For the Roman Stoic Seneca, anger is a useless emotion that drives people to take retribution against others for perceived wrongs based on irrational intentions.

He describes it as “to receive an impression of wrong done to one, to lust for retribution, to put together the two propositions that the damage ought not to have been done and that punishment ought to be inflicted,” and asserts that, “the hall mark of [anger] is willful disobedience.”

Essentially, anger is a negative emotion with the characterizing feature of inciting otherwise rational individuals to intentionally disobey their sense of reason as a result of a perceived wrong.

Seneca describes anger as an impulse and a, “voluntary fault of the mind.” He draws distinction between anger and “that first mental jolt which affects us when we think ourselves wronged,” arguing that unlike our natural impulses anger is, “put to flight by precept.”

By providing several practical examples of situations in which people can’t help but suffer, “bodily agitations,” such as how, “even the bravest man often turns pale as he puts on his armour,” Seneca both clarifies the distinction he’s making and makes stoicism appear less extreme and more practically applicable than its critics might claim it is.

To those who don’t inquire beyond the surface meaning of words, it would seem reasonable that emotions are a natural part of the human experience and are therefore outside of our control. The logical conclusion would then be that while we can’t control our emotions themselves, we can strive to manage them and insulate ourselves from their potential negative effects.

This is Aristotle’s perspective, and is where Seneca draws his key distinction. “Emotion is not a matter of being moved by impressions received, but of surrendering oneself to them and following up the chance movement.” To experience emotions, we must suspend our reason and consciously commit to the premises and conclusions our impressions and agitations have presented us with.

As a negative emotion, anger pulls us away from our natural inclination towards reason and is therefore to be avoided. The only potential argument for anger’s utility is that there might be potential to harness its destructive power for one’s own self-interest, but this is a flawed proposition for multiple reasons.

Seneca criticizes this argument, arguing that anger is fleeting and unsustainable, writing, “for it has no solid strength. An empty swelling with a violent onset, like winds which rise from earth and, begotten in river and marsh, are strong without staying-power, it begins with a mighty impulse, and then fails exhausted before its time.”

This point highlights how adept at rhetoric Seneca is, as it creates a fail-safe by which he can still claim to poke a hole in Aristotle’s philosophy, even if forced to concede his main point. Even if we can’t actually insulate ourselves from anger, Seneca’s point that it is an ineffective motivating force stands.

Seneca describes Aristotle’s perspective on emotions, “Aristotle says that some emotions, if well used, serve as arms. That would be true if, like weapons of war, they could be picked up and put down at will. But these arms which Aristotle would give to virtue go to war by themselves, without awaiting the hand of the warrior. They possess us; they are not our possessions.”

The key distinction Seneca keeps returning to is the question of whether emotions, particularly anger, and our ability to exercise reason are mutually exclusive. Aristotle would say no, and would likely argue that our reason allows us to use our emotions as motivation.

Seneca rejects the notion that we can be motivated by emotion but still exercise reason. This distinction highlights a key difference between Aristotle’s philosophy and stoic philosophy, which otherwise share a great degree of overlap.

Personally, I agree with the Stoic position on this issue, though I am also sympathetic to the Aristotelian position and can see why many find it more attractive. We tend to base our preconceptions about what ideas we are or are not willing to honestly consider on our lived experience, of which emotions are often a large part.

The issue, however, isn’t that most people believe we have no control over our emotions, it’s the semantics of Seneca’s distinction that make it so difficult to accept.

Because we experience emotions so often, and as a result of so many different circumstances, it’s easy to believe that their onset is outside of our control. However, we are also naturally inclined to believe in free will and self-determination, so should reject the extreme conclusion that emotions are entirely outside of our control.

A perfect stoic, if there were such a person, would simply never experience negative emotions, as they would respond to bodily agitations by rationalizing their circumstances and realizing that allowing the emotion to come on will do them more harm than good.

I believe that our ability to use reason is the most powerful force on Earth, and that the human mind is capable of maintaining its capacity for reason in even the direst circumstances. Reason, rather than impulse, is what has truly allowed us to survive in a world where we are physically inferior to many of our neighbors, but superior in our mind’s capacity to shape reality.

Reason, however, is also hard. It may come naturally to us, but we are not naturally inclined to cultivate it. In any given moment, it will always be easier to engage in the mind-numbing exercise of rationalizing impulses. Our mind, seeking the easy way out, prefers to rationalize the flawed impressions our senses present us with rather than concede our own fallibility and search for greater truth.

That is why it’s so tempting to believe that if someone close to us dies, or we lose all of our physical belongings in a natural disaster, or we witness a brutal murder firsthand, we lose our ability to reason. There is at least a grain of truth in that assumption, as we can’t control our gut reaction to any given perception.

We can, however, always control whether we allow our minds to become infected with emotion. We can endure bodily agitation after bodily agitation indefinitely, as many humans have, without losing our ability to reason.

Further, I believe that Seneca highlights one of the biggest problems with Aristotelian philosophy and ethics, the idea that passions can be subservient to reason. I intuitively believe, and have yet to be convinced otherwise, that once we put passion in the driver’s seat, we force reason to take a back seat.

The two cannot be in control in concert, only one can set our course. This is troubling for humans, as we are extremely attached to our passions. We idolize and revere individuals who have made careers out of their passions, those who are wealthy and famous because they became the best of the best at a sport, an instrument, or an art form.

Yet we fail to realize that no matter how financially successful those who pursue their passions to a greater extent than the vast majority of us are, many of them are extremely unreasonable people. Stanley Kubrick, for example, is famous for both directing brilliant films and being an insufferable asshole who will make his crew do fifty takes of the same shot before it fits the ideal his passion has led him to pursue.

In light of this conclusion, the salient question becomes: what is an ideal life? An ideal life, in my opinion, is one spent working simultaneously towards the benefit of all humans and the betterment of one’s self. To pursue our passions is, regardless of intention, a narcissistic endeavor through which individuals seek to better themselves.

Though some might be passionate about causes that create positive externalities for other people, regardless of whether one is passionate about trading stocks or fundraising for food banks, it is their choice to pursue passion over reason that matters more.

If this is the framework which we accept as ideal for humanity, it leads to a lopsided reality in which many pursue their passions at the cost of others’ quality of life.

While pursuing our passions might allow us to earn the validation of our peers if we can sufficiently entertain them or enhance their lives, it doesn’t change their insatiable nature or the fact that humanity would be better off overall if we all exercised reason instead.

Of course, this isn’t to say that the human experience is an absolute dichotomy in which we must either always give in to our passions or always exercise reason. Though individuals like Socrates or Jesus may in some ways fit the stoic ideal of apatheia, it’s worth pointing out that most people engage in a balancing act between negative emotions and reason.

The distinction between Seneca and Aristotle boils down to whether we should think of negative emotions as something to be managed and channeled into passions, or as something to be avoided entirely.

Only once we can recognize the infinite impressions that bombard our senses every day for what they are, using our rational mind as gatekeeper to the emotions, can we truly achieve wisdom.