage. I don't want to go into detail on my personal vendettas. But I remember those fits of anger. Fury so heavy that I can't sleep at night. Frustration at past wrongs that my fists clench and shake, that I pound the bed, slam my head on the pillow. Some of my anger was towards people who really did wrong me. Some may have been issues where I was partially at blame. The worst, I think, was the anger where I know I did something wrong, but blamed every one else anyway.

It's too hard to admit my own mistakes. Especially those that have large consequences.

Once I had such a traumatic event that the people involved were literally giving me nightmares. Even in my dreams, I couldn't escape being hurt again and again by these people. And in my fantasies, I started imagining retalliation...

Thou shalt not murder.

Scoff at the Bible if you wish. I know plenty of people who do. I see it on Facebook all the time. A pack of superstition. Silly stories that could never have happened. Outdated ideas for a primitive Bronze age culture.

Thou shalt not murder.

I knew something was wrong with me. This kind of anger was not right. An image came to my head: no one other than Moses himself, coming down from mount Sinai, carrying two stone tablets. On these stones were laws dictated to him by no one other than the Creator of the Universe.

And among those ten commandments, there is one that calls out, the most unforgivable, the one whose violation destroys entire worlds, whole lineages. The one that seems so obvious when you're seven years old. But you forget, when you're fully grown, so certain you're right, having suffered wrongs that no playground bully could ever imagine. And you dream that in your rage, you're connecting to a supreme value called "Justice."

Thou shalt not murder.

And I force myself out of bed. I drink a glass of wine, and I'll have another glass, or cough syrup, or anything to distract my mind from rage. And even if I am right about the wrongs done to me, I do not have the right to violate the laws of G-d. Especially that one. No matter how important I think I am.

What scares me about this Dorner is that when I see him, I see an anger a thousand times stronger than mine... but I still know a grain of it I see a sense of vain injustice as large as the ocean, compared to my little drop. But I still have a drop.

Oh, I know anger. I know injustice, even in my own small sphere of life. I know what it's like to be ruined by lies, by false accusations. Yes, not bearing false witness is another commandment. But if someone broke that one to ruin me, I have no right to break one of my own.

I studied this when I wrote Captive of the Orcs. One of my lead characters, the orc Torak, is ruled by anger. He'll respond to insults with violence. He'll respond to wrongdoing with murder. His slave Dallet tries to sooth these mad reactions, like a feeble conscience on the shoulder of a devil. Jiminy Cricket had it easy.

Thou shalt not murder.

We've heard of the Hatfields and the McCoys. The blood feuds that kill entire extended families, tribes, nations. You wrong me, so I kill you. And I killed yours, so you kill five of mine. And then I-

Eye for an eye and no more. Tooth for a tooth, and no more. Again, the Bible implores us to seek what we lost: that, and only that. No matter how much this creep Dorner feels he was wrongfully fired... and maybe he was for all I know... it gives him no right to pronounce a death sentence on someone's child.

What vanity.

I hate anger. I know the emotion well, and oh, do I hate it. What chains it brings! Wrecking our happiness, our relationships, our very thoughts. All in the worship of a certain idolatry. A certain worship of a false god. An idol that separates us from the Lord, from our fellow man, from our own family.

And what is this false idol that the angry person worships? Himself.

If there's anyone I ever offended, hurt, or wronged when I was lost in my own anger, I am sorry. I may never have the courage to say it in person. I may be writing it on a meaningless blog that no one reads. But I am sorry nonetheless.

As the sages of old say: "Who is strong? He who conquers himself." Dorner, you are a weak, pitiful, evil man. You should pray that G-d has mercy on your soul, because I know that I would not.